The Sky and the Dawn and the Sun
by Scribbler
Summary: COMPLETE! Zack, Cloud & Aerith. Before Sora was born, others fought the darkness, but even the greatest love stories can become tragedies in a heartbeat. Epilogue: Kairi finally comes home.
1. Prologue: The Death of Radiant Garden

**Disclaimer:** Kingdom Hearts belongs to Square Enix and Disney, not me. I'm making no money from this, and no infringement of copyright is intended. I am just a fan, and this is a work of fandom, intended as an appreciation of the original work.

**A/N:** This is the little fic that could. I started it back in March, when I was still new to Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy in general. I intended it to run to about ten pages, maybe twelve at a push. It ended up … somewhat more than that. In its first draft form it comes in at 506,806 words. That's 865 pages. It's the longest thing I've ever written single-handedly. So, yes, this one's going to be epic. You might want to bring a sandwich.

This will include elements of several Final Fantasy games and Disney fandoms, though they'll be twisted to fit the Kingdom Hearts universe. I still promise to include footnotes when they pop up, as well as appropriate links where necessary so nobody gets left behind just because they haven't played or watched one of them.

**Feedback:** Because this has pretty much eaten my life since March, and because it is a personal achievement for me (I rarely write multi-chaptered words, let alone finish them) reviews are not only appreciated, they're begged for. I could get all pretentious and say I only write for myself, and that fanfic in itself is reward enough, which is kind of true but … I'm shallow, so I still like hearing what people think.

The only thing I can think to finish with is the hope that you enjoy reading this as much I've enjoyed writing it. I've had an absolute blast with this thing in a way I haven't with fanfiction in a long time. Also, if anything seems 'wrong' or like it doesn't fit with canon, just give it a chance to make sense and it will. It didn't become this long without getting a bit twisty-turny.

* * *

_**The Sky and the Dawn and the Sun**_

© Scribbler, March/August 2008.

* * *

_**Prologue**_

* * *

The woman inside the cell is heavily pregnant under the filth. She looks obscene, a swollen belly on a frame so spindly her legs would probably snap like twigs if she tries to stand. Cuts and track marks cover whatever skin is visible – quite as lot, as her dress is little more than rags with a high opinion of themselves.

"Oh, gods …"

At the sound of the voice she looks up. There's a horrified face at the window cut high in the door. She doesn't react. There have been lots of faces there, peering in at her progress – or lack of it. They seem obsessed with her reactions to the darkness, and come to poke and prod her at every opportunity. So far each time they've taken her out to test her she's beaten it back, but now it feels like the heart that stirs their interest is about to explode. Not because of any experiment, oh no, but because of the tremors rippling across her abdomen.

She wheezes as another one hits. "Aaaa-haaaaaaaa!" Her groan is entirely involuntary, and she doesn't even realise she's clutching her dress until her fingers cramp. It hurts so _much_. She knew there would be pain, but she never realised it would _hurt_ this much…

The face at the door disappears. There's the sound of scuffling and then a hissed, "Damn it!" Strangely, there aren't any footsteps running away, but there are some approaching and the familiar rattle of a key in the lock. Two figures enter, nether of them the face from the door.

"Labour?" The first man looks familiar through the haze of pain and nausea. She thinks she remembers him with a clipboard. "So soon? Do you think the last exposure triggered it?"

"Maybe she'll give birth to a Heartless," says his white-coated partner, though his tone suggests sarcasm. "I always said using a pregnant woman was a bad idea."

"We just followed orders. You know how rare the Ancient bloodline is. There's no way Xehanort was going to be deterred from testing plus-human samples as well as baseline."

"I still say we should've waited. Now we'll lose both her and the infant and have _nothing_ to further our data -"

"We haven't lost anything yet. Here, take this."

"Where are you going? Braig, what are you planning to do?"

"To induce a delivery, of course. The faster we get it out, the faster we can use the recovery drugs."

"But we only use those after experiments. How do we know they won't have an adverse reaction without post-darkness residue in her system to buffer her regular immunities? If the drugs are too strong they'll destroy her internal organs faster than if we made her drink sulphuric acid."

"We don't know it'll work, but without time to make a proper plan this is the most logical option. Using any of the usual recovery drugs while she's in this state would be too dangerous; if she dies first we really _will_ lose them both, and we can't be sure of the dosage for an infant. The only other option is surgery. Have _you_ ever performed a caesarean before?"

"… No."

"Neither have I, and call me crazy, but I _don't_ mean to start now."

The woman claws ineffectually at the remaining man's arm, but her struggles are useless. She's too caught up in the pain to fight back. Another contraction hits, making her groan again and concentrate on simply not passing out with them in the room. You have to stay conscious with these people. Close your eyes for even a moment and they'll have you out of bed and strapped to a table with a syringe and a set of electrodes at the ready.

Oh gods, it _hurts_!

"HaaaaaaaaAAAAH!"

* * *

Rinoa pelts through the corridors, taking each corner so fast she only just clears them. She's working on pure instinct, her scattered brain still processing what she's seen and heard. Her mind feels like when you're falling asleep and having thoughts you know you should remember, but can't grasp quickly enough before they float away.

One thing thrums through her, becoming her focus as she winds her way up from the sealed passages beneath the castle to the extravagant hallways above: Find Squall. He'll know what to do.

She's hop-skipping up the spiral staircase when the first shockwave vibrates the walls. That brings her up short, and for the first time her resolve wavers. As one of the Royal Guards it's up to her to investigate something like that, but she can't let go of her information. Torn, she nonetheless starts off again. This can't wait. There are other Guards. They'll investigate whatever's going on elsewhere.

Another, more powerful shockwave strikes when she's in the upper levels. It crawls along the walls, making them tremble like the whole building is shivering with cold.

Well, at least they're useful for one thing; now she doesn't have to figure out where to look for Squall. She knows he'd head straight for the computer room in an emergency. He's always been supremely loyal to Lord Ansem and would think of protecting him first, and Lord Ansem will be in his precious computer room at this time.

As Captain, Squall has trained the Royal Guards up to his own exacting standards and trusts them to organise themselves in an emergency. You don't get to be a Guard without his say-so and there's a _reason _he was made Captain last year even though he was only eighteen at the time. The Royal Guards aren't a machine like the regular guards, they're a collection of individuals who work together, and Squall's brilliance is that he _knows_ this and uses it. Everybody has his or her own role, and his has always been to safeguard Lord Ansem.

Rinoa feels a little guilty that she's not already at her own post, but what she knows is too big to be postponed. She recalls the bloodstained metal table, the rows of scalpels and other ugly implements, the neatly filed cabinets of notes detailing horrors committed in the name of _research_. Yet most of all she recalls the people – faces made blank with repetitive pain, all their eyes flat and dull and _lacking_, and that horrible motionless silence in every cell except one. The pregnant woman was the only spark of life in the place and even she was in agony. Rinoa feels dirty from just being down there. Those were Ansem the Wise's _subjects_, and his own apprentices have turned them into slabs of meat to be prodded, cut up and fed to those hateful _things_ they've been keeping like unexploded bombs under their lord's feet.

The third tremor causes a marble bust to fall off its pedestal and nearly hit her. Rinoa twitches one wing, sliding the bust down her strong white feathers so it reaches the floor without damage.

She pauses to take stock. The further she goes, the more powerful each wave seems. This isn't earthquake country, and even if it was, the epicentre would have to be below-ground. The air tastes of burnt ozone and everything in her unique blood twitches at the flavour of raw magic.

_Oh no – Squall!_

She's through the doors before she has time to think, Blaster Edge at the ready. What she finds doesn't make her slip – too many early-morning training sessions in the rain to break her iron grip unless she wants it broken – but it does make her eyes widen.

Merlin, the resident wizard, is propped in Squall's arms like he's just flown backwards into them. A blackened blast radius on the floor supports this impression. Opposite them are three figures Rinoa recognises, each wearing a distinctive white labcoat. Before now they've always been on the periphery of her radar, but now when she sees them every molecule of her body burns with rage and grief, plus a hate so strong she's shocked at herself.

"Heartilly?" Squall's looking at her. He never uses her first name in the field, no matter how long they've known each other.

"Squall!" she cries, forgetting protocol in her urgency. "They've been breeding monsters under the castle. Xehanort and his cronies, they've been kidnapping townspeople to use as guinea-pigs, cutting them open and … and they've bred _hundreds_ of the things! They're all stored downstairs in special pens and they -"

"We're already quite aware of what Xehanort has been doing, my dear." Merlin rights his hat and stands up. He's not even wobbly. For an old guy he's pretty resilient. He could probably give Barret a run for his money.

Except Barret went missing weeks ago, and Rinoa has a sick feeling that at least one pair of yellow eyes downstairs is because of him. He never fully trusted Xehanort and wasn't choosy about who knew it, or that he wanted enough dirt on the guy to make Ansem 'stop thinkin' the goddamn sun shines outta that guy's goddamn ass'.

Squall's gunblade is drawn. His arms are stiff and his jaw grimmer than grim. "Heartilly, get to your post," he grits, which is when she notices the blood dripping off his elbow and the stain spreading across the front of his shirt.

She sets her feet. "Sir, with all due respect, I think you need me here."

"Merlin and I are handling it."

"Of course you are." Xehanort stands with an apprentice either side, flanking him like guards. Just like Squall and Barret usually flank …

Rinoa's eyes dart from left to right. "Where's Lord Ansem?"

Squall's grip tightens fractionally.

"Gone," Xehanort answers. "The blind fool finally opened his eyes."

"You're going to bring him back from wherever you sent him." Squall uses his Captain Leonhart Voice. Not even Rinoa will push him too far when he uses that, and she pushes him further than anyone ever thought he could be pushed. Rinoa's the one who discovered Squall has the ability to bend without breaking_, _but not when he's using his Captain Leonhart Voice. She knows better than anyone that Captain Leonhart isn't Squall.

"You're in no position to give me orders, Captain. If I'm not mistaken, I'm holding all the aces here." Xehanort gestures to his companions, who each drop into ready stances Rinoa would not have expected from scientists. "Ansem is gone. Don't be a fool and die for him now." His voice doesn't rise or fall. He's a handsome man, but there's no warmth to it, just facial expression that change in increments.

"Nobody is going to die now," Merlin says with conviction. He raises his hands and mutters something in a language Rinoa doesn't understand. Instantly, a swirl of sparkling magic appears in front of him like a small cyclone. He directs it at the three men but one of them turns it aside with an equally incomprehensible string of words. "Hmm, it would appear somebody has been reading my books. It's very rude to peruse somebody else's things without their permission, Dilan."

The dark-haired apprentice smiles triumphantly. "You didn't exactly keep them under lock and key, old man."

"Silly me, I thought I lived in a land of trust and peace. That's what Ansem the Wise champions, isn't it? Or has he changed so much that he's started putting his name to research papers that contribute nothing to anyone except fear and monsters? Why don't _you_ enlighten us on the matter, Xehanort?"

Xehanort keeps his arms folded, like he couldn't give a fig what's going on. His eyes aren't cold, but neither are they warm. They're full of _indifference_ with a faint congratulatory edge, like the gummy seal on a letter being mailed too late. "Lord Ansem is dead. Long live Ansem."

"It's time for a new order, old man," Dilan boasts.

"An order of scientific discovery and innovation, not weak-willed cowering from knowledge that doesn't fit into social norms and _niceties_," adds the other apprentice.

Merlin sighs. "I might have known you'd see it that way, Even."

"You're part of a bygone era, old man," Even sneers. "This is the dawning of an age of _real_ science, not Ansem's unexciting attempts, and certainly not your magic."

"Casting aspersions on my age is hardly the way to win my favour." To the inexperienced ear Merlin sounds nonchalant, but Rinoa's spent enough time around him to recognise his straightened spine and bristling moustache, as though his whole face is full of static electricity and each hair trying to escape his tamped-down anger. When he's offended Merlin rants and raves, but when truly angry his actions become far more decisive.

Merlin is furious, and a furious wizard is a dangerous wizard.

"Neither is casting my friend out of his own castle when he finally catches up to your scheming. What possible reason could you have had to betray him, Xehanort? He defended you when I suspected your motives. He found you when you were dying and nursed you back to health without any thought of repayment. He made you a part of his inner circle even though you couldn't remember who you were and others suspected your trustworthiness. He treated you like his own son."

"Yes, he did do all that," Xehanort admits, inflection competing with a spirit gauge for flatness.

"And this is how you repay him?" Squall demands. "By keeping secrets, going against his express wishes and then turning on him when he uncovers your sick experiments?"

"Did you hate him that much, I wonder?" Merlin's tone is deceptively soft. "Or did you simply resent the boundaries he set in place around you? Given your years and life experience, I thought you were beyond such hormonal acts of teenage rebellion. Ansem always said you were brilliant – sometimes he wondered if your brilliance would outshine his own someday, but not once did he resent you for it. Rather, he wanted you to succeed. He wanted your star to shine brighter than his own. Ansem would've shared the world with you if you'd asked."

"I did ask," Xehanort replies coolly. "Over and over, but the fool wouldn't listen to reason."

"What you asked for was permission to torture innocent people."

"No more than Ansem himself did to me."

"You volunteered for those experiments."

"So I did." Xehanort shrugs. The movement of his shoulders under his labcoat is like silk sliding over a razorblade.

He's made no move so far, leaving Even and Dilan to defend him. It strikes Rinoa that this indicates either supreme stupidity, as there are bound to be guards – both regular and Royal – on their way up here at any moment, or supreme self-confidence.

Xehanort is _not_ a stupid man. Not even close.

She holds Blaster Edge ready. "Orders, Captain?"

Squall doesn't have time to answer.

"I must point out, Merlin, that not all those who participated in our research were innocent," Xehanort says. "Or did you think the reduced number of prisoners and traitors in the dungeons was a happy accident?"

"Nobody has the right to decide who's worthy of living. That's not your decision to make. Thinking you're so much better than everyone else, that it gives you the right to play god with their lives, it's just … it's just selfish arrogance!" The words are out before Rinoa can stop them. She's always had trouble keeping a lid on how she feels about things. Squall's pulled her up about it before, though Lord Ansem is always lenient when he overhears her.

This time, however, it really would've been a good idea to keep quiet.

Xehanort looks at her, and there's nothing in his gaze except a sort of mocking pity. "Everyone can be judged because everyone has darkness somewhere in their hearts. You're judging me right now, or did you draw your weapon to polish it? At this very moment you hate me and if I were to make the wrong move you would cut me down. Even you have darkness inside your heart, Private Heartilly. There are no exceptions. Lieutenant Wallace, for example, had a streak of darkness that even I didn't expect of him, but unexpectedness did nothing to reduce it once it was exposed."

Rinoa has a sudden flash of Barret: big strong Barret, who once took out an entire herd of griffins by himself and beat them even though it half killed him. Barret, who makes Stinkin' Hot Chilli when it's his turn to cook, and curses up a storm even in polite company. Tough-as-dragon-scales, wouldn't-be-seen-dead-sniffin'-no-goddamn-posy Barret, who can also cradle an exhausted friend like a baby and carry her home, and whom she's seen playing with one of her adopted animals when he thought nobody was looking, stroking kittens like he _can't _crush a man's skull with his bare hands. She imagines the calloused angles of his face, his broad shoulders and scratchy beard, which she always pets and tells him he should shave. She remembers the way he always pulls away, muttering, "Fuck it, Rinoa, I ain't no fuckin' pansy-ass pretty-boy like your Captain!" and how he can make her blush and she can do the same to him by not telling him Squall's right behind him.

In the same instant she thinks of the Heartless she saw when she finally got that locked door open. She thinks of them in their tank, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to reach her. Their scrabbling was like moths inside a lampshade, intent only on reaching her horrified heart and ripping it from her chest.

"_I don't trust that mo-fo, and I'm'a prove it one of these days. He's up to sumthin'. All's I need is some goddamn evidence."_

"_Barret, don't do anything stupid."_

"_Who's stupid? You callin' me stupid, girl? I ain't stupid, on account of no stupid idiot woulda been able to figure out where that sonofabitch is keepin' special doors locked."_

"Heartilly! _Rinoa!_"

She hears Squall's shout as if from far away. Her feet are off the floor and her wings are beating the air. One of them catches the wall – it's too restricted in here for a proper aerial attack. Instinctively the hand not burdened with Blaster Edge sharpens into claws for close combat, I case she has to retract her wings and lose what protection they afford her.

Someone's screaming and it's only when she's almost reached Xehanort that she realises it's her. Dilan's muttered magic blows past her. She spins to avoid it and comes in upside down, so when Xehanort raises a hand she's more focussed on the shape of his knuckles than the crackling blue energy in his palm.

The world fragments into a series of images and disconnected sensations. It's all she's able to remember afterwards: The crack of a gunblade. Merlin pointing. The sudden knowledge she can't stop. Someone crashing into her from the side. A blast of heat. Squall beside her on the floor, his face a mask of blood. Xehanort and Merlin's different magics clashing like two tidal waves flowing in opposite directions. Dilan and Even bearing down on her. Merlin's beard puffing out like an angry cat. Xehanort's sudden frown as he has to use both hands to hold back the old man's spell. Ienzo in the doorway, pointing at Merlin's back and reading aloud from one of Merlin's stolen books. Xehanort's angry shout for him to stop, to not use the Lexicon of Forbidden Spells.

Rinoa instinctively throws herself over Squall, covering them both with her wings as the whole room explodes with the colour of three irreconcilable magics being forced to mix together.

There's a sensation of power, like the biggest spring in the universe being pressed flat. It cuts through the noise of battle, dragging a cloak of silence behind it. The sound starts like a hiss, as though the whole world is taking a deep breath. It turns into … not _noise_, but something more like an invisible hammer that smacks into both ears at once. The flattened spring releases, and the tiny room where Ansem the Wise always retreated for peace and quiet erupts with so much magical energy that not even his entire castle can contain it.

It flows down the corridors, it bursts through doors, it pours out of windows and surges down steps. It blasts like dragon-fire from arrow-slits and chimneys, arcing from person to person and sweeping them all up like a riptide. It detonates outwards over the whole of Radiant Garden, tearing holes in the protective wall around it, shutting off the fountains of gentle light that fall like snow. When it can go no further it billows like a fresh sheet floating down over a bed and descends on the city.

Inside Ansem's study, at the core of the eruption, figures flicker and vanish as though incinerated. Merlin throws out a desperate enchantment to shield himself and the two bodies on the floor, but all it does is crystallise around them and they vanish as one.

"No!" Xehanort shouts, fighting the pull. Reality is ragged around him and he can already taste the realm of nothingness dragging him in. "I won't let this be the end! I won't be banished alone again!"

Something that resembles a silver cord flies out of him. Even's outline is already dissolving, but the cord shoots through him, connecting him to Xehanort and then to Ienzo and Dilan. It lances through the floor so fast that Braig and Aeleus, many stories below, are still registering the latest dramatic earthquake when it runs them through. As soon as all six apprentices are linked the cord reconnects with Xehanort and tightens, binding them together as firmly as their secrets bound them together against their teacher.

"I'll come back!" Xehanort screams, body fading and mind following. "I'm not finished here yet! There's still too much to d-argh!"

Something dark, like a solid version of his own shadow, peels away from him and rockets out of the window. Xehanort arches, clutching his chest.

Then he vanishes, and so does all knowledge of him.

* * *

She can hear a baby crying.

No, she can hear _her _baby crying.

She forces her eyes open. She's exhausted, but the sudden cessation of voices draws her back to herself.

The two men are nowhere to be seen. In a container on the floor is a howling, sticky baby wrapped in a towel. Only half its face has been wiped free of blood and birth fluid, and the towel hangs open as though dropped quite suddenly.

She sits up. Something inside her slides horribly, but she reaches to pick up her baby anyway. Her arm hurts where they injected the recovery drugs, but that's nothing compared to the welling queasiness in her gut. Her midriff feels like a pair of bellows that haven't been allowed to inflate for nine months. Her head aches and her joints are on fire, so it's a moment before she realises the impossible has happened.

The door is open.

She vaguely remembers one of the men standing in it before she shut her eyes against the pain and they disappeared. It has to be a ruse. If she tries to escape they'll catch her and strap her down again, like they did in Ragdim, the city where they first found her healing people for a living, before bringing her here.

The baby whimpers and coughs. She gently wipes the last of its tiny puckered face clean, shushing it with a voice made rusty from screaming. Its skin is blotchy, and when it screws up its mouth and nose she notices how delicate its features are. A tiny portion of its head pulses where the skull plates don't yet meet. She imagines the white-coated men with their rough, determined hands picking up her baby and poking it in that vulnerable spot, or forcing living shadows up its nose.

Body on fire, she carefully raises herself to her feet. Afterbirth slithers down her legs, but they cut the umbilical cord, at least. Her joints throb and she wants to throw up, but she picks her way out of the cell and into the corridor beyond, then pauses, not knowing which way to go.

…_This way…_ says a voiceless voice she's used to hearing only in her dreams.

It's then that she understands. The recovery drugs are designed to cleanse a system of residual darkness, leaving it ready for fresh experimentation. The dose now spreading through her system has no darkness to attack and consume, so it's consuming her instead. With every second that passes more poison spreads through her internal organs. She has to get out – _now_. She can't die here and leave her child where those madmen can find it.

… _This way_ … says the voice again. It reminds her of her mother, except she hasn't seen her mother since she was sixteen and happy, before the older woman died of cholera while tending the poor in a city slum. Unable to heal herself the way she healed others, her mother died and left her to make her own way in the world. _… This way_ …

She follows it, trusting it implicitly. It leads her up, out of the dark passageways. It takes her through doors that it also tells her how to unlock. As she walks it gets louder in her mind, overlaying one voice with another, and another, until her skull feels full to bursting. She hears people who died long ago, people she knew and people who died before she was even born – grandparents, uncles, cousins, ancient ancestors and her own husband, who met his end under the wheels of a cart in Ragdim only days before she was captured. Their increased clarity signals the deterioration of her body – she's getting closer to the speakers, closer to death. She hurries, panting from fatigue and starvation but determined to get _out_ of this place.

When she reaches the last door she pauses. Where is everyone? Surely someone should have tried to stop her by now.

She soon gets her answer. The denizens of the castle are outside, dressed in ordinary clothes and living ordinary lives as though they've never set foot inside it before. They've been taken from their posts and replaced into the outside world by the gently falling magic dust in the night sky. She knows this as surely as she knows her own name, though there's nobody in sight. The dead whisper it into her mind as she stands alone in the remaining shell of a building.

Why wasn't she affected too? Why wasn't she taken from her cell and put into a nice house, with nice clothes and unmarked skin?

… _Because you're an Ancient. Because we're different. Because magic can only affect us up to a point. Because we're a part of the mortal world and a part of the next as well …_

"It's not fair," she whispers. She'd cry, but her eyeballs have dried out and her tongue is starting to swell.

… _No …_ No disagreement, just fact. It's easy to be practical when you're dead.

The bundle in her arms mewls.

Her resolve tightens. She can't give in; not yet.

The struggle of getting the door open is almost too much for her. It slams shut on her heels, eager to lock her out and seal itself up. The castle has been scoured of life and she's the last to go. The night air is cold and crisp. She shivers, wrapping her baby up against the chill and creeping barefoot where the voices tell her to go. She has to support herself against walls, and she stumbles more than once, but she won't let herself give up until she's done what needs doing. Her baby will know freedom even if she has to die to make sure of it. The magic of her people isn't linear, she knows, though she never learned how to use hers properly because her mother died before she could teach her. She trusts the voices to know what's best for the future.

As the last speck of sorcery falls, Radiant Garden breathes its last and Hollow Bastion opens its eyes to mewl like the orphaned newborn left alone in the cold night.

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

_Rinoa pelts through the corridors, taking each corner so fast she only just clears them._

-- Rinoa Heartilly, Squall/Leon's girlfriend from FF8 (finalfantasy . wikia . com / wiki / Rinoa (underscore) Heartilly).

_Barret, who makes Stinkin' Hot Chilli when it's his turn to cook, and curses up a storm even in polite company._

-- Barret Wallace, a member of the freedom fighter group AVALANCHE in FF7 (finalfantasy . wikia . com / wiki / Barret (underscore) Wallace)

* * *


	2. The Circle Opens

* * *

**1. The Circle Opens**

* * *

_There is a woman at the beginning of all great things. _-- Alphonse de Lamartine

* * *

She first sees the black-haired boy her first day of school. He's a year older than her, wearing his knowledge of where to go and what to do like a badge to some super-special club. He's standing on the corner waiting for his friend, arms folded and one knee bent to press the sole of his foot against the wall. He doesn't look or wave at her, with her pigtails and pink lunchbox, but she notices him because he's the kind of person it's impossible _not_ to notice.

She sees him again on the way home, head full of her new teacher's name and the peg with her name above it where she's supposed to hang her coat every day. She walks along feeling very grown up, crossing the street all by herself and not even stopping to pet Mrs. Prasca's new lambs, when suddenly he runs past pursued by a blond boy with what looks like jam in his hair. They don't knock into her but she stumbles back anyway, the daisy-chain she made at lunch falling off her head. The black-haired boy laughs wildly and scales Mrs. Prasca's wall to escape. His friend is left at the bottom, hopping from foot to foot and yelling words she's sure he's not supposed to know.

The blond boy looks embarrassed when he sees her watching. "What do _you_ want?"

"Did he hurt you?"

"Only his pride!"

The blond boy throws himself against the wall, but he's wearing shiny new shoes and can't get any grip. "Zack, get back here!"

The other boy's laughter fades into the distance as he crosses from garden to garden, putting distance between himself and what he's done – or at least what she assumes he's done. Surely jam couldn't get in someone's hair by _accident_?

Zack. She thinks about his name and decides it suits him. More than one syllable would take too long to say and she gets the feeling he lives life on the move – probably running from one scrape right into another.

"Would you like some help washing that out of your hair?" she asks the blond boy, pointing down the street. Mom said she should try to make friends at school, and she recognises him from the schoolyard. He's in the class above hers, though he's the youngest and looks younger than he actually is. "If you leave it too long it'll go hard and you'll have to cut it out, and then you'll get a bald spot."

"I'll get a _what_?"

"My house is just over there."

He shoots a sulky glance at the top of the wall, but comes towards her. His hair looks like the chocobo they keep to pull the cart and there's a bright innocence about him that makes Aerith remember the kittens that were born in one of the huge planting tubs last Spring. She loved those kittens and cried when they grew up and left their mother – and her. Mom always says she should stop getting attached to small fluffy things, but surely she didn't mean _people_ when she said that.

"I'm Aerith."

The boy sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve, but stops when he realises what he's doing and drops his arm to his side. "I'm Cloud."

* * *

"You're hanging out with a _girl_." Zack grins at them. He's hanging upside down from the rope swing on the giant Oak, making his hair even wilder than usual. Cloud told Aerith that Zack says he hasn't brushed his hair in years, and with all the obvious knots and tangles she can believe it. "You're gonna get _cooties_."

"Am not!" Cloud jumps to his feet, taking a few steps away from where, seconds earlier, he'd been happily making a daisy-chain with her.

"Does she make you play _dollies_? Does she do your _hair_?" Zack sing-songs.

Cloud blushes scarlet. "No." Even if she didn't already know about the jam incident Aerith would know he's lying.

Zack's grin stretches even wider. "She does! I'll bet you two play hairdressers! I'll bet she makes you wear dresses and pretend you're a girl! I'll bet-mrrf!" He can't say anymore because Aerith has also jumped to her feet and planted a kiss right on his lips. He stares at her, upside down and flabbergasted. For once, he's genuinely shocked into silence.

Cloud's still red, but now he's grinning too. "You kissed her! You kissed her!"

"I did _not_!" Zack protests, turning and scrabbling higher up the rope, as though putting distance between himself and Aerith. He stares down at both of them, cheeks flaming. It's the first time Aerith has ever seen him wrong-footed. "_She_ kissed _me_! What did you go and do that for? Dumb girl! You got all your dumb girl-germs all over my _mouth_!"

"You kissed her! You kissed her!" Cloud continues to sing-song, and only stops when Zack shimmies down and leaps on him. They roll around in the dirt until Miss Trepe runs across the schoolyard in her heels to pull them apart.

Aerith isn't sure why she did it, but Cloud's pleased she did. He can't stop grinning for the rest of the day. She spots him through his classroom window when her class goes outside to practise naming birds. He even grins and waves at her on his way to detention.

Zack stalks ahead of his friend. He turns to see who Cloud's waving to and sends Aerith the filthiest look she's ever seen – filthier even than compost. Then he risks further punishment by running over to her instead of going into the detention room.

"Why'd you do it?" he demands.

"What?"

"That … thing. That stupid girly … _kissy_ thing. Why?"

"Because you were making Cloud feel bad."

"That's not a good reason." He wipes his mouth like she's only just done it.

"It's a pretty good one," Aerith maintains, bending one knee and twisting her leg so that her toe scrubs little half-circles on the floor. "You shouldn't tell him it's bad to be my friend."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because what? Boys and girls aren't supposed to be friends. It's, like, against the laws of nature or something."

Aerith rolls her eyes. "Because if you make him stop being friends with me I'll … I'll tell everyone in school you tried to look up my skirt!"

Zack is aghast. "But I never-"

"Cloud's my friend," she says severely. "Boys or girls, a friend is a friend. I like him. You're his friend and I'm his friend, too. You don't have any right to tell us we can't be friends. We have fun together. You could have fun with us too, if you like. We could all have fun together instead of making Cloud feel like he has to choose between us."

Zack backs off. "As if I'd hang out with a dumb _girl_!" Then he runs into Miss Trepe's detention like he's a lunch lady being chased by Headmaster Deusericus after a lunchroom inspection.

* * *

Elmyra is signing off on a new cartload of flowers when Aerith comes home from school. She scribbles her signature on the hostler's clipboard and counts to ten before turning to face her daughter. "All right, what happened this time?"

Aerith glares at the floor. "Nothing."

"Aerith, I know that's not true."

She purses her lips.

Elmyra sighs. Usually she prefers fetching her own stock from the Dark Forest, even though that means going outside the city wall, but things have been sickly lately and so she's had to break her code and order flowers from a merchant who comes in with a caravan of traders once a month. She has Lisianthus wilting in the back room and Geraniums that need emergency treatment after their long trip, but the sight of Aerith, defiant against tears, makes her kneel and stroke the little girl's hair like she has nothing more important to attend to than this. "Is it that boy again?"

Aerith bites her lip and nods.

"Did he pull your hair?"

She shakes her head.

"Did he call you names?"

Surprisingly, that gets a shake of the head as well.

"What did he do?"

"He…" Aerith gulps air. "He squashed m-my flower…" Big fat tears roll down her cheeks.

Aerith has always loved flowers, even more than one might expect considering she lives above a flower shop. Since she could walk and talk she's trailed after her mother, asking questions and learning about how to arrange and care for them. Where other children want to look like teenagers and paint themselves with 'borrowed' make-up, Aerith goes to school each day with a flower in her hair. It's Elmyra's way of saying goodbye each morning.

"Did he mean it?"

"Huh?"

"Did he do it intentionally?"

"Uh, I … I … he was f-fighting with one of the bigger kids and h-he knocked into me and … and my flower fell out of my hair. He stood on it when he got up; him and his big feet. But he didn't say sorry or anything! He's just a big jerk who likes to fight too much."

Elmyra sighs. Playground politics. Was she ever this young?

On impulse she goes to one of the new bundles, unwraps it and pulls out a tulip. The upturned petals are white and seem to glow in the afternoon sun. "Here. Give this to him."

"What?" Aerith is horrified. "But he'll-"

"Sometimes, Aerith, the gift isn't the important part. It's the giving that counts."

Aerith stares disbelievingly at her. However, she trusts her mother and eventually holds out her hand. "Is it a Talking Flower?"

That's the name she gave them when Elmyra told her that some flowers can have special meanings – Stephanotises for good luck, Irises for inspiration, Geraniums for comfort, plus hundreds more. Different colours can change their meaning, too – giving someone a pink rose means friendship, but giving a red one means love. It's impossible to keep the meaning of every single flower and its variations inside just one head, though Aerith seems determined to try.

"Yes. It means forgiveness. You say this boy is Cloud's friend too, right?" Elmyra likes Cloud, even if he is a bit wet. His mother works hard to provide for them both and Elmyra can identify with her struggle to bring up a child alone. She still remembers when Aerith braided Cloud's ponytail and put sparkly pink clips in his bangs. She wonders what Ms. Strife thought when he got home. "Well, maybe you need to be the mature one if you want to be a real friend and not a selfish one."

"I'm not selfish! I share my lunch with Cloud all the time, _and_ I help him tie his shoelaces."

"That's not what I meant."

"I don't know what you mean."

"That's something you'll have to figure out for yourself, I'm afraid."

Aerith retains her unconvinced expression, but goes to put wet cotton wool in the bottom of the stem to stop the tulip from drying out.

* * *

Angeal is hefting his toolkit from under the stairs when he hears the front door bang hard enough to rattle the rafters. Seconds later floorboards creak above his head. He steps out of the cupboard in time to see Zack disappearing around the corner to the upstairs hallway.

"Zack! What've I told you about not breaking the front door?"

"Not to do it," Zack replies without remorse.

"Zack!"

A sigh curls along the handrail Angeal cut, sanded and varnished himself. He's proud of that staircase. Usually he prefers simplicity, probably as a throwback of life in the military where everything was function over form, but his hands seemed to move by themselves as he lathed and carved intricate patterns in that wood. His old colleagues would laugh to know he has a soft spot for beautiful architecture.

The boy on the top step is unkempt and unruly, but his violet eyes burn with such force that even Angeal pauses.

"What?" Zack mutters sullenly.

Angeal is about to launch into yet another lecture about good manners, respect, showing consideration for their home and not bringing it down around their ears out of temper, but then he notices what's in the boy's hand. He blinks. The sight is so unusual that he leaves aside what he was going to say. "Is that a … flower?"

Zack scowls. His fist tightens around the stem, but he doesn't break it or throw it away even though his arm twitches like he wants to.

"Where did you get that?" For all the time and energy Angeal's spent building and maintaining their house, their yard still looks like a war zone. He just can't summon the inclination to cut grass and weed and do whatever else needs doing when the roof leaks and all he really wants is to burn off the tension in his shoulders on a punching bag. Plus the soil around these parts isn't good. Not that _any _soil in Hollow Bastion is good for growing things. "Zack?"

"Some dumb girl gave it to me."

Angeal quirks an eyebrow. He can't help himself. "A girl is giving you flowers?" Oh boy. Most flowers grow in Dark Forest, where no sane person goes without an escort and an extremely good reason. Those who have flowers have money, and those who give them away have good reason.

He didn't think he'd have to have this sort of talk with Zack for a few years yet.

"Not like _that_." Zack is surprisingly vehement. "She said it means forgiveness. Don't know what I did that needs forgiving, though. Dumb girl. Look, can you just yell at me already so I can go to my room?"

For a moment Angeal is honestly stumped. He sighs and waves a hand. "Pretend I did. Go and think about whatever it is you did that made a girl feel she had to come to our house to give you a daisy."

"It's a tulip."

"Excuse me?"

Zack blushes furiously. "Nothing." He whirls and a second later his bedroom door slams.

Angeal opens his mouth to shout, but closes it again without a word. Instead he goes to the front door and peers down the street to where a little girl with brown ponytail bobs away. He doesn't recognise her, but leans on the doorframe to watch what he assumes is his nephew's first love interest until she safely turns the corner.

* * *

Cloud is surprised when Zack comes over. Usually, when he sits with Aerith, Zack gives them a wide berth, but today he plunks his lunch on the bench right next to them.

"This seat taken?"

Cloud automatically shakes his head, and then looks at Aerith. She's gone all still and for a second he thinks she's going to send Zack packing. She was so upset when he ruined her flowers last week, and Zack never did say sorry. Cloud has to admit she'd be within her rights to make Zack sit somewhere else to eat.

Cloud likes both his friends. He finds it difficult that they can't seem to get along with each other half as well as they get along with him. Zack's too brash and Aerith's too gentle, though both are great to hang out with in their own way.

Zack plays fighting games and cheerfully bullies Cloud into playing them too, hiding around corners and behind buildings to leap out with twig-swords and have mock-battles. He's great at thinking up imaginary enemies for them to fight, often drawing on his uncle's stories about monsters and making them run manoeuvres like his old military unit. Cloud's usually exhausted after spending time with Zack, so hanging with Aerith is a nice counterpoint.

Aerith isn't like the other girls at school. She doesn't giggle at his hair or make fun of him because he's shorter and skinnier than all the other boys. Cloud feels safe around Aerith, helping her around her mom's shop and doing quiet things that would make Zack yawn and run away to slide down the banister-his-uncle-said-he-mustn't-slide-down-on-pain-of-death. Despite this, sometimes Cloud thinks they'd have so much more fun playing together, instead of him dividing his time between his two friends and forever feeling guilty with one that he's not with the other.

Zack looks at Aerith like he wants to put dirt in her food. She stares right back, reaching up to touch the white flower woven into the top of her ponytail.

Slowly, she shakes her head. "It's not taken."

Cloud's so delighted that he completely fails to notice the identical white flower sticking out of Zack's pants pocket.

* * *

"Were you really a soldier in the Ogre War?"

Angeal doesn't quite smile as he fixes sandwiches for everyone. The little girl who brought Zack a flower has become a recurring visitor, and he can't say his disapproves. She's a good influence on his rowdy nephew.

At first she came infrequently and only stayed as long as it took Zack to get his boots on. Then, gradually, she stayed longer and longer. Then she started coming over without that Cloud kid who follows Zack around like a loyal puppy. Now she's a regular fixture and part of Angeal is still surprised at how she gets away with bossing Zack around the way she does. Sometimes she exudes a kind of serenity he's never seen from kids her age. Until she appeared, Angeal constantly worried about Zack's wildness and his own mediocre parenting skills.

"I was," he replies in his deep baritone. "Though I think Zack might have already told you that."

"She didn't believe me," Zack puts in. "She thought I was making it up, but I never make stuff up about you, Angeal. I don't need to."

Aerith looks at him with a curious expression. "How come you don't call him Uncle?"

"'Cause his name's Angeal. Or sir, if he's really mad."

She frowns at Zack's answer, but diverts her gaze when Cloud starts to choke on his drink. As one, both she and Zack reach around to slap him on the back, producing fresh coughing and a dull squeal.

"You don't have to hit so _hard_!"

"Geez, Cloud, quite being such a baby," Zack sniffs, until Aerith smacks away the arm he's leaning on and he half tumbles out of his seat.

"Don't pick on him."

"I wasn't!"

Angeal shakes his head and wonders how the heck his life changed from disembowelling ogres and escaping monsters by dodging Barren Region acid pits to this strangely humbling domesticity.

* * *

Lazard Deusericus looks up from his paperwork to see his secretary in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"It's them again, sir."

Inwardly, Lazard groans. Outwardly he gives no indication of his emotions other than a slightly longer blink. "Very well. Show them in."

"All at once or one at a time, sir?"

He permits himself a small sigh. "Surprise me. No doubt they'll all try to take the blame anyway. What is it this time; a smashed window? Frightening a teacher's horse? Pepper-root smeared on the lunch dishes?"

"No, sir. Strife fell out of a second floor window and Fair climbed out of a third floor one to rescue him. Strife was clinging to the ledge where nobody inside could reach him."

"That's … new."

"Apparently Fair climbed down the drainpipe to get to him, sir. It came away from the wall under his weight. There's a lot of, uh, damage, sir."

"Of course. And how does Miss Gainsborough fit into all this?"

"She left her classroom and crawled along a ledge from another second floor window to rescue them both. She succeeded, too, but the three of them very nearly fell to their deaths. Poor Miss Trepe nearly had apoplexy, which wasn't helped when Strife told her how he fell out of the window in the first place."

"And how exactly _did_ he fall?"

"His seat is next to it. Apparently there are birds nesting on the ledge below and the hatchling fell out. Strife was trying to replace it in its nest without Miss Trepe noticing when he, uh …"

"Fell out of his own nest?"

"Yes, sir."

"And he couldn't just have told an adult about the hatchling and let them deal with it?"

"He said it didn't even occur to him, sir."

Lazard blinks again. "Very well. Let's get this over with."

It is, he reflects, encouraging to see youngsters so devoted to each other and to committing acts of kindness, but he really wishes those three would choose ways of expressing themselves that _don't_ result in being sent to his office every week.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

_She has Lisianthus wilting in the back room and Geraniums that need emergency treatment after their long trip._

-- All flowers in this fic have been chosen because of their hidden meaning, even if that meaning isn't explicitly dealt with in the fic itself. Oak-leaf Geraniums signify friendship, while Rose Geraniums mean 'preference' or showing a particular liking for something or someone. Lisianthus used to mean a deep, heartfelt, sometimes even romantic desire, but its meaning has changed a bit over the years, so that now it signifies charisma and congeniality. If you give someone Lisianthus you're telling them how much you appreciate their outgoing personality.

_Lazard Deusericus looks up from his paperwork to see his secretary in the doorway. _

-- Lazard is a secondary tier character from Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core (finalfantasy . wikia . com / wiki / Lazard)

"_Poor Miss Trepe nearly had apoplexy, which wasn't helped when Strife told her how he fell out of the window in the first place."_

-- Quistis Trepe is a character from Final Fantasy VIII (finalfantasy . wikia . com / wiki / Quistis)

* * *


	3. Zack Learns a Valuable Lesson

* * *

**2. Zack Learns a Valuable Lesson**

* * *

_Where down the plain the winding pathway falls, _

_From Glen-field vill, to Lester's ancient walls; _

_Nature, or art, with imitative power, _

_Far in the Glenn has plac'd Black Annis's Bower. _

_'Tis said the soul of mortal man recoil'd _

_To view Black Annis's eye, so fierce and wild; _

_Vast talons, foul with human flesh, there grew _

_In place of hands, and her features livid blue, _

_Glar'd in her visage; whilst her obscene waist _

_Warm skins of human victims embrac'd. _

-- John Heyrick

* * *

They're eleven when Zack convinces Cloud and Aerith that it's a good idea to go to the edge of town and sneak down the rubble at the broken segment of wall, so they can play chicken with the monsters reported around the borders. Hollow Bastion has always had the occasional monster, being so close to Barren Region and Dark Forest, but lately their numbers have slightly increased – or at least they're getting bolder and letting themselves be seen more. It makes Zack's uncle frown, but nobody _told_ them they can't go out, which Zack takes to mean they should do just that.

"I don't see anything." Cloud peers into the darkness. They're not at the bottom of the rubble but they're not at the top either, which makes him nervous.

"Maybe if we threw a stone or something," Zack muses, until Aerith folds her arms.

"If you two have finished being all macho, can we _please_ go back now? This was a stupid idea. A stupid _dangerous _idea. Plus it's cold enough to make your teeth chatter, and you don't have a coat, Zack."

"I have my jacket."

"We're going back now."

"Aw, but I wanted to see a monster," Zack pouts. He wants to be a hero like Angeal, but there aren't many opportunities for a boy to prove himself in Hollow Bastion. It's too sleepy there, all the magic chased off by superstitious people who fear it more than anything else.

He's talked about leaving to cross the country and join the military when he's old enough, which makes Aerith's stomach scrunch up – especially when she sees Cloud's face and knows he'd follow Zack into a pit of fire without hesitation. The thought of them both leaving her, especially leaving her to go and fight with real weapons, makes her shake her head and quickly think of something else.

"Hey," Cloud says suddenly. "Look – snow!"

Big flakes float down on the evening breeze, twirling silently and melting on Cloud's hands. He hasn't brought any gloves but doesn't seem to care as he capers about trying to catch them on his tongue. Zack joins him and the two boys whoop, jumping and laughing and generally making a racket. It's been a long time since enough snow fell for them to enjoy it, but the temperature and type of flakes promise a morning of white-carpeted streets and roofs like the tops of the iced gingerbread cottages every family has at Yule.

"C'mon, Aerith," Zack calls.

"Yeah, c'mon Aerith," Cloud echoes. "It's fun."

Aerith hangs back. She's wearing a long dress and doesn't want to get the hem wet, plus bouncing about isn't as comfortable as it used to be. It's started making her chest a bit sore, but she can't tell them that. She already feels like she has to prove to Zack that girls are just as good as boys, and pointing out how she's changing under her loose dresses would only make him worse, she thinks. "I'm okay over here."

"Spoilsport." Zack bounds over and grabs her hand. "Well not this time." He drags her out and takes hold of her other hand, swinging her around in a circle until she feels dizzy.

"Zack! We'll fall!"

"C'mon, Aerith. Be active. Live a little!" His hands are tight around hers and his face is alive as they twirl as much as the falling flakes.

Aerith starts to laugh. She's stumbling over rocks and her hair is getting wet, but something about the way the light dances a few feet away, and the curve of the distant mountains on this side of the wall, creates a swell of recklessness inside her. There may be monsters hiding in the shadows, but there are three of them and they've survived more scrapes than she ever thought they would. They're young enough to believe they're safe this close to town, but to still get a thrill from dipping their toes into danger. Zack's boisterousness is infectious, like his smile, and she finds herself reflecting both.

Zack looks away from her and stops abruptly. "Cloud?"

Aerith stops too. There's no sign of him. "Cloud?"

"Cloud, buddy, where'd you go?" Alarm edges Zack's voice. Cloud is still short for his age and, with a year on his friends, Zack has adopted a somewhat protective instinct around them – though Cloud fights the suggestion that he can't take care of himself. Zack takes a few steps further into the darkness, away from the town's protective lights. "Cloud!"

"Cloud, this isn't funny." Aerith looks back through the gap they snuck through, at the safe bulk of the tavern, before running after Zack and slithering down a boulder almost as big as her house. She's hardly gone more than a few steps when the dark seems to swallow her. "Cloud, where are you?"

There's a noise to their left; a soft rustle that they might've missed if they hadn't been listening so hard. Aerith grips Zack's arm and he edges slightly in front of her, but they both keep going. It doesn't even cross their minds to turn back.

"Cloud?"

Suddenly a giant shape leaps from the darkness. Aerith screams and Zack becomes rigid. It lands between them, knocking them apart.

Aerith sees a hand reach out and feels something too strong to be human seize her. She screams again. Somewhere Zack is shouting, but a familiar blond head has caught her attention. Before she has chance to think, she's sunk her teeth into the arm holding her. The owner doesn't let go but its grip does loosen. Aerith takes the opportunity to twist away, grabbing Cloud and yanking to free him from it's other hand.

A dreadful wailing fills the air. Cloud is hoisted off the ground – Aerith too, since she refuses to let go of him. Her nose is full of the smell of rotting meat, and suddenly she's on the same level as a mouth stuffed with fangs. Eyes glare balefully at her, red as coals in a face of wrinkled skin like a crone's, if crones wee blue. Aerith adds another terrified scream to the jumble of noise.

"Let them go!" Zack yells, leaping on the creature and pummelling it with both fists. It hisses, dipping its head and stretching out the arm Aerith bit to wrap around his throat.

A roar cuts through the melee, but this one is far deeper and more familiar. Footsteps on stone and then there's a zing of metal and Aerith pitches sideways, still clinging onto Cloud. He's limp in her arms, and when they hit the rock she instinctively wraps herself around him, shielding him with her body in case they tumble over the edge.

Over their heads the creature's shriek is cut short. Something smelly and wet slaps down beside them. Aerith keeps her eyes screwed shut, not wanting to see what it is. Something else flops off the rocks and into the darkness.

"Zack! Aerith! Cloud! Are you kids all right?"

Zack coughs nearby. Heavy footsteps move from him to Aerith and she whimpers, unable to move. Her muscles have seized up in belated terror and she can no more unclench them than she could stop herself following Zack into the shadows after Cloud.

Strong arms pick both her and Cloud up like they're rag dolls. "It's okay," Angeal soothes. "Black Annis is gone. You're safe now."

Aerith just whimpers more. Putting a name to the horrible creature only makes it scarier. Once it has a name it's not just a nightmare, it's real and the feel of its claws burn where they cut through her jacket like a hot knife through butter. With great effort she opens her eyes and sees Cloud's face inches from her own. There's a bruise on his forehead, a cut on his cheek and his eyes are closed. He looks dead.

"C-Cloud…"

"He's all right," Angeal assures her. "She just knocked him out. It's a good thing you made so much noise so she didn't carry him off before I found you." He turns his head to the side, tone sharpening. "What were you thinking, going so far out like that?"

For a moment Aerith thinks he's talking to her, but Zack replies and she realises he's walking alongside them.

"I didn't know this would happen. I never meant for -"

"Dreams of glory are worthless if they mean putting those you care about in danger. This was reckless and stupid, even for you. You could've gotten them killed! _You_ could've been killed! Black Annis preys on children, and for all you seem to think you're a man already, Zack, you're still a child." Angeal sounds angrier than Aerith has _ever_ heard him.

She starts to cry, small sobs that shake her chest and shoulders. It's still snowing. She can feel it splatting against her cheeks, but inside she feels far, far colder than any snowflake.

* * *

Zack's facing the wall. He doesn't turn over when Angeal enters, which is probably to be expected. He really lambasted the kid, after all.

Angeal sighs. He was angry and worried, but once that anger faded he realised it wasn't all Zack's fault. He still shouldn't have gone to the edge of town when he _knew_ about the monster sightings, and _especially _shouldn't have crossed the wall,but he hadn't forced his friends to go with him. They were all equally to blame, and the scare they'd received was punishment enough.

Aerith was nearly inconsolable by the time they arrived at Doctor Rui's. When Shalua opened the door Angeal was almost glad to deposit the girl with her assistant, Shelke, prising Aerith's fingers from Cloud and setting the boy on a cot for Shalua to examine. Zack had hovered on the fringes, unsure what to do or what to say, until Angeal snapped for him to make himself useful by shutting the damn door.

Cloud was fine. Black Annis had pounced on him and knocked him out before he could struggle, so he had no defensive wounds and she didn't have to fasten her iron claws very tight to hold onto him. Shalua worried he had a concussion and opted to keep him in for observation, sending a message to his mother to tell her where he was. Aerith's wounds were superficial except for her shoulder. Hermother was called to collect her, and when she arrived she plied Angeal with praise he didn't feel he deserved. Anyone in that tavern could've heard Aerith scream and rushed to the rescue.

Ironically, Zack came off worst. His throat is badly bruised, with a shallow cut where one of Black Annis's fingers was a hairsbreadth from puncturing his jugular. Angeal recalls seeing his nephew dangling from her grasp when he arrived on the scene. He shudders to think what he might have found if he'd been a few minutes – a few _seconds_ – slower.

"Zack."

The boy doesn't respond.

"Zack, I'm talking to you."

Zack's shoulders twitch. Angeal thinks he's shrugging. Fresh anger flares within him, but a moment later he realises the twitching is too regular and sustained for a shrug. In fact, it's getting stronger despite Zack's attempts to hide it. His spine curves over and it becomes clear he's actually _crying_.

Angeal's anger drains out of him. He sits on the bed, facing away from his nephew, and lets out a long breath. "Zack, what you did tonight was very foolish."

"I know."

"Good. We learn from our mistakes. It's how we progress through life, and a sign of stupidity is an inability to learn and grow from experience."

"Angeal, I didn't mean to-"

"For example, tonight I experienced fear like I've never experienced it before. I feared that you would be killed. I feared that I had failed in my duty to protect you. I feared that I had broken the promise I made to your mother, to keep you safe and help you grow into an honest and honourable man. And I learned that I never want to experience that again."

"Angeal, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry-"

"For that reason I have come to decision. Things can't go on as they are, Zack. You need discipline. You need to learn self-control."

Zack's whole body stiffens. "Are you sending me away?"

"No. I've decided to train you." Angeal looks at the ceiling. "There are things happening that I don't expect you to understand yet, but you must understand this: you need to know how to defend yourself and keep your loved ones safe. For that reason, you will begin training with me as soon as possible. I'll teach you everything I know." He glances over his shoulder. "Within reason."

Zack sits bolt upright, apparently forgetting his face is tearstained, and gapes at him. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly serious. This isn't a game, Zack. If I ever think you're treating it as such, I'll stop immediately." Angeal's tone is sombre. "The world is changing, even this quiet little part of it. In what ways and how much, I'm not sure yet, but I've already noticed some worrying developments and I want you to be prepared to face them, as well as any more that might occur. It won't be easy. I'm a hard taskmaster and I'll expect nothing less than your all. Are you willing to put everything you have into meeting this challenge? Are you willing to put your dreams into my hands?"

Zack doesn't even hesitate. He holds a hand to his head in a very sloppy salute, but his eyes are bright. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Cloud likes Doctor Rui. She's only got one eye and doesn't use one hand much, but she's kind and doesn't tell him he was stupid for nearly getting eaten by Black Annis.

He can't say the same for her assistant, though. Shelke is businesslike and aloof. She doesn't reply when Cloud thanks her for letting him stay the night. Instead, she busies herself labelling pots and putting instruments away in drawers as her sister leads him and his mother out. When Cloud reaches the door he swears he sees her roll her eyes, as though he's just some little _kid_ who should've known better. Which, well, he guesses he _is_, but still…

Outside he's greeted by two pairs of worried eyes.

"Zack. Aerith." Cloud's mother seems surprised to see them, especially since they're alone.

Cloud isn't. "Hey, guys," he grins, but not too wide in case it unsticks the gauze on his cheek. Usually it's Zack who comes away with injuries. Cloud is sort of proud that this time he's wearing the evidence of another tight spot survived. His grin fades, however, when neither of his friends smiles back. "Guys?"

"Are you okay, Cloud?" Aerith asks. The part of her face visible through her hood looks paler than usual and really tired, like she didn't sleep a wink last night.

"I'm fine. Hey, I heard how you two took on Black Annis all by yourselves trying to rescue me. And how Angeal cut her head off with just a poker from the tavern fireplace. You're all so amazing!"

She blinks. "Uh…"

Zack's eyes dance. "So you're not hurt?"

"Except for this." Cloud points to the gauze, then the angry purple bruise on his forehead. "And this. Everyone says you two saved my life. Thank you. You really are the best friends I could ever ask -"

"That's all I needed to hear." Zack launches himself on top of Cloud, delivering the biggest noogie in the history of noogies. "You doofus! Don't you _ever_ scare us like that again."

"Ever!" Aerith agrees, trying to drag Zack off by his arm.

Within seconds they're all tussling like puppies, laughing and whooping until they crash into Ms. Strife and she yelps. As one, they freeze. Aerith's hood has fallen back, Cloud's hair is even more mussed than Zack's, and they're all flushed from a combination of cold and exercise. They stare at Cloud's mother. She's even paler than Aerith and probably got even less sleep.

"Whoops." It's Zack who speaks first. His voice reverberates through Cloud's head, since Zack's throat is currently pressed against the crown of Cloud's skull. "Sorry about that, Ms. Strife. Are you hurt?"

"No." She sighs, running a hand through hair the same colour as her only son's, though much less spiky. "No, Zack. And I … suppose I should thank you, for trying to save Cloud. And you, Aerith. You two always seem to be getting him out of trouble."

"Only after they get me in it in the first place!" Cloud tries to say, but Zack stuffs the end of Aerith's scarf into his mouth.

"Can we please borrow Cloud for a while? It's perfect snowman weather and we wanted to make the most of it."

"I … guess so," Ms. Strife agrees, slightly flummoxed.

Cloud's glad she isn't going to try and make him stop seeing his friends, like she did after he nearly drowned in the brook when they were little. She used to think Zack was a bad influence, but Zack has a way of working himself under your skin so you know this and forgive him in the same heartbeat. Ms. Strife knows Zack would never intentionally hurt Cloud, and after last night will do his utmost to make sure neither Cloud nor Aerith are put in unnecessary danger again.

"Great." Zack starts to drag both Cloud and Aerith off down the snowy street.

"But you must stay away from the edge of town! Especially the wall!"

"Yes, Ms. Strife," Aerith replies. "We promise."

* * *

Zack only releases his friends when he can no longer contain his news.

Cloud's eyes shine. "Wow, Zack! Angeal really promised to train you? That's incredible!"

"I know. Isn't it fantastic?"

Aerith looks less convinced, as he explains that he won't be available to hang out so much anymore, but he's going to learn how to swordfight and flip a man twice his height and track monsters and _everything_. No more evil creatures will ever threaten them while _he's_ around, he proclaims, looking proud.

"Unless you pull another stunt like last night," she points out.

Zack just waves a hand as though dispersing pipe smoke. "That was the old Zack. This is the new and improved version."

"Does this version still go to sleep hugging a teddy bear?"

"Shut up!"

"Does this version still build snowmen?" Cloud wants to know.

"Heck yeah. C'mon."

The two boys are already preparing to hare off to find the biggest, best snowdrift to use for their snowman, and possibly a snowball war, when Aerith suddenly bursts out, "You can't!"

They stop and look at her. "Can't what?" Zack asks.

Aerith bites her lip. "Can't … um, can't build a snowman." It isn't what she was going to say, but one look at the happiness in his eyes makes her words dry up in her throat. "Um, Cloud still doesn't have any gloves. He'll get frostbite."

Cloud looks at his hands. "Oh yeah."

"Is that all?" Zack makes an irritated noise and grabs Cloud's left hand. "Now you take the right one, Aerith. That way _we'll_ keep his hands warm."

"And when we find a good snowdrift? How's he going to keep warm when he has to actually _touch_ the snow?"

"Oh, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now come _on_ before everything thaws and there's no snow _left_ for a snowman."

* * *

Elmyra is surprised when the shop door opens and three ragged bundles roll in. They're wet through and covered in bits of dirt and pebbles and ... oh dear. She sniffs.

"What is that _smell_?"

"Zack made a snowball and didn't check which snow he was using first," Aerith grumbles.

"How was I supposed to know the horse manure was _underneath _it?"

Cloud sneezes. All his blond spikes are flat and the gauze on his cheek is so soggy it's drooping.

Elmyra sighs and comes around from behind the counter. "Come along, you three. There's a fire in the grate and blankets in the cupboard. Strip off those wet things and I'll fetch the clothes-horse."

"Mom, _please_ don't mention horses." Aerith picks disconsolately at her dress.

Cloud looks fearful, while Zack is visibly appalled. "We're not stripping off where _she_ can see us!"

"You can use the bathroom."

"Yeah, but the fire-"

"You'll be under blankets. Don't worry. And it'll only be for as long as it takes your clothes to dry out." Elmyra is brisk, hustling them along to the back room and staircase that leads to the quarters she and Aerith make their home in. Sales of holly and mistletoe have gone up with the approach of Yule, bringing in some much-needed money, but she turns the sign on the door to 'closed'. "Come along, now. No dilly-dallying."

"Za-ack," Cloud bleats.

Zack squares his shoulders. "You'd better not peek."

Aerith just rolls her eyes and shivers. "Like you have anything I'd want to see."

* * *

They're not completely inseparable, but people accept that when you spot one, the other two usually aren't far away. Kids whisper about them, giggling because they play games nobody else is allowed to join in with, and adults find their antics cute until one of the boys steals an apple pie that was cooling on their windowsill, or breaks their window, or goes scrumping in their orchard.

Their victims complain to the eldest boy's guardian. They have no proof it's him, but the uncle is stoic yet principled. They feel better about complaining to a noble man, who gave up his life as a soldier to raise someone else's child, than whinging to the flower-seller, who's already suffered so much with losing her husband, or to _that woman. _That's what sniffy neighbours call her, and nobody goes to her house if they can help it in case they're tarnished by association.

Soon the boy can be heard lecturing the other two about the wickedness of stealing and the importance of honour and integrity. Nobody's quite sure if he knows what 'integrity' means, but the pies stop disappearing and there are suddenly a lot more apples on trees, so nobody asks.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

_Strong arms pick both her and Cloud up like they're rag dolls. "It's okay," Angeal soothes. "Black Annis is gone. You're safe now."_

-- Black Annis is a creature from English folklore; a blue-faced old crone with iron claws and a taste for human (especially child) flesh. Though in this fic she inhabits Barren Region (the wilderness between Hollow Bastion and the lands beyond the mountain range), in real life she's said to haunt the Leicestershire countryside, and live in a cave in the Dane Hills. She supposedly goes out at night looking for unsuspecting children and lambs to eat, then hangs their skins around her waist. She's not above reaching inside houses to snatch people, which is the alleged reason why traditional houses in that area have small windows.

_Aerith was nearly inconsolable by the time they arrived at Doctor Rui's. When Shalua opened the door Angeal was almost glad to deposit the girl with her assistant, Shelke, prising Aerith's fingers from Cloud and setting the boy on a cot for Shalua to examine._

-- Shalua Rui and Shelke are both characters from Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus www (dot) ffrepublic (dot) com /final-fantasy-7-dirge-of-cerberus/characters/shalua and www (dot) ffrepublic (dot) com /final-fantasy-7-dirge-of-cerberus/characters/shelke)

_Adults find their antics cute until one of the boys steals an apple pie that was cooling on their windowsill, or breaks their window, or goes scrumping in their orchard. _

-- I'm not sure if the word 'scrumping' exists outside Britain, but it basically means to steal fruit before it's been picked.


	4. Healing Magic, Funerals and New Friends

* * *

**3. Healing Magic, Funerals and New Friends**

* * *

A girl called Tifa joins Aerith's class. She's tall and agile and goes to martial arts lessons three times a week after school, as well as at weekends. She also has long brown hair, which she keeps in a swishy ponytail at the nape of her neck, and eyes the colour of crisp Autumn leaves. She kind of scares the other girls because she's a year younger but has been skipped ahead because she's smart. She also oozes self-confidence, and it's obvious she doesn't need their approval to feel good about herself. That same self-confidence makes a lot of the boys rethink how they wear their uniform and consider the sudden surge of hormones beginning to surge through them.

They've never spoken, but one day Aerith walks up to Tifa and asks if she'd like to come over to play. It might be strange for a twelve-year-old to arrange play-dates, but Aerith has never been one to follow tradition.

Tifa looks at her, standing with hand on her hip like she could kick the ass of anyone in the room. She's already wearing a bra under her uniform. After a few seconds she shrugs. "Sure. That'd be fun."

* * *

"You know Cloud?"

"Sure. We've lived next door to each other for, like, ever." Tifa stretches out on the bed, toes and fingers pointed, and then relaxes everything at once. She splays like cooked spaghetti, one arm draped over her forehead. Aerith's never met anyone as comfortable in their own skin as Tifa. "I never really talked to him though. His mom's not married."

Aerith feels herself bristle a little. "So? Neither's mine."

"Yeah, but Cloud's mom's never _been_ married. Don't get me wrong, I don't care a bit, but my folks are really old-fashioned when it comes to stuff like that. They think Cloud is 'unsuitable' and 'from bad stock'. They actually _use_ those words, too. If it wasn't for all the monsters appearing in Barren Region I swear they'd be training me up to be a good little wife instead of letting me learn Zangan-Ryu. See this scar?" She lifts her leg to show off a thin white line running across her shin. "I got that from a Grindylow. It hid in Master Zangan's fishpond and when I was practising my meditation it jumped me. Can you imagine? They aren't supposed to live in Hollow Bastion, so Master Zangan says it must've come from outside. Probably Barren Region or Dark Forest or someplace, but it's unusual for a monster to come right into town like that. Mostly the wall keeps them out, but they've been getting much cheekier since he was young. Either way, before that happened my parents were all for making me give up martial arts completely. Now they're happy for me to learn how to defend myself in case more monsters get into town and try to carry me off or something. You should learn too."

Aerith is startled. She's never considered learning to fight. It's always something Zack and Cloud play at while she sits on the sidelines or tends the flowers in the shop.

Dark Forest is so dangerous nowadays, but shipments from outside Hollow Bastion are getting fewer and fewer, and the plants they bring in droopier and droopier. They need more attention than they used to before they can be sold. It's like something is sucking the colour right out of them the moment they cross the wall, turning what were once vivid blooms into insipid impressions of Lilies, Pansies and Snapdragons as soon as they cross the town's border. Aerith has given up wearing flowers in her hair _all_ the time, instead putting them in only when she doesn't feel bad for parading the poor things around.

She's not above rolling up her sleeves to drag Zack and Cloud from whatever mess they've gotten themselves into, but the thought of punching someone the way Tifa does turns her stomach. Aerith still has nightmares, sometimes, about Black Annis. Those nights she snaps awake, frozen like someone is gripping her mind and holding her still. She _should_ learn but privately, she admits in those moments, she's afraid that if she does it'll be tempting fate to send more creatures like Black Annis into her life.

"Why didn't you come to school before this year?" she asks, changing the subject.

Tifa shrugs. "My parents thought it was better to teach me at home. Big yawn. Then they got worried that I'm not socialised enough, so they bought me a uniform and packed me off. So far it's not been too bad. Not brilliant, but not too bad." She turns onto her stomach. "You and Cloud seem pretty tight. He's always been so mousy whenever I see him around his house. Are you going out?"

"What?"

Tifa frowns. "Isn't that what everyone does in school?"

"We go to school to learn," Aerith says, a little primly.

"But I thought everyone paired off." Tifa seems honestly puzzled. "That's what happens in all the books."

Aerith reads classics from her mom's shelves and cookbooks, plus any gardening books she can lay her hands on. Cloud's mother lent her a heavy tome about monsters after Black Annis. It was old, the glue smelled a little like mouldy cabbage, and Aerith had to look up so many words just to understand what it was talking about that eventually she gave up and asked Angeal about monsters instead. Yet she's never read anything like what Tifa now describes.

Tifa checks things off on her fingers. "First it's meeting a boy's eyes across a crowded room, then he sits next to the girl, or asks her to dance or something, then he carries her things home even if they're really light and she can easily carry them herself, or he makes a big deal about making sure she gets home safely and walks her to her door, and then…"

"Then what?"

"Then they kiss and stuff. Y'know – they _go out_."

Aerith pauses to give this serious thought. "Exactly which books are you reading?"

* * *

"Jodan tsuki!"

"Rising punch!"

"Chudan tsuki!"

"Middle punch!"

"Gedan tsuki!"

"Downward punch!""

"Oi tsuki!"

"Lunge punch!"

"Gyaku tsuki!"

"Reverse punch!"

Angeal drops back a few paces. "Good."

Zack wipes sweat from his eyes. He's a good student, far better than his teachers at school would've predicted. Like so many youngsters, Zack just needed the right lessons and subjects to stir his motivation. Practising drills with Angeal, though monotonous, provokes the kind of passion Angeal remembers on the faces of those few new recruits who'd one day become captains and commanders. He could always pick them out right at the beginning; when his own reputation became rock solid the higher-ups listened to his advice on who to keep and who just didn't have what it took to make it in the military.

He can already tell Zack's a keeper. He's just not sure how he feels about that.

Angeal doesn't miss those days. When he was a boy all he wanted was to get out into the world and become a soldier, but like most dreams, the reality couldn't match the fiction he'd fallen in love with. True, he never envisioned life after the military as a single parent, but there aren't many positive emotions he can summon about his time in the ranks aside from a few bits of being an Elite, and time spent with his friends, and _those _times he chooses _not_ to think about if he can help it. 'Comrades-in-arms' tastes as sour as 'glory of battle' to Angeal these days.

Those who've never been soldiers think of it as glorious work: defending the weak, slaying monsters, being thanked by dignitaries and basking in the gratitude of peasants they've saved. In actual fact it's mostly monotonous grunt-work and basic day-to-day grind just like any other career. The thrill of battle is fleeting and the rest of the job incessant as a dripping faucet. When he became an Elite there was also a lot of paperwork involved. Angeal can't ever remember feeling glorious about being half torn to shreds and covered in steaming monster blood, or pushing paper at three o' clock in the morning for the fifth night in a row. Raising Zack, living here, eking out a living amongst these simple but good people … this, he reflects almost daily, is worth far more than any medal or tickertape parade.

Well, maybe 'eking' is the wrong word. He makes quite a good living. One of the fortunate parts of a town made almost entirely of wood, stone and thatch is there's always work for a carpenter. Or a handyman. Or a hod carrier. Or a thatcher. Angeal can turn his hand to many things and likes to diversify.

Right now he's wearing his Mentor hat. "Don't telegraph your moves," he barks. "Your stances are too exaggerated. This isn't swordplay, it's hand-to-hand and you'll end up with _no _hands if you let your enemy see what you're planning next. Remember, you could be fighting creatures with iron instead of flesh like Black Annis, or more limbs than the few you have as a human. If you lose your weapon you've got to be able to defend yourself with just your body."

"Yes, sir." Zack's elbows shoot inward to his sides and his head comes up. His stance still needs work, but it's much better than it was when they first started. He's quick to pick things up and always eager to improve.

He took to a sword like a fish to water, though Angeal has been limiting their training on that front. He doesn't want Zack to become too reliant on any one weapon, especially since way out here knives, arrows, slingshots and rustic tools are the best he's going to have access to. There isn't a good swordsmith for miles.

Plus, truth be told, Angeal is a little wary of the ease with which Zack hefts his wooden practise sword. Even the new weighted one he made looks too comfortable in Zack's hands, whistling through the air in curves and arcs it took Angeal twice as long to master. When he holds a sword, Zack's eyes light up peculiarly and Angeal is transported back to a time and men he'd rather forget. At moments like that he's reminded that Zack is still only thirteen, just a boy, not yet ready for the messy reality of combat.

"How would you defeat a Vetala? Chudan tsuki!"

Zack's punch and voice are strong and true. "Cutting off the head of the inhabited corpse and removing its limbs so it's no more use and the evil spirit has to leave it, sir!"

Angeal nods. This training is all about defending what Zack holds dear, and that means also wielding knowledge as a weapon.

"How would you stop a berserk clay golem? Jodan tsuki followed by Gedan tsuki! Faster!"

* * *

"Where are you going?"

Aerith looks down from the driver's seat. "To Dark Forest."

"Are you crazy?"

"Our stock is down."

Zack rolls his eyes. "You and your flowers. Move over." He climbs onto the cart, but she stops him with a hand on his chest.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"With you, of course."

"Why?"

"Because Dark Forest is dangerous and you shouldn't go there alone."

"I'm not alone. Cloud's going with me."

As if on cue, Cloud turns the corner. He waves when he sees Zack and quickens his step. "I thought you were training with Angeal all afternoon." As he talks he holds out his hand and Grimoire, the Gainsboroughs' ancient chocobo, gently scoops sugar cubes off his palm. Grimoire has always had a soft spot for Cloud, possibly because of the hair, but probably because all animals like Cloud. He has an easy manner they find comforting. Cloud laughs as Grimoire dips his head and even though he winces when the, in a chocobo sign of affection, he plucks out a few strands of blond hair as if they're feathers, Cloud doesn't push the elderly giant away.

"Angeal went to talk to the mayor about getting men to patrol the borders and some kind of proper repairs done to the wall. So many monsters have been seen on the edges of Barren Region recently, he wants to make sure none of them get cheeky and come into town." Zack stands up, balancing on the cart's wheel. "Cloud, are you and Aerith going to Dark Forest?"

"Um … we _were _…"

"Then I'm coming with you. Neither of you can fight and there may be dangers you can't handle down there."

"We're not going _into_ the forest," Cloud protests. "We're not stupid. We were just going to the edge-"

"You still have to go outside the wall and that's dangerous enough, even with people watching. Don't argue, just get in. Aerith, I'm sitting next to you up front." Zack wiggles into place. "Budge over. There's not much room up here." He's not quite sitting in her lap, but it's close.

Aerith huffs irritably. Cloud clambers into the back of the cart without argument, but his progress is hampered by the two empty knapsacks he's brought along. Aerith has her own knapsack of tiny clay pots in which to safely relocate any plants they find rather than just cut them, but once they're full the pots won't all fit into just one bag.

Zack rolls his eyes. "Cloud, give me those."

"It's okay, they're not heavy, they're empty-"

"Just let me carry them. You too, Aerith." Zack takes her knapsack before she has time to protest and settles them over his own shoulders. It's ridiculous, and he has to lean uncomfortably forward just to sit down, but he refuses to take them off. "Man, the things I do to make sure you two get home safely."

Aerith shoots him a strange look. "What?"

He gazes blankly at her. "What things do I do?"

"No, what did you just …?" she trails off, glancing at Cloud, back at hunched-over Zack, then at the nonexistent space between them on the driver's seat. Tifa's voice floats to her. Finally she stares into her own lap. "Nothing. So you're going to defend us with a stick?"

"Hey, it's a weighted wooden practise sword, and it can still knock the block off anything that threatens us."

Aerith twitches the reins and yips for Grimoire to move off. "Grimoire, if anything _does _threaten us, I hope there's some speed in those old legs of yours."

"Wark!"

* * *

"Aerith isn't mine." The admission comes without preamble.

Angeal looks at Elmyra, coffee mug halfway to his lips. "Uh…"

"I found her when she was a baby. Outside my front door." Elmyra shakes her head, smiling faintly at the memory. "I didn't know who'd put her there. At first I thought it was a joke. I'd recently miscarried and suddenly here was a ready-made baby to replace mine. Except nobody but myself and my husband knew about the miscarriage. It was only the next morning that I understood; when I heard about a young woman who'd suddenly appeared out of nowhere and died on the castle steps." She shivers. "That place seems to draw death to it like moths to a flame."

Angeal hasn't lived here as long as some residents of Hollow Bastion, but most, like him, know only scraps of what happened to make the castle derelict. It's a strange thing, as though something seeped into the town to make it forget what went on there. Anyone who thinks about it too much finds their mind sliding away to think of other things, like soap suds off wet dishes. When he first arrived, Angeal asked who lived there and was surprised when nobody could answer him. It doesn't even have a name, or at least not one anyone can remember. One old lady mused to him that she was _sure_ it used to, and that the town didn't used to be called Hollow Bastion, but she was half-batty anyway and died the following Winter after following 'ghosts' that were only in her mind and falling asleep in a blizzard. Angeal took what she said with several grains of salt.

Truthfully, Angeal doesn't want to know about the castle. He came here to escape bad feelings and just looking at the place gives him plenty of them. It's an imposing presence, looming over the little houses like a vulture in a tree waiting for an animal to die so it can pick the flesh from its bones. Too big to pull down and too full of stories for anyone to try, it remains where it is, though most avoid it and talk about it only in hushed whispers, when they talk about it at all. Animals sometimes go there to die – sickly lambs, old chocobos and less dreadful wildlife from Dark Forest that can scale the town walls or find ways past the gates or over the rubble.

And, apparently, mysterious young women.

"She must've left Aerith on my doorstep before…" Elmyra clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "I don't know why she did it. I don't know why she picked our doorstep. Aerith was wrapped in warm blankets and healthy, while her mother – her real mother – looked like a skeleton in rags. She was … it was like someone had _operated_ on her. Multiple times. She had track marks and scars … half her hair was gone and there were electrode marks on the sides of her head. Added to her weakened condition, the trauma of childbirth must've been too much for her. She was such a pathetic thing, so skinny and _ill _looking. Nobody knew her name, or why went to the _castle_ of all places. She was never going to get any help there."

"And you never told anyone about Aerith?"

Elmyra shakes her head stiffly, as though the action is rusty from disuse. "I-I was so close to full term that I had to deliver my son. There was no midwife. It was too fast, and my husband was the doctor at that time s-so ... It was wrong, I know that, b-but when I looked into Aerith's face, so helpless and vulnerable ... People around these parts are a suspicious crowd. If they'd known where she truly came from they would've thought she was bad luck – a bad omen or something. That poor dead girl couldn't have known, but still … that's no legacy for a child."

"So you kept her."

Elmyra bows her head. "Yes. My husband, h-he swapped the babies. Took the blankets and put our son in them. He was buried with that poor girl. A little plot outside the town walls – too much bad luck in burying them inside Hollow Bastion itself. I go to it sometimes. I put flowers down. My husband died soon after. Pneumonia. Ironic, eh? Physician, heal thyself. People mourned for a while. He was a good man and mostly well-liked, but there was a doctor ready to take his place and so they forgot him far too soon. He'd been training Shalua as his assistant after she was mauled by a Sandwalker. She was so badly disfigured that no man wanted to marry her because she couldn't bear children, so my husband decided to give her something else to concentrate her life on. He was like that; always kind and thinking of other besides himself. I think, sometimes, that maybe he hated me for what I asked him to do with our son, but he never spoke of it, and then he died and I couldn't ask him. I was left to raise Aerith on my own, and I've been pretending ever since that I really did give birth to her."

Silence fills the room.

Elmyra covers her face with her hands. "I've … never told anyone about this before."

"Why are you telling me now?"

She sets down her mug and Angeal notices that her hands are trembling. "Aerith has started … exhibiting abilities. Abilities she didn't inherit from me."

A bad feeling starts up in Angeal's gut. "Abilities such as…?"

"Last week she touched a bunch of lilies that had wilted. They were old stock, but an hour later it was like they'd just been cut. I could ignore that; I told myself I'd been mistaken, that they hadn't been nearly as bad as I thought and a dash of water had perked them up. Then, yesterday morning, she picked up the head of a rose that'd fallen off its stalk and put it on the counter. I'd accidentally stood on it. She didn't think anything of it – went out of the room without a backwards glance – but right before my eyes the crushed petals repaired themselves. She _healed_ it."

Angeal's eyes widen. "She's a Healer?" Innate magic in humans is rare enough, but Healers are especially unusual.

Elmyra nods. "I think so." Her eyes are suddenly wet and Angeal finds himself a tad disturbed that this strong, capable woman looks about to break down in front of him. "P-People in Hollow Bastion … they don't trust magic. They never have, but especially now with all the new monsters, and those three poor children in their tree-house…" She shakes her head. "Emotions are running high right now. I'm frightened for Aerith. She doesn't understand and because I never told her about … where she came from … I'm frightened people will vent their anger on her because she's an easy target."

"Elmyra, why are you telling me this?"

"Because she needs protecting, now more than ever. Because I can't be around all the time to make sure she's all right. And because you've been training Zack to be a warrior and he listens to you."

Angeal lets the implications of that set in before speaking again. "Healing is rare, especially in one so young, but it's good magic-"

"People are narrow-minded when they're angry. After what happened to those three children, the whole town is angry and looking to blame someone. They can't find the monsters who took them, so they're looking for something – anything – to make them feel better, or at least make them not feel so bad about being unable to protect their own. I heard some people saying that magic attracts monsters like ... like the smell of meat attracts predators. They can sniff it out if it's used. If people find out Aerith has magic … The whole town is full of guilt and anger and fear right now, and powerful emotions can make people do awful things. They won't see the good she can do, or see that she's just a child herself, and one who didn't ask for this, they'll just see her as dangerous and they might … they might _hurt_ her …"

Angeal is forced to agree. He stares into the coffee she invited him over for, seeing his own face and several others reflected there. Powerful emotions motivating awful things and people scared by power they fear and don't understand? "Yes. That much I do know."

* * *

Aerith leans back against the headboard. "I still can't believe they're gone."

"Believe it," Zack mutters, plucking at the worn knee of his pants with one hand, curling and uncurling the other around the hilt of his practise sword.

"It was so sudden. I don't think I'd said two words to Jessie since Yule, and now she's gone. I'll never be able to say anything to her ever again. It's just … so weird."

"Yeah, well, get used to it. Monsters are getting bolder and there are more of them than ever before. It was only a matter of time before big ones climbed the town wall and snatched someone."

"Three someones," Cloud corrects dismally, face downcast.

Zack scowls. It's not like they were even _friends _with Biggs, Wedge or Jessie. Still, news that they were dragged away into the wilderness by Bugganes has hit everyone hard, including him and his friends. They weren't taken in the middle of the night, either. A posse of lumbering monsters scaled the crumbling wall, waded into town and grabbed them from Wedge's tree-house in the middle of the day. They were in and out in a flash. The remains the men found have left Hollow Bastion reeling.

Zack lifts his sword, stares at the blunt blade for a moment, and then throws it away from him with such force the clatter makes everyone jump.

Cloud and Aerith stare at it, and then at him.

"Zack-"

"All my training, all the things I've learned, what good are they? What good are they _really_? Did they help Biggs, or Wedge, or Jessie? When he started teaching me, Angeal said it was a warrior's duty to protect those who can't protect themselves. Did me knowing what _oi tsuki_ means stop those Bugganes from putting their grubby hands inside that tree-house and … and …" Zack scrubs furiously at his eyes. "… Damn it …"

Cloud and Aerith exchange a look. Zack can feel it over his head. Then something touches his hand. He whips his arm away before registering that Cloud was trying to comfort him.

"You can't be everywhere," Cloud says softly. "And just because you know this stuff doesn't mean you can use it all the time to help everyone."

"But I'm not helping _anyone_," Zack replies. "Angeal never takes me with him when he goes out to patrol the wall. I'm just … playing pretend! I'm still just playing pretend at being a hero!"

"You've kept _us_ safe," Aerith says, voice as soft as Cloud's. "The day we went to collect flowers, when that goblin tried to attack us near Dark Forest, you fought it off. Even when it took your sword, you still saved us using what you've learned."

"I guess …"

"You're _our_ hero, Zack." Cloud hits it home.

Zack twitches, almost _flinches_, and this time when Aerith touches his hand he doesn't pull away. By the time Cloud takes his other hand – hesitantly, because boys aren't supposed to hold hands, and after being ragged on by his schoolmates Cloud is acutely aware of this – Zack seems almost grateful for both the contact and the reassurance.

"That was so cliché," he says gruffly, not budging an inch.

"So what?" Aerith demands. "It's true. What happened to Biggs, Wedge and Jessie was awful, Zack, but it wasn't anybody's fault."

"I won't let it happen again," Zack says darkly. "Never again."

Aerith wants to say something about making promises you can't keep, and situations beyond your control, but at that moment a shadow falls across them and they squint up at the invader of their privacy. Zack snatches both hands away from them when he realises Angeal is home.

But Angeal doesn't say anything except, "Zack, could I have a word, please? Aerith, your mother's downstairs."

"She's come to pick me up?" Aerith is puzzled.

"No," Angeal replies, with something like … sadness? From _Angeal_? "She came back from your house with me. She just needs to speak with you. Cloud, you can go home if you like."

But Cloud has noticed the sudden ominous atmosphere Angeal has brought in the room, like air just before a storm. He decides to stay, so he's still there when Zack returns a few minutes later with tight shoulders and an extra-squared jaw. Zack picks up his practise sword and stares at it for a long moment, swings it once, twice, and holds it in front of him with eyes closed and lips moving silently.

When Aerith returns she's white-faced and dazed. Her hands are trembling and her eyes travel the room without truly seeing anything. Cloud has seen Aerith's eyes so often since they became friends, he thought he knew every emotion they could show, but it's the first time he's ever seen them this way. He doesn't understand the utterly bewildered look in them, far deeper than simple shock, and understands even less when she crumples like a marionette with all its strings cut.

What Cloud _does_ understand is that one of his closest friends is hurting, so he moves to comfort her without even thinking about it. Zack beats him to it, sword in one hand and his left arm wrapped around Aerith, holding her tight. Cloud wraps his right arm around her from the other side, making soothing noises as her sobs rattle through him.

"I'll protect you," Zack says severely. "I'm your hero, remember? Don't worry, Aerith. No matter what, I promise I'll keep you safe."

* * *

The mayor holds a remembrance ceremony for the three lost children. The whole town can't fit into the central square, but most try. The Gainsborough flower shop runs out of white lilies early on, so when Aerith and Elmyra meet Angeal and Zack on the corner and walk together they each hold a different flower to place on the photographs of Biggs, Wedge and Jessie.

"They're Talking Flowers," Aerith explains.

"What do they say?" Zack asks, long since used to the name.

Aerith passes him his bloom. "Hyacinth for sincerity, because we're genuinely sad about what happened. Here, Angeal; you have Wood Anemone. It represents fragility, because of what you said about life being fragile and too short."

Angeal solemnly accepts the white flower.

"Mom has a white carnation, which means remembrance, and I have Zinnia. It means 'thoughts of friends'. I have some for Cloud and his mom, too, when we get there."

"If we can spot them in this crowd," Elmyra warns, espying the crowds as they near the square.

As it happens, they find Cloud and Ms. Strife without difficulty. A small ring of empty space surrounds mother and son, making it easy for them to join up. Cloud greets them warmly, while Ms. Strife's smile is only a little tense and she does her best not to acknowledge the dirty looks periodically thrown her way. She's delighted when Aerith presents her with her very own Talking Flower.

"You brought one for me, too?" she breathes, tears in her eyes.

"Stephanotis. It means 'good luck', so you can wish their spirits a safe journey."

"That's so sweet." Glancing at Elmyra, Ms. Strife bends to peck Aerith on the cheek. She smells a little of the apple cider the adults drank last Yule and Aerith wrinkles her nose. "Sorry. It was for courage."

"Nobody has any right to keep you from showing your face," Angeal says. "Especially not today. This is as much your home as it is theirs."

Ms. Strife looks like she could kiss him for standing up for her in earshot of all those who disapprove and don't mind whether she hears it. Angeal is a respected man, especially since he started organising monster-defences and construction crews to help repair the worst parts of the wall. Having him show public support for her is a big deal. Aerith notices the way her knuckles have blanched around the Stephanotis.

"Here you go, Cloud." Aerith passes him a thin-stemmed plant, much smaller than the rest, topped by petals shaped like a falling star. "Cyclamen. It means goodbye."

Cloud smiles. "Thanks, Aerith. We should go to the front and put these down."

"Perhaps we should wait," his mother says quickly. "Uh, until things clear a little. All these people – we might get separated o-or trampled on."

"Hey, there's Tifa!" Aerith changes the subject and waves.

Tifa waves back, but the man and woman with her steer her away from Aerith's little group. They both have brown hair and features so similar to Tifa's they must be her parents, but Aerith isn't sure she cares much for the way their eyes radiate indifference as much as Tifa's radiate friendliness.

"You're friends with _Tifa Lockhart_?" Cloud asks with awe.

"Huh? Oh, sure, we've hung out a couple of times. Not much, though, because she always has to go train with her Master Zangan."

"I've lived near her my whole life and I've barely even talked to her."

"You should. She's really nice."

"_Me_? Talk to _her_?"

Aerith looks sideways at him, wondering at the awe in his voice. Cloud has never spoken to Tifa at school, but more than once Aerith has seen him watching the other girl with the kind of deferential reverie usually reserved for … well, events like this, actually. It's as though the thought of Tifa mean more to Cloud than just the promise of friendship.

The mayor is on the podium. There's a space next to him reserved for Angeal, but Angeal doesn't move from his spot next to Elmyra and Ms. Strife. His arms are folded. So are Zack's, and perhaps it's unconscious but Zack is also mimicking his uncle's stance, feet apart and chest squared.

The mayor scans the crowd, alights on Angeal for a moment, and then moves off. Coughing into his fist, he begins the ceremony.

* * *

Cloud smacks heavily against the wall. He doesn't even have time to get up before the boys are on him, kicking and laughing.

"My uncle's had her!"

"My cousin says she's great!"

"My dad says she should've stayed in Radgim with all the other trash where she belongs."

"My mom says she's a disgrace and you're just as bad."

"Yeah – bastard!"

"That's right: bastard!"

"Bastard kid!"

"Who's your daddy? You don't know, do you?"

"Could be anyone."

"You're bad luck – everybody says so."

"Bastard!"

"Bad Luck Bastard!"

Voices swarm together, but Cloud's more concerned with the _thump thump thump _of hard boots hitting soft flesh. He tries to curl around so they can't hit his punch-tenderised stomach anymore, but that just makes them aim elsewhere.

"Hey! What the hell are you-?" A new voice bullwhips down the alley.

"Uh-oh, his boyfriend and girlfriend are here."

"Run for it!" Cloud's tormentors scramble away, still laughing.

Cloud doesn't move. Not even when soft palms cup his face, or when hands calloused from gripping a sword hilt hook under his arms. His head lolls forward. He's perfectly conscious, but nothing seems to want to move, and the afterimages of pain from the kicks are making themselves known.

"Cloud? Cloud, can you hear me?"

"Ugh…"

"Zack, I think they broke his nose. I think they broke his _nose_, Zack!"

Oh, so that's what the funny taste in his mouth is: blood. That doesn't explain the grinding in his chest, though.

"Those … those …" Zack's so angry he can barely speak. "They'll get theirs for this, I swear -"

"Stop that. You know what Angeal said about not using your skills that way. 'A real warrior has honour and defends it to the last'."

"Yeah, but-"

"Cloud? Open your eyes, Cloud."

He can do that. Aerith's face is blurred but refocuses after a second. Cloud blinks at her. He thinks one of the boys must've kicked him in the head, because her voice is muffled by ringing and the world keeps slipping sideways like he's standing up in Grimoire's moving cart. He clears his throat, swallowing more coppery blood. "Wzzz m'mummm."

"What?"

He clears his throat again. "Wuzz muh mom. They said she was a-" Swallow. More blood. How much is on his face if this much is heading for his stomach? "- whore. Started hittin' me when I tol' 'em not t'say tha'... tellin' lies … sayin' p-people've been … with her here … s'what she ran away from in Radgim …"

Aerith's face takes on an expression of such contrition it's almost painful to watch. Cloud can't see Zack, but feels the grip under his arms tighten.

"Those … those-"

Cloud coughs. The grinding really _hurts_ now. His muscles reawaken enough for him to grab that part of his chest and gasp. He lurches out of Zack's grip, falling to his knees. He can't catch his breath, which makes him cough and huff uncontrollably to get more air into his lungs, but the jolting hurts even more and he can't _breathe _–

"Cloud!" Aerith drops to her knees beside him. "Zack, get help. Get _help_, Zack!"

"But-"

"_Zack_!"

Cloud hacks up blood and spit. It dribbles off his chin, dangling for a moment before splattering on the ground. He clutches at his chest with one hand, bracing himself on the other.

All this because those boys said bad things about his mom. They never would've said those things to Zack. Zack would kick their asses up and down the street if they said anything about his parents or Angeal, but because Cloud is small and gentle for a boy none of the other kids respect him.

Oh, he needs air that doesn't burn to make his lungs inflate. The world is going hazy and little black dots play around the edges of his vision.

Suddenly, just as everything is about to go dark, Cloud's hand is prised away. A greenish-gold light circles above his head like a madcap firefly. His entire chest goes numb, tendrils of itchiness mixed with cold spreading down his ribs and knitting them back together. He can _feel_ the rough edges reaching towards each other, guided by some other power that also repairs cuts, smoothes out bruises and heals until he can _breathe_ again.

Cloud slumps sideways, gratefully sucking in air. Aerith falls across him, which should hurt a lot more than it does. She's breathing just as hard as Cloud and Zack is shouting something … Cloud can't hear what. He cracks open one eye to see Zack dashing back and forth, obviously caught between fetching help and tending to his friends.

"Zack, izzallright…"

"Cloud?" Zack crouches beside him. "Buddy? What happened?"

"I … I think Aerith … I think she healed me."

"With her magic? But she's never done anything like that before. And she's unconscious! Oh, not good, not good, this is _so_ not good. In the scale of not good things, this is one million percent not good!"

Cloud can feel his strength returning. He struggles to sit, turning over and easing Aerith into his arms so she doesn't hit the floor. Her eyelids flutter like poisoned butterflies.

"Zack." Her voice is so faint it's almost inaudible.

Zack leans in close. "Yeah?"

"Stop … panicking … I'm all right. Tired … but all right." Her eyes close. "Cloud, are you okay?"

"I … yeah. I'm fine."

"I'm … glad …" She trails off, her breathing deepening as she falls asleep.

Cloud looks at Zack. Zack looks at Cloud. They're both thinking the same thing.

"We need to get her home to her mom and tell her what happened."

"Yeah," Zack agrees.

Cloud gazes at his two friends, registering the practise sword now constantly strapped to Zack's back and remembering the glow of Aerith's magic above his head. His attackers' taunts ring in his ears. "Zack, will you teach me how to fight, the way Angeal teaches you?"

"What?" Zack is genuinely surprised. "_You_ want to learn to fight?"

Cloud nods. "Maybe then I can stop people saying stuff about my mom." The iron in his voice is strange to hear, even for him.

"Cloud -"

"I know she's not exactly … 'respectable'. That's the word people use, isn't it? But she doesn't do that stuff anymore, and she's never brought men home the way folks say she does. She works in the tavern now, but people won't let her forget the past. She's my mom and I love her, and nobody has any right to treat us badly because of…" He shakes his head. "C'mon, help me carry Aerith home."

"I'll do it." Ridiculously easily, Zack picks her up and carries her as though she weighs nothing at all. Yet more indication of how capable he is.

Cloud glances at the blood still on the ground. _And how capable I'm not_.

Zack has always been the capable one, while Cloud has always needed protecting. Normally this doesn't bother him. He evens out Zack's rough edges, providing a voice of reason to counteract his friend's reckless schemes. However, Angeal's training has curbed a lot of Zack's recklessness. Cloud's feels like his usefulness has been shorn off at the base, leaving only jagged edges to prick at his mind and heart. Now even Aerith is more capable than him. He has no special skills or talents; he's just Cloud, the boring one. He feels like he's just a tagalong – the Fighter, the Healer and the Outcast. He'll be thirteen in a few weeks but he's just as he was when they were six years old.

"Y'know, we were really worried back there," Zack says suddenly.

Cloud blinks, broken from his thoughts. "What?"

"When we saw those idiots hurting you. It was like … well, it was like someone was hurting _us_, too. If they'd really hurt you and Aerith hadn't fixed it, I don't think even Angeal's code of honour would've stopped me breaking their heads."

"Mrrf."

"It's weird, isn't it? How something can be so important but you don't realise until someone tries to damage it. Then suddenly you realise and it makes you do things without thinking to keep it safe." Zack shifts Aerith's weight in his arms. "It's a good thing we're always there to back each other up, huh? Times like this make me realise how much we all depend on each other."

"Some of us more than others," Cloud mutters.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Zack stops and looks at him. They're going through back streets, trying to avoid being spotted so they won't have to explain Aerith, or Cloud's dirty clothes and bloody face. Neither said this was what they'd do, they just understood each other without words. Zack fixes Cloud with a stare that's all the more penetrating for being half in shadow. "Cloud, is that _really _why you asked me to teach you to fight?"

"Nobody respects me," Cloud blurts. "And why should they? I'm useless. I'm just … I'm like the puppy who follows you two around and keeps getting under your feet."

"Are you _kidding_ me?"

"I'm not strong like you, or special like Aerith-"

"Because you're _you,_ not us."

"I don't serve any purpose -"

"Since when does friendship have to have a purpose? You're our _friend_, Cloud, and we like you just the way you are. You're worth ten of those bozos who beat you up. No, twenty. Thirty, even! They're all mean-spirited, narrow-minded-" he glances at Aerith's sleeping face "-assholes who can't see beyond their own prejudice. Why the hell would you want _their_ respect when they're not worth _yours_?"

Cloud doesn't have an answer for that. "It's not just them. All the kids in school avoid me and call me weak."

"We don't."

"You're different."

"Exactly. Screw everyone else. We don't need them, because we have each other."

"It doesn't work like that, Zack."

"Who says?" It involves a lot of joggling so he doesn't drop Aerith. Zack rests most of her weight on one arm with her feet on the floor, but manages to free one hand, spit on it and hold it out to Cloud. "Spit-shake on it: the most important thing is that we're friends and we respect and stay true to each other. As long as we're buddies, and back each other up in _all _ways, not just rescuing each other from falling out of windows and bullies and goblins and junk, we'll be okay."

Cloud stares at his own palm. "What about Aerith?" he asks uncertainly.

"We'll make her swear it when she wakes up. Now hurry before I drop her."

Cloud hesitates a moment longer, then spits onto his palm. It's miraculously free of blood and squelches when he shakes Zack's hand. "All right. As long as people I respect and care about respect me and my mom, the rest of the world can," he smiles furtively, "_go screw itself_."

"Right on!" Zack punches the air, slips, and Cloud has to dash forward to save Aerith from a nasty fall.

"Watch out!"

Zack grins. "See? We need each other. Never forget that or doubt yourself, Cloud. Without any one of us this friendship wouldn't work."

Cloud smiles with a mixture of happiness and embarrassment. "C'mon, let's get her to the flower shop before someone sees us."

* * *

Torn away.

Aerith hurtles forward; not pushed, but pulled. She's dragged suddenly and unexpectedly out of herself into a black abyss. It's like her mind has been separated from her body. She can't feel her fingers or toes or force her eyes open; all the weight flesh and blood adds to her image of herself has been left behind somewhere.

What is she? Face and body and skin.

Heart and soul.

Memories.

All lost in this dark place where shadows come to die.

What is she? She is her emotions. She is hope. She is trust. She is happiness. She is anger.

She is fear.

She is _afraid_ – of this place, of what lurks here, of what she's left behind with her body. She _glows_ with fear; effervesces with the certainty that somewhere, something lies in wait that spells danger for her and her own. She has no eyes, but it's as if she can see a figure rise in the distance and come towards her, hands outstretched. She knows that figure. Some part of her that used to cry and snuggle in blankets next to a soothing heartbeat recognises it – even though it's impossible because she never before laid eyes on him. Yet she still knows him in her gut, something whispering to her: _danger, danger, danger. _The one who came with his needles and scalpels and experiments, and she's so filled with someone else's memories crowding her mind that their fear becomes her own. She's so _afraid _–

Green light bursts around them. Tendrils of emerald, lime and jade wrap around her, pulling her back. A sense of safety suffuses her, like warm arms and hot cocoa on a snowy day. Memories rise in her mind: rocking in a cart next to a familiar body; holding a cold, ungloved hand; laughing and running and skipping; digging in soil to plant things; hugging her mother; shouting for Zack and Cloud to _get down_ from that apple tree before they're spotted …

"_My little girl_."

Who's that?

"_You have a good life. I'm so happy for you."_

Who's there?

"_Don't fear the dreams, my precious. They're part of your birthright. They connect you to all those who came before you. Use what they tell you. Learn what you can. Grow like your flowers."_

What … is this strange feeling? Why can she sense another presence – one that's both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time? It pushes back the dark figure, sending it hissing back into the shadows like a cat sprayed with cold water.

"_Be careful. Danger is coming. You must be ready. Use what the dreams tell you. Use your powers. Use both to protect those you care about."_

Could it …?

"_There' no time to tell you everything you need to know. The doors between worlds are opening. Listen for the King. He'll call for heroes. Beware the darkness in people's hearts. Hearts will be the key to everything."_

Could it be…?

"_The key, Aerith. Look out for the key…"_

"Mother?"

Aerith falls back into her own head and opens her eyes to see her mom gazing down at her.

"Aerith!" Elmyra cries, hugging her tight. "I was so _worried_. When Zack and Cloud brought you home, and Cloud had blood on his face and shirt, I thought … oh, but you're all right. It's okay. You're all right. You don't have to cry. I know it was scary, but we'll get through this. I'll help you learn about your healing. I may not know any magic but … oh, don't worry, Aerith, it'll all be okay."

But Aerith can't get past the empty feeling in her chest, the rapidly fading glimmer of her dream, or the foreboding sense that okay is the _last_ thing everything is going to be.

_The key, Aerith. Look out for the key…_

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_See this scar?" She lifts her leg to show off a thin white line running across her shin. "I got that from a Grindylow. It hid in Master Zangan's fishpond and when I was practising my meditation it jumped me."_

-- A Grindylow is a mythological creature that originated from folktales in the English county of Yorkshire. Grindylows are a sort of bogeyman used as a ploy to keep children from getting in the cold water in the area. They were supposed to grab little children with their long arms and fingers and devour them if they came close to the edge of pools, marshes, or ponds.

"_How would you defeat a Vetala? Chudan tsuki!"_

_Zack's punch and voice are strong and true. "Cutting off the head of the inhabited corpse and removing its limbs so it's no more use and the evil spirit has to leave it, sir!"_

-- A Vetala, or Baital, is a vampire-like creature from Hindu mythology. They're defined as spirits inhabiting corpses (that no longer decay while inhabited), but which may also leave the body at will. In Hindu folklore, Vetala are evil spirits who haunt cemeteries and take demonic possession of corpses. They can drive people mad, kill children and cause miscarriages. They are hostile spirits of the dead trapped in the twilight zone between life and after-life. Being spirits, unaffected by the laws of space and time, they have an uncanny knowledge about the past, present and future and a deep insight into human nature. Hence, many sorcerers seek to capture them and turn them into slaves.

"_How would you stop a berserk clay golem?"_

-- A Golem is a magically created monster in the Dungeons & Dragons role-playing game, although they're based upon the Golems of Jewish mythology. There are four standard types (from weakest to strongest): Flesh Golems (created from human remains), Clay Golems, Stone Golems and Iron Golems. The creator of a Golem (typically a wizard, cleric or other very powerful wielder of magic) has control over it like a puppeteer. All Golems have a neutral alignment, having not enough mind or heart to be either good or evil, but a clay golem can be possessed by an evil spirit. If this happens it goes berserk and can't be controlled anymore and it attacks the closest living creature. Clay Golems may only be harmed with blunt weapons.

_As he talks he holds out his hand and Grimoire, the Gainsboroughs' ancient chocobo, gently scoops sugar cubes off his palm._

-- The original bearer of the name Grimoire was Grimoire Valentine, Vincent Valentine's father in FFVII (although he wasn't introduced until _Dirge of Cerberus_, where only got a handful of lines and a very short death scene. Poor chap).

_He'd been training Shalua as his assistant after she was mauled by a Sandwalker. _

-- The Sandwalker is a legendary Arabian creature, said to steal camels by night, leaving behind only crab-like tracks. It's generally referred to as being very large, the size of a horse or a car. It is a beast normally with a large, sharp beak and a scorpion-like tail. It also has large, crab-like claws with which it carries away its victims. It buries itself in the sand by day to avoid detection, and comes out at night to feed. Very simply, it is a monstrous, nocturnal scorpion. Also, as a bit of trivia, it's been mooted that the Jawa Sandcrawlers in _Star Wars_ may be based on them due to their similar names, theft, and track-leaving.

_Zack scowls. It's not like they were even friends with Biggs, Wedge or Jessie. _

-- In the original FFVII game these are three minor AVALANCHE members who assist Cloud, Barret, and Tifa. Biggs is a slightly cocky and arrogant fellow who gradually comes to respect Cloud. Wedge, his close friend, is on the contrary very warm-hearted and kind to others, but he easily loses his composure when nervous. Jessie is an explosives and fake IDs technician fascinated with gadgetry and other "flashy stuff". She gives Cloud a lesson on the Midgar rail system and the structure of the city itself. The player is given the option to have Cloud flirt with her a few times. All three characters are eventually killed by Shinra during the destruction of Sector 7.

_Still, news that they were dragged away into the wilderness by Bugganes has hit everyone hard._

-- In Manx mythology, a Buggane was a huge ogre-like creature, native to the Isle of Man. Bugganes were said to be covered in black hair, with claws, tusks and a large red mouth. As they were known to tunnel underground, they might be said to resemble a giant mole, although there are some conflicting accounts that say they were shape-shifters, most often seen in the form of a horse or a cow, but who could also take on the appearance of humans. However, a Buggane in human guise could be spotted because they could never master shape-shifting enough to lose their long teeth, nails and hair.

* * *


	5. First Kisses and a Warrior's Sword

**A/N:** I am now in the very strange position of having double the number of people with this on their Fav List as this fic has reviews. C'mon, people, play fair. I usually hate it when people demand reviews, but I do like a bit of feedback, and I never figured the Kingdom Hearts fandom as a quiet one. Just a line to say you're reading would suffice. Please?

* * *

**4. First Kisses and a Warrior's Sword**

* * *

Zack is fourteen when he gets his first kiss.

To be honest, it's not all that brilliant. He only knows he's on his first girlfriend because she tells him she's his girlfriend. Until that point he thinks she's just some girl from class whose books are too heavy for her skinny little arms.

The books are what start it all. He offers to carry them when he sees some of the cattier girls, the ones Aerith doesn't go near, hide the skinny-armed girl's bag in the school fishpond. She's so grateful it makes Zack feel pretty good, and so he helps her out the next day as well.

"My mom says I can't have a new knapsack until next week," she says apologetically, tucking her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture.

"Don't worry. I'll carry your stuff until then."

They walk home together – she, he, Cloud and Aerith – but the skinny-armed girl never says a word while the others are around. She just keeps her head down, hair falling over her face, and answers in monosyllables whenever she's asked a question. Even Cloud can't coax more from her than that.

"She's hero-worshipping you," Angeal says when Zack tells him. "Be careful."

"Of what? She can barely lift her books. She's not a threat or anything."

Angeal just raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.

Then one day Cloud is kept back at school, and after they drop Aerith off at the flower shop, Zack and the girl keep on walking to her house. Cloud would usually be with them, and would walk home with Zack after the other girl goes to her own house. With Cloud's absence the girl chatters nervously about how grateful she is and how nice Zack is for doing this. She compliments his strength and the muscles in his arms. Pleased, he tells her they're from training, and she says she knows because she's watched him doing all those fantastic kicks and punches with the scary man with black hair.

"Angeal's not scary, he's my uncle." Zack is too busy defending Angeal to consider how she managed to see him in his own back garden, or why she's so chatty today when usually she's so silent.

As he says goodbye to her at her door she suddenly grabs his hand and uses her skinny arms to pull him towards her with surprising force. Before he knows what's going on, she has a hand on the back of his neck and her mouth on his.

"Mrrf!"

She pulls back. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Kissing you."

Something must have gone walkabout in Zack's brain at the feel of someone else's spit on his tongue, because he can only ask, "Why?"

She frowns at him. "Because that's what boyfriends and girlfriends do, stupid." It's the first time she's ever spoken to him with anything less than admiration or embarrassment.

"You're my girlfriend?" Zack is not so quick on the uptake.

"Of course." And she pulls him in for another smackeroo.

It's sloppy, and she keeps trying to put her tongue in his mouth, which Zack finds vaguely disgusting –and choking. He knows kissing is supposed to be an enjoyable experience, but he's never really given it much thought. In his head, he has always pigeonholed stuff like kissing and holding hands on long sunset walks as something girls want to do and guys sometimes go along with, like folding sheets, flower arranging and shopping. He doesn't find any of those things fun, not like training. Training is what Zack most enjoys, and since he _knows_ that, it's what he'd rather do.

Still, the skinny girl is _very_ insistent. Hands that couldn't lift her stupid books before now hold him in place like stakes through his feet, attaching him to the floor.

He struggles instinctively as her tongue depresses the very back of his, automatically triggering his gag reflex. He coughs and makes strange noises into her mouth. He doesn't mean it as an insult, but she snaps her head back, staring at him like he's slapped her. Then she bursts into tears and slams the door in his face.

The next day he finds out she's broken up with him. She doesn't tell him, but Aerith sits next to him on their bench at lunchtime and says it's all over the grapevine that he viciously used the girl for physical pleasure and then broke her heart, casting her aside with all the warmth of a used teabag.

"Girls," he declares to Angeal over dinner, "are so weird. They're so weird that weird doesn't even cover it. There needs to be a new word just for that special type of weirdness that makes teenage girls so … _weird_."

"Aerith's a girl," Angeal points out.

"Yeah, and she can be weird too, but she's less weird than all the other girls in school."

"Why do I get the feeling this isn't just about the one with the heavy books?"

"It is. And it isn't. It's … weird."

"So explain it to me."

Zack turns confused eyes on his uncle. "I can't understand how girls' minds work. Ever since the other girls found out I supposedly broke her heart, and she started spreading rumours of how I'm some complete bast-… uh …" He remembers in the nick of time who he's talking to. "A complete…"

"Mongrel?" Angeal provides.

"Yeah. Ever since they all heard I'm so horrible, they all keep trying to corner me in the corridor to kiss me!"

"_All_ of them?"

"Well most of them. A lot of them. A _lot_."

"Have you kissed any back?"

"Are you kidding? Kissing's way grosser than I thought it would be. It's all drool and doing revolting things with tongues. The way some of the guys at school talk about it, you'd think it'd be so much cooler than all that … bodily fluid." He pulls a face that makes Angeal laugh. "What? _What? _Yeesh, Angeal, you're as weird as those girls!"

"Sorry, Zack, but the way you talk …" He chuckles into his fist. "Someday you might find you like things to do with 'bodily fluid'."

"_Excuse me_? Angeal, that might be the grossest thing I've ever heard in my _life_. And that includes your story about the imp guts and the spaghetti when you were on duty to supervise the cadets' cooking on field manoeuvres!"

Angeal pulls his own face at the memory. "Never mind. I guess the school hasn't taught that class yet. So how is Aerith reacting to all these girls kissing you?"

"She hid me in the broom closet while Cloud told them I was in the sick bay with the nurse."

And for some reason that makes Angeal laugh even harder.

* * *

The attack comes on a school day. Everyone is filing in through the main doors, as they do every morning – girls calling to their friends, boy kicking rocks and cans and whatever else they can find to bounce on the sides of their shoes. It's a regular day just like any other; until the sky erupts in a flurry of shrieks and leathery wings. Suddenly everyone scatters like ants from a kicked-in nest, looking up at the sky and screaming.

Zack, at the back of the line filing in through the main doors, immediately drops into a roll that takes him behind a memorial bench and watches the bat-like creatures drop out of the sky. They have long ears, even longer teeth, and eyes the colour of freshly spilled blood, which they use to scan the playground like they're searching for something.

"Monsters!" kids scream, running for cover, bumping into each other and totally forgetting what they've been told to do if a monster ever makes it past the wall. An aerial attack is completely beyond their ability to cope. "Monster attack! Monsters have come over the wall."

_Well, duh_, flits through Zack's mind. _They have __**wings**__._

The bat-monsters screech to each other. Zack reaches for the practise sword on his back. Headmaster Deusericusprotested when he first tried wearing it to school. Zack permits himself a grim smirk that he's been vindicated. Maybe it won't hold against these things, but it's better than empty hands, and he's nothing if not resourceful.

Strangely, he isn't intimidated by the idea of facing real monsters. His rigorous training has left him confident in him own abilities. He's _afraid_, but fear is a good thing. Fear keeps you sharp, hones your senses and stops your actions from getting lazy. Fear in battle makes you respect your opponent and keeps you alive, though he was surprised to hear Angeal say that the first time. Zack always imagined Angeal as a fearless warrior on the battlefield, backlit by a red sunset and with sword gleaming. Not that he's ever seen Angeal wield anything but a wooden practise sword and an old broadsword bought from a nomadic weapon-monger, which doesn't gleam so much as look sidelong at light and begrudgingly reflect it, but the image is a strong one in Zack's mind.

There are three bat-monsters. Zack is calculating which group he should head to defend – the crying girls or the cowering boys; who, actually, look a lot like the boys who beat up Cloud last month – when one of the creatures folds its wings. It shoots into the crowd, disappears for a moment, and then swoops upwards clutching a struggling figure in its claws.

"No!" Zack is already on the move, leaving the shield of the bench without a real plan before he can stop himself. "Aerith!"

She screams. So do the bat-monsters, and somewhere in their cacophony Zack thinks he can hear _words­ – _or at least he has a memory of what's been said without having to register the sounds first.

"Ancientancientancientancient…"

"Aerith!" Zack calls desperately.

"Zack! Cloud!"

And suddenly there i_s_ Cloud, running away from the safety of the school building towards him.

Zack's mind clicks and whirrs. "Cloud, give me a leg up like at the orchards!"

It's been a long time since they went scrumping for apples, but Cloud remembers. He links his fingers together, palms up, still running towards Zack. Zack keeps up his momentum too, lifting his leg mid-stride to angle his foot into Cloud's hands. Cloud wrenches his arms as Zack kicks off from the ground. It's nowhere near as powerful as it needs to be, but their combined force is enough to get Zack into the air. He doesn't sail, doesn't fly, but lurches after the bat-creature like a drunken kestrel chasing an eagle.

Aerith is weighing the monster down. It hasn't pierced her with its claws, but they're wrapped tightly around her like fists. Zack cannons into the creature's underbelly, grabbing ineffectually at handfuls of smelly fur and slashing at it. The blunt training sword can't cut or stab, at least not like this, but it does deaden one leg. The bat-monster squeals in pain and loosens its grip enough for Aerith to slip free. Zack grabs for her wrist, but then they're falling, the ground rushing up to meet them with alarming speed.

_Oh, crap!_

Zack didn't think this far ahead.

"Kiiii-yaaaa!"

Someone leaps from the drainpipe running up the school building. It's a good jump, pushed off against the wall, and sends the person flying through the air much more gracefully than Zack. The person lands on one of the bat-creatures, which screeches when one hand reaches around to angle its nose and the other pushes against the base of its skull. Impossibly, it swoops in a downward arc and both Aerith and Zack thump safely onto its wide back.

"Hey." Tifa doesn't look around, fingers jammed into pressure points along the monster's spine and knees gripping tightly either side of its ribcage to stop herself falling off. "Need a lift?"

Zack scrabbles to hold on, extra difficult because he refuses to let go of Aerith. "What are you-?"

"Doing? Not quite sure myself. Are you two okay?"

"We're fine," Aerith yelps over the _whoomp-whoomp_ of leathery wings. "Thanks."

"You're wel-cooooooooooome!" Tifa's words turn into a yell as the monster bucks and thrashes. It shrieks at its two companions. Zack thinks it might be asking for help until they lunge like it's an enemy, their claws outstretched. "Hang on!" Tifa jabs and kicks and somehow the one they're riding performs a series of turns that take them out of the firing line but further into the air, away from the school. "Looks like we're going for a ride."

Zack can see Cloud sprinting after them, but the creature banks left and he's lost from view.

They're dive-bombed again. Zack brandishes his sword one-handed. It clatters against claws and the tip is sheared off, leaving him staring at the ragged edge. This sword, unlike others he's practised with, is made from tigerwood – the hardest, most durable wood in the world. Angeal had to haggle a lot to get some from a merchant, and it was extra expensive because it's so difficult to come by.

_Oh, __**crap**__!_

Their bat-monster squawks, as eager to get away from the others as they are. Zack smells blood and sees his left boot is covered from a gash in the creature's side.

"Ancieeeeeeeeent!"

The guttural, inhuman cry heralds another dive-bomb attack. This one makes Aerith shriek, as a long claw catches her shoulder. The other two monsters are trying to pull her off and squawking at each other like a pair of crows fighting over a titbit. One wing-tip catches in her hair and she screams as a chunk is torn out.

Zack rams his practise sword upwards with such force that the end punches right through the attacking monster's foot. It releases Aerith, falls back and wrenches the hilt from his grasp. Now they're weaponless as well as airborne.

"We need to get to the ground," he calls to Tifa. He can fight better on the ground. Up here there's no cover and nothing he can use to their advantage except dumb luck. They're sitting ducks. Worse than sitting ducks, even, because the wings they're using belong to something just as dangerous as the things attacking them.

"Trying!" Tifa yells back. "Yaaaah!" She seems to like making noises as she throws herself about. Her brown eyes flash readily, as if some part of her is _enjoying_ the adrenaline rush, and Zack suddenly understands why Cloud felt so intimidated about approaching her. "Master Zangan, don't fail me now – whoa!"

The other uninjured bat-creature has come up below them and performs a mid-air barrel-roll with claws extended, which opens the belly of the one they're riding. It gurgles a last scream before plummeting from the sky, streaming red like a pennant.

"Brace yourselves!" Tifa shouts, fear in her voice for the first time. "We're gong to hit-" The rest of her words are cut off as they catch against a chimney, sending them spinning.

Their monster hurtles forward on its front, sliding wetly down a rooftop that is thankfully not thatch like so many houses in Hollow Bastion. Things jerk and tear off, rolling and slithering behind them. Zack doesn't want to think about what they are. Their speed is reduced, but they still thunder over the edge of the roof and into empty air.

"Lean back!" Tifa shouts.

Zack twists at the waist, spine screaming, to instinctively curl around Aerith and protect her from the worst of the impact. He can feel Tifa's spine pressing against him. She uses their combined weight as a fulcrum to put the dead bat-monster between them and the wall of the next house. It works, but the collision still reverberates through them all from top to bottom. Zack's teeth clack together, nearly biting off the tip of his tongue.

"Lean forward!"

There's not enough warning this time. They land on the creature's side. Tifa yelps in pain, but Zack and Aerith are thrown clear. They roll to a stop in a pile of hay, whinnying and squawking filling their ears. They've landed near the tavern stables.

Zack is on his feet in an instant, aware that the other two bat-monsters are still up there and must've seen where they fell. Maybe they were just looking for an easy meal, like the Bugganes when they found Biggs, Wedge and Jessie in their tree house, but something inside Zack tells him this isn't true. The attack was too determined, too focussed on Aerith to the exclusion of all others. Why did the other two monsters attack one of their own instead of settling for easier prey? Why did they keep chanting 'ancient' when they found Aerith, when their mouth clearly weren't meant for human words?

Tifa groans. She's still half-on the dead monster, attempting to extract her leg from where the thing fell on it. Zack feels a breeze and realises Aerith has got up and gone to her.

"Is it broken?"

Tifa grimaces. "I think … yeah, I think so. My ankle …" She puffs out her cheeks and shakes her head. "You two need to go on without me. Someone must've heard us land. Find an adult. Find someone with weapons who can fight those things."

Zack comes over. The horses and chocobos are kicking up a fuss. He soon realises why. The smell of gore is overpowering. Something resembling sticky pink sausages oozes out of the dead monster, steaming slightly in the cool air between the tavern and the houses around it. Zack's stomach lurches. Is this what Angeal had to deal with when he was a soldier? Is that why he always frowned when Zack talked about joining the military? The creature's eyes are wide in death, staring vacantly at the sky as though searching for its companions. Zack looks away, swallowing bile, and kneels next to Tifa and Aerith.

Aerith's shoulder is bleeding. She looks washed-out and pale, but Tifa is worse. Her face is a grey of thin gruel and, though she's trying to hide it, her expression is lined with pain. Zack immediately grabs the dead monster. Bracing both hands and grunting with effort, he lifts it up enough for her to pull her damaged leg out. Her ankle is obviously swelling inside her sock.

"We have to get her inside," Zack starts, but a soft green-gold glow has appeared above Tifa's head.

Tifa is astonished when Aerith lays her hands against her ankle and the glow descends, swirling around the injury before dissolving in a fizz of pretty sparkles. When the last glint has vanished Aerith braces her hands on her own thighs, panting, her forehead shiny with perspiration.

"Aerith!" Zack gingerly holds her shoulders.

"I'm … okay. I'm n-not going to pass out this time." She tries to get to her feet, but her legs have turned to jelly. She wobbles so much that Zack leaps up to let her fall against him.

He loops one of Aerith's arms around his shoulder, conscious that her own cut is still bleeding. He looks down at Tifa. "Can you stand?"

Tifa stares at her ankle. When she meets Zack's eyes her gaze is full of wonder and not a little awe, but no fear. Though they've never talked before, Zack decides in that instant that he likes her.

"I'm … fine. Did she just-?" A screech sounds overhead. "Never mind."

A door opens nearby and a man comes out. His clothes are stained with manure and there's a piece of straw clamped between his teeth. "Hey, what're you kids-?" His eyes widen at the dead bat-monster and similar shapes circling lower in the sky above them. "Steel claws and chocobo teeth!" He dives back inside and slams the door shut behind him.

So much for getting help from adults.

"Run!" Zack is already on the move, pelting down the alley. When he reaches the mouth of it he recognises the buildings beyond and realises where they are. "This way!"

"Where are we-" Tifa starts.

"My house."

"But Angeal's not there," Aerith protests. "He's out patrolling with Mr. Swain's sons by Dark Forest because of the reports about a Vetala spotted out there."

"I know that." Still, something draws Zack on. Not the promise of another wooden sword – if a tigerwood one couldn't stand up to those things then the others at home would be useless – but … something. It's an indefinable something he can't put into words. He doesn't think he's after any of the other weapons Angeal keeps, either, though a bow and some arrows might be a good idea.

_No, not a bow …_

His hands feel empty and he suddenly knows, with unerring accuracy, that there is something in that house with which to fill them.

They hear the _whoomp-whoomp_ of wings before they see the bat-monsters. Gods, they're tenacious. Zack feels more than ever that this is no random attack.

"That one!" he says, indicating his house.

Tifa vaults the wall, graceful as a gazelle, and has punched off the front door lock before he can stop her. "No time for keys," she explains, kicking it open. Her knuckles are bloody but she doesn't even acknowledge the new wound.

A shadow falls across them while they're still outside. Zack thrusts Aerith forward, away from him and the descending monster. She tumbles through the door as it rakes its claws across his shoulder-blades. Pain burns through him. The bat-creature, deprived of its prey, banks upwards, skimming the front of his house so close he swears it leaves fur on the eaves.

There are people in the street, drawn by the noise. They shout and some run back inside – for their own weapons or to escape being mauled, Zack doesn't know. He's totally focussed on not throwing up or passing out as he follows the girls inside, shoving down the pain branching across his back and hoping against hope that he can still raise a sword.

A sword. The thought slots into place in his mind like the final piece of a puzzle he didn't even know he was solving. Yes, that's what he needs.

Trance-like, he staggers through the house, slamming open door after door and ignoring Aerith and Tifa's cries for him to stop. He's aware of something warm sliding down his arms and back, but it's as though his body is moving on its own. He _knows_, with irrefutable certainty, that what he wants – what he _needs _– is here.

"Zack, what are you doing?" Aerith asks as he shoves aside the heavy oak dining table, pulls back the carpet that was a gift from the mayor's wife and reveals a trapdoor even he's never seen before. "Zack?"

"I'm keeping my promise," he mutters, opening the door without hesitation and skittering down the steps. "I'm protecting you. That's my mission. That's what heroes do. They keep those they care about safe. And I'm your hero, remember?"

"Don't be so – Zack! Come back!"

Zack's breath catches in his throat, Aerith's voice fading out of his reality.

It stares at him from the wall: the biggest sword he's ever seen. Its metal gleams in the poor illumination from the hatchway, not grey but complex different shades of silver that prism light like a crystal. He's never seen anything like it before. He's never _felt_ anything like it before, because he's not just seeing it, he's sensing the power in that sword as it surveys him like a thoroughbred stallion inspecting a new rider. Every one of his senses feels alive to it, almost like it's been _waiting_ for him.

This is no ordinary sword. That's clear in an instant.

"Zack?" Aerith is on the stairs behind him.

Zack lifts it down. He shouldn't be able to pick it up, much less wield it. It's a big as he is and weighs more than any of his practise swords, the blade ridiculously large compared to the hilt. Yet it feels light as a feather in his hands and the hilt doesn't snap or buckle as logic demands it should. It's like … magic.

The power he sensed has recognised and accepted him. He feels it swirling in the hidden cellar, probing into what he wants to use it for and deeming it worthy. Zack suddenly feels very … complete.

Which is when the roof of the house explodes.

Both Aerith and Tifa scream and cover their heads. Zack grips his new sword and runs past them up the stairs. "Stay here," he growls. "The cellar's made of stone."

"Zack-"

But he's already out, facing the splintering wood as the two bat-monsters claw their way through from the upstairs bedroom – his bedroom, though he doesn't know that at this moment. Actually, only one of them claws its way through – the other is forcing its wide shoulders through the front door, hobbling forward on blood-spattered feet and dragging itself by its wing-hooks in an ungainly way. These things are meant for flight, not life on the ground. They're still dangerous though. Zack remembers the slash across his back as if it happened to someone else and sees again the blank eyes of the dead monster.

Afterwards he can't explain what happened. He remembers a rush as he jumps into the fray, the heft and weight of the huge sword in his hands and a noise like biting into a crisp apple. When Angeal arrives, closely followed by other brave townsfolk, they find him covered from head to foot in blood and standing in the middle of a sea of violence.

Nobody can quite believe a fourteen-year-old boy could kill two grown monsters on his own, but Aerith and Tifa confirm it, and Zack hasn't escaped without injuries that tell their own tale. Not all the blood on him belongs to the bats.

Zack, for his part, simply stares at Angeal and grasps the sword tighter, like a small child who thinks a bigger kid is going to steal its favourite toy.

Angeal looks between his nephew and the blade, his expression unreadable.

"I kept … my promise …" Then Zack's eyes roll up into his head and he falls back in a dead faint.

* * *

Tifa doesn't tell anyone about Aerith healing her. She doesn't even mention it, pretending as though it never happened. Sometimes she catches the eye of one of the three friends and there's a glint of something there, some excitement at being part of their secret.

She doesn't need to be told why they haven't broadcast Aerith's abilities. Her mother and father are still two of the most superstitious people in the whole town. When Doned Radiuju was suddenly and inexplicably paralysed they saw it as his punishment for him killing his mother in childbirth and tried to stop Doctor Rui investigating his condition in case his 'bad luck' spread to her as well. When one of the chocobo breeder's prize hens produced a red chick that breathed fire they called for it to be slaughtered because it 'wasn't natural'. Yet they happily accept antibiotics and surgery on internal organs, which might as well be magic for all they understand them, and which everyone accepts are not natural either. Tifa can't explain how they reconcile their disparate beliefs, but she understands that they aren't alone in their way of thinking and what this might mean for Aerith, even if she doesn't know the full story of her birth.

Angeal and Zack's house is devastated. Bizarrely, the staircase Angeal spent so long carving escapes without so much as a bloodstain. They move into rooms at the tavern, free of charge because the owner, like everyone in town, has heard of Zack's victory and admires Angeal's own efforts to keep everyone safe. Nobody has ever put so much thought and effort into defending Hollow Bastion before. Having them stay is like a badge of honour, and the offer increases Angeal's reputation a little more when he insists on paying his way by fixing the leaky roof and cleaning up the dead monster outside the stables.

Before that, however, Zack is taken to Doctor Rui's to have his wounds tended. Miraculously, they're mostly shallow slashes and will heal easily, though he comes away from the experience with a small criss-cross scar on his left cheek. Aerith is taken there as well. She's released after Shelke does some quick patching on her shoulder. She wants to see Zack, but Angeal is speaking to him and Elmyra takes her home. Cloud waits outside, hopping from foot to foot, worried about his friends and ecstatic that they're both all right.

Inside, Zack sits on a simple cot, stroking the bandages across his knuckles. Aerith can't heal him because there were too many witnesses to the extent of his injuries, so he knows he'll bear the marks of this experience for the rest of his life. His first battle. It should be great – he should _feel_ great, but he doesn't.

Angeal doesn't lean against the wall, but stands with feet apart, a solid stance to match his folded arms. His expression remains neutral. When he speaks it's in a calm tone.

"You found the Buster Sword."

"Is that what it's called?"

"Yes."

Silence.

Zack was still holding onto the hilt when Angeal carried him here. It took a lot of effort to prise his fingers open, and when he awoke the first thing he wanted to know after asking about his friends was where it had gone.

"That was my sword a long time ago," Angeal says softly.

"It's enchanted, isn't it?" Zack is blunt.

"Something like that. It isn't like ordinary swords."

"I guessed that. It … called to me." He spent a while figuring out how to phrase it without feeling like a dork, but there really is no other way to put it. The sword called and he answered. It's that simple.

Angeal nods. "The Buster Sword can only be used by those with pure souls – those with honour and pride. It judges those who wield it. It may not be able to stop them from what they're doing, but if it judges them and their purpose as worthy it can give them extra strength to fight."

Zack is curious despite himself. "Why don't you use it anymore? It was locked away. I've never even seen it before."

Angeal averts his eyes at this. It's as close to a shudder as he's likely to give. "Too many bad memories. The sword and I … you could say we fell out."

"Fell out?"

"Had a disagreement. It's one of the reasons I left the military."

Zack wets his lips. This is something he's always wanted to ask but never found the right opportunity to.

Angeal has never been secretive about his past, but he's always been a little reticent about details and doesn't volunteer information he's not asked about. Something about the expression in his eyes when the subject comes up makes even _Zack_ back off.

"Why _did_ you leave, Angeal? You were a decorated soldier – you said you were part of the Elite. I know you left before Mom and Dad died because you stayed with us and made that promise to Mom to raise me, so you didn't leave on my account."

Angeal is silent for a moment. "A very dear friend of mine … fell into darkness," he says quietly, each word clipped as though selected and interviewed for suitability before being allowed out of his mouth. "There were three of us. We served together since the beginning and raised ourselves to be the best. We saved each other's lives more than once. They were with me when I found the Buster Sword, and I was with them when they found their own special blades. We were as close as brothers – as close as you are to Cloud and Aerith. Then one of them was fatally injured during the Ogre War. Against the Buster Sword's 'advice', I cut open the demon that had wounded him and gave him her heart to replace his ruined one. It was the worst mistake I could have made. He was reborn, but he was … different. He was no longer the friend I knew."

"So you left?"

"I could no longer continue to fight. I felt I had no honour left and took no pride in what I did anymore. The Ogre War was over and peacetime brought new recruits for me to train. My shame was like a sickness inside me. I felt I couldn't teach them to be soldiers like me. Boys enter the military for two things – money and glory. Both are maximised by becoming part of the Elite, and every new recruit I met saw me as what they wanted to become. But when I looked back into _their_ eyes I could only see my friend and what my mistake had done to him. The Buster Sword is a very special weapon, but it's not above 'I told you so'. I had money saved – a lot of it, as it happened. I felt I had no reason to stay. My guilt drove me to my sister, her husband," Angeal looks up, "and you. When they died I found a new purpose in you, Zack. You could say that you saved my life."

Zack's mouth drops open. "Me?"

"Yes. I miss my sister – your mother. I miss both her and her husband every day, but sometimes I think the only thing I ever did right with my life is raising you. You gave me purpose. You needed me in a way those new recruits didn't, and when you looked at me you didn't see just an Elite soldier. I didn't want to train you to be a warrior. I could only see heartache down that path – both yours and mine – but you fight from a desire to protect what's dear to you, not to advance up the ranks and increase your paycheque, or to prove your importance to an officer. You have a pure heart, Zack, and now the Buster Sword has decided to agree with me on that."

Zack looks at the sword across his lap. It's still light to him, though when Shelke tried to pick it up she nearly broke her arm. He strokes the smooth metal, fingers dipping into the oddly placed circles and grooves. There are patterns in the metal, like some strange language he doesn't know. In the back of his mind he can _feel_ its presence burbling happily at his touch like a cat begging to be stroked. He knows he should be completely freaked out by that, but it feels too _right_ to be freaky, like he's been waiting his whole life to hold it and now never wants to let it go. The fact that it was once Angeal's just makes it extra special.

"I'll make sure I'm worthy of your sword," Zack says softy. "I promise. I'll make you proud, Angeal."

But Angeal shakes his head. "You already have."

* * *

Time passes, as time is apt to do. Seasons change; days grow longer, then shorter, and then longer again. People help rebuild what was broken and everybody grows like the flowers whose numbers dwindle more and more. Dark Forest shrinks, trees sickening as bare rock spreads like a disease around the walled town, though few people journey outside to see it. The wasteland is expanding right up to their door and they ignore it like they ignore the castle.

Nobody understands why Aerith was targeted so determinedly by the bat-monsters, though privately those who know about her abilities wonder about the truth of the theory that monsters are attracted to sources of magic like wasps to sugar.

Zack continues to train. He and the Buster Sword develop a rhythm that defies description. Sometimes Aerith and Cloud feel twinges of jealousy, until they remember it's a _sword_, not a person. They might as well feel jealous of Grimoire when he nuzzles Cloud, or of the ailing flowers Aerith tends in the shop. For Zack's fifteenth birthday they get him a giant scabbard, only to find the measurements are wrong. Aerith thinks maybe the sword increased its size so it doesn't have to wear it, but Zack thanks them anyway and continues to wear the blade strapped across his back in a harness Angeal produced from a trunk in the hidden cellar. The straps are never severed when he withdraws or replaces it, though its edge is sharper than any other sword. After a while they can't remember what he looked like without it.

Aerith frets about why the bat-monsters chased her. For a while she refuses to use her powers even to practise her skills and decides to learn more about her healing, until one night she dreams in shades of green and wakes, shamefaced at her refusal to learn about skills that could be so helpful to others, as they were to Tifa when she was injured.

Aerith practises in secret. Her mother helps her, though she's wary at first, but somehow everything flows naturally and Aerith becomes more comfortable with her abilities. She doesn't stretch herself too far, in case something happens that nobody knows how to fix, but takes comfort in nonsensical dreams of green energy and warm arms. She doesn't hear her mother's voice again, but mornings after Green Dreams she seems to _know_, inexplicably, where to take her powers next, as though guided by past generations' trial-and-error experiences. Eventually she even learns how to shield her abilities, though only enough to stop monsters being able to sense her magic from a distance.

Cloud spends a lot of time at the stables and the chocobo breeder's. At first people are wary of his name, but when they realise what a good rapport he has with their animals they're less opposed to his presence. He can often be found smeared with the evidence of a day spent mucking out stalls, or fetching hay bales, or lugging sticky turquoise nutrient blocks into feeding trays in exchange for riding lessons. Aerith and Zack don't have nearly as much passion for subjects like chocobo tack, horse lice, or medical conditions involving pus and poultices. They throw whatever's handy – pillows, compost, half-eaten sandwiches – when he waxes lyrical about how Boko, the stud rooster, is off his food lately, or how Blue Whisky, the fastest horse in town has thrown a shoe, though they're happy he's found something into which he can pour so much of himself.

Cloud turns fifteen last, a month before Zack's sixteenth birthday. He awakens to find a small bundle cheeping on his bedclothes.

"What-?"

"Surprise!" Zack pops up from behind the end of the bed. "Happy birthday!"

"How-?"

Aerith rises to stand next to him, matching his grin with a smile of her own. "Your mom let us in. You have no idea how difficult it was to keep this idiot," she lightly smacks the back of Zack's head, "quiet so we didn't wake you."

Cloud stares at the yellow ball of fluff. "Is this-?"

"Your very own chocobo chick." Zack's grin can't _possibly_ get any wider. Can it? "Now you can solve the question that's been plaguing mankind for years: which is fluffier, your head or a chicobo's ass?" Yes, in point of fact, Zack's grin _can_ get wider. It doesn't even dim when Aerith smacks him again – still lightly, and grinning herself.

Cloud picks up the chick. It blinks at him, trembling. Very gently, he strokes the tip of one finger over the top of its head and down its back, smoothing the downy baby feathers. He does this several times, making crooning noises in the back of his throat until its stops shaking, tucks its head back and closes its eyes.

"Wow," Zack breathes. "How'd you do that?"

"What are you going to call it?" Aerith asks.

Cloud ponders this for a moment. "Cheepy."

"Cheepy?" Zack exclaims. He sees Aerith's hand coming, ducks and whispers, "_Cheepy_?"

"It's a good name," Aerith replies.

"But talk about unoriginal."

"Well I think it's cute." She looks at the chick, sleeping happily in Cloud's hands. "Yeah, cute."

Cloud smiles. "Thanks, guys."

At that moment the newly-named Cheepy, suitably relaxed, releases muscles it has kept tensed up while clumsily transported from the chocobo breeder on the other side of town.

Zack sniggers. "I think Poopy would've been more accurate."

* * *

"Cheepy, come back!"

"Man, how fast can that little guy _run_?" Zack puffs.

Cloud keeps pace beside him. "He's a chocobo, they're bred for running."

"He's a _baby_. His legs are shorter than my fingers!"

They careen around a corner and come to a skidding halt. Ahead of them Cheepy hops and scrabbles over a chunk of wall that's come loose and tumbled away from the main part, revealing something colourful and snakelike beneath. For a heart-stopping second Zack thinks it's a monster and he'll have to fight it, but the Buster Sword doesn't react.

Cheepy pecks at a strand but it doesn't break. The surface is waxy and red, like thick, fibrous hair. It seems like the outer casing of this part of the wall was just that – casing designed to conceal whatever is underneath.

"What _is_ it?"

Zack pokes hesitantly with the end of his sword. The tip slices straight through one, causing a spray of sparks and a burst of staticky crackling. Both boys leap backwards. Zack moves in front of Cloud, Buster Sword readied, but nothing further happens.

Something tugs at the fringes of Zack's mind. His eyes slide left, then right, and he has to shake his head and readjust his grip to keep focussing on the broken wall.

Cheepy, finding nothing worth eating, hops off and peeps over to Cloud like he never tried to run away in the first place. Like all young things Cheepy is inquisitive and not fully appreciative of danger beyond immediate threats. He cowers at feather-dusters, boots without feet in them, slamming doors and nearly had a heart attack the first time he heard a toilet flush after following Cloud into the bathroom. Conversely, strange wires living in supposedly solid walls don't faze him at all. He settles on Cloud's feet and draws his head into his chest for a sleep. He's tired himself out and makes only tiny noises when Cloud scoops him into his pocket.

"C'mon, Zack."

"But-" Zack shakes his head again, momentarily hazy, as though he's inhaled a powerful smell that blots out everything except the need to cover his nose.

In the back of his mind the Buster Sword comes alive, apprehensive of something that circles his brain and _turns _it, like a horse trying to avoid having its blinkers put on. He narrows his eyes at the red wires … no, not wires, just a bit of broken wall. The wall is always crumbling. It's old and needs repairs. Zack makes a mental note to tell Angeal about this bit, so he can organise someone to mend bit as soon as possible.

The Buster Sword's presence inside him flares, but Zack pushes it away and replaces the sword on his back, unsure why he even has it out. There's no danger here, just stone and the view across the wasteland. He looks out at Barren Region, wrinkling his nose, and then turns away to follow Cloud.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_They throw whatever's handy – pillows, compost, half-eaten sandwiches – when he waxes lyrical about how Boko, the stud rooster, is off his food lately, _

-- (Taken from Wikipedia) A chocobo named Boko appears in several installments of the Final Fantasy series. Boko appears in Final Fantasy V as Bartz Klauser's mount. Boko also appears in Final Fantasy Tactics as a chocobo owned by Wiegraf Folles, which is later encountered lost in a forest and can be saved and recruited by the protagonist Ramza Beoulve. A chicobo (young chocobo) named Boko appears in Final Fantasy VIII and can be obtained by Squall Leonhart; this chicobo possesses its own minigame. Boko also appears in Final Fantasy VII as a chocobo in races. A chocobo named Bobby Corwen appears in Final Fantasy IX in the Black Mage Village; his initials in Japanese katakana characters form "Boko". In Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, a pilot in the Shera airship mentions that she is raising a chocobo named Boko. A chocobo by the name of Boko follows the protagonists of the Final Fantasy: Unlimited anime series.

_Blue Whisky, the fastest horse in town has thrown a shoe_

-- Side-fling to Red Rum, one of the best known and most loved racehorses ever in the UK and Republic of Ireland (Red Rum being 'murder' spelled backwards, which probably says something about our national mindset, actually).


	6. The Legend of Vincent and Lucrecia

**A/N****: **Many thanks to everyone who reviewed. I really do appreciate it. Hopefully you'll all continue to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it – especially since this chapter is where the story really starts to take off.

* * *

**5. The Legend of Vincent and Lucrecia**

* * *

It's a cold and rainy night when things change. Elmyra opens her frantically banging door to see Tifa on the step, hair wild and eyes wilder. She's shivering in her nightclothes, which are slick to her skin with rainwater, but refuses to come in.

"I-It's my mom," Tifa stammers. "I n-need … please, Aerith has to come. Please, she's got to come with me. My mom, she's … I think she's dying."

Elmyra freezes in place at this news.

"Mom?" Aerith balances with her feet on two steps of the staircase behind her. "_Tifa_?"

"Aerith." There are tears running down Tifa's cheeks, visible even against the rain. "Aerith, _please _…"

And Aerith can't refuse her. Even if it means people knowing about her magic, she can't let Tifa's mother die without trying to save her. She doesn't even go back upstairs to change, instead grabbing a cloak from the back of the door and running out into the night with her friend.

"Aerith!" Elmyra calls after them. "_Aerith_!"

"What's the matter with her?" Aerith asks as they run. She stumbles and Tifa helps her up, all but bullying her along the dark streets.

"She's been sick since last week. She started coughing up all this yellow muck, and shaking a lot, a-and she has a headache, like, _all_ the time. She went to bed and couldn't get up because her legs couldn't take her weight. She hasn't eaten for days but she keeps throwing up anyway, and now her skin's turned kind of _blue_ and she can't _breathe_…"

The seriousness of these symptoms whirl through Aerith like a blast of cigarette smoke the face. "Is she at your house?" She notices they're not headed in the right direction.

"No, she's at Doctor Rui's. Dad took her there, but none of the medicines are helping. I think they left it too late for normal medicine. Sh-she started to cough up … she was coughing up _blood_. That's when I ran to get you."

The lights are on at the doctor's surgery. They rush up to the front door, but it's shut tight against the weather. Tifa beats her fists against it.

"Doctor Rui! Doctor Rui, open up!"

The door opens, but it's not Doctor Rui who looks out. Framed in the doorway is the much smaller form of Shelke, and for once her eyes aren't completely flat. Even silhouetted, her face partly concealed in shadow, Aerith sees the flicker of sadness as her gaze alights on Tifa.

"Miss Lockhart -"

"Please, let us in. I brought help. For my mom. I brought help for my mom." Tifa's voice is agony to hear.

Aerith can see beyond Shelke. She recognises Mr. Lockhart, though his face is creased in anguish and he's scrunched over, holding his wife's hand. She's stretched out on one of the bleakly minimal cots, her face pale blue and her chest eerily still beneath the blanket.

"Miss Lockhart, I'm sorry," Shelke says in her customary level tone. She doesn't sound comforting. It's as though she knows what words to say but not how to say them in order for them to actually mean anything.

Still, they mean enough to Tifa. She backs up a step. "No."

"Miss Lockhart, you must come inside-"

"But I brought help."

If Shelke thinks Aerith is an odd source of help for Tifa to have fetched, she gives no sign of it. "It was too late, Miss Lockhart. You must come in out of the rain -"

"No!" Tifa sinks to her knees. "No … please no…"

"Miss Lockhart, you are not properly attired to be out in this weather-"

"But … my mom … I wasn't here." Tifa's chest heaves. "I wasn't here when she … I … please no …" She starts to sob uncontrollably. "I wasn't _here_! She can't be gone. I didn't even get to say _goodbye_!"

Shelke is at a loss, so it falls to Aerith to crouch beside Tifa and wrap her sodden cloak around them both like it'll do some good. She shushes her, holding her friend close as one might a baby, the pair of them nothing more than a tiny lump of grief and helplessness on the cobbles in the pouring rain.

* * *

The next time the back door of the flower shop opens to someone banging their fist against it, it's Aerith who opens it, and it's Cloud outside. Sunlight barely peeks over the horizon. Cloud is breathing hard, hands braced against his knees. He has run across town before anyone else is awake in order to fetch her.

"Tifa's going to the mountains – alone!"

"What?" For a second Aerith thinks she's misheard, but she hasn't.

"I woke up because Cheepy needed to go out, and I caught her. She made me promise not to tell anyone, but Aerith, she's going to the _mountains_. _Alone_. She has to get down the wall and cross Barren Region to do that, and there are _monsters_ out there."

Aerith is confused, tiredness fuddling her thoughts. When she left Tifa she was at Doctor Rui's with her father, who'd refused to leave his wife's body and had fallen asleep at her side. Yet Cloud has seen Tifa at her house. Aerith's mind isn't yet able make the connection between the two facts. She wipes sleep from her eyes and forces herself to be more alert. "Why the heck does she want to go to the mountains?"

"She thinks her mom's spirit is going to cross though them. You know, like in the legend."

Everyone in these parts knows the old tale of Lucrecia and Vincent. Long enough ago for it to have passed into legend, Lucrecia was a woman who died tragically in this area. After encouraging her devastated lover to go on with his life without her, her soul waited in a cave in the mountains, sealed in a crystal that attached her to the mortal world when the afterlife tried to prise her away before she was ready to go. She waited for her lover to live his life and die so they could go on to the afterlife together because she couldn't face even a scrap of eternity without him, but didn't wish for him to join her in death before his time. The story goes that spirits who leave their bodies have to cross through the mountains, and some wait there if they have unfinished business on the mortal plane.

"Tifa wants to say goodbye to her mom," Cloud supplies, pushing hair from his eyes. He's started doing that a lot more lately: where once he hated his spikes, he's begun running his fingers through them to make them stick up more.

"We have to tell her dad -"

"He's still at Doctor Rui's, and Tifa's already gone! The only reason I saw her go was because Cheepy got away from me and I had to go looking for him in her yard." The high-pitched peeping in his pocket tells Aerith he didn't even have time to go inside and leave the chick behind. "I saw her leaving her house with a full knapsack and a rope. We have to go after her!"

"Us?"

"Yeah, she made me promise not to tell any adults, but we have to bring her back, or at least go with her to make sure she's safe."

"Cloud, we can't -"

"We can't wait. She might already be at the wall by now."

Aerith bites her lip and looks over her shoulder. Elmyra is exhausted from waiting up last night. She collapsed into bed in the small hours after Aerith got home, murmuring about not being as young as she used to be and deep asleep within seconds. Aerith knows she should wake her mother to tell her what's going on, but Cloud's panic is infectious. She's already calculating how far Tifa could've gone in the time it took him to get to the flower shop.

"All right," she says doubtfully. "But we have to fetch Zack first."

"But he'll want to tell Angeal, and _he'll_ want to bring Tifa back before she can say goodbye to her mom -"

"Cloud, there are _monsters_ out there. She _should_ come back."

"But -" Cloud looks imploringly at her. "Wouldn't you want to say goodbye if it was _your_ mom?"

Warm arms and green energy. A soft voice and someone holding back the darkness so it can't get her. These things glimmer into Aerith's mind even as she's thinking about Elmyra arranging flowers and hugging her so tight when she thought her little girl was hurt. Tifa's tearstained face also makes an appearance, so different than the happy I-can-break-your-arm-in-three-different-ways-using-just-my-pinkie-but-I-also-like-reading-sappy-romance-novels smile she usually wears.

"We fetch Zack," Aerith says firmly. "You can climb up to his window so we don't have to speak to Angeal. He can use the Buster Sword to fight any monsters we might meet."

* * *

"Tifa! Tifaaaa!"

Tifa whirls at the sound of someone calling her. "_Cloud_?"

The three figures are still far away, but getting closer with every second. Zack runs like a wolf, almost flowing across the ground with his long loping stride. Cloud is just behind him, knees higher like a racehorse or hunting chocobo, and Aerith puffs and pants her way towards Tifa like a human girl with a very red face.

"What are you guys doing out here?" Tifa sounds more shocked than angry. Her eyes are still red from crying. She rubs self-consciously at them. "Cloud, I thought I told you not to tell anyone -"

"We're your escort," Zack interrupts. He isn't even breathing hard. He pats the handle of the Buster Sword and winks at Tifa. "What, you thought we'd leave you to cross the freaking wasteland on your own? Hel-lo, wake up and smell the chocobo poop."

"Cloud told us what you were planning because he was worried," Aerith adds, holding onto Zack's arm for support. "Please, no more running, I think I'm going to pass out."

"We were all worried," Zack concurs. "I thought you were smarter than this, Tifa."

"Don't judge me." Tifa bridles, one foot sliding out as though expecting them to physically restrain her and carry her back to town. Grief and determination make her tone sharp as a dragon's tooth.

"Keep your pants on; we're not here to take you back."

"Then what -?"

"I _said_ we're your escort, remember? You may be one tough cookie, but against a Vetala I prefer my chances with the Buster Sword."

Cheepy pokes his head out of Cloud's pocket, peeping loudly.

"See?" Zack indicates to the chick. "Even he agrees with me."

Tifa glances from one face to another. For a second it looks as though she's going to protest and tell them to get lost, but then her expression collapses in on itself. She looks very, very tired and her brown eyes resonate with the kind of relief reserved for victims pulled out of burning buildings. "Thank you."

* * *

"I wonder what everyone back in town is thinking right now."

"Those-stupid-brats-let's-find-and-fillet-them-for-their-stupid-stupidity?" Zack offers.

Cloud throws a handful of dirt at him. They're sitting on a ledge at the base of the mountains, pondering their miraculous journey across the wasteland between Hollow Bastion and here. Not one monster appeared the whole time, though they ducked and hid and used what meagre cover they found as Zack directed. Since none of them have ever had to cross the wasteland on foot before, they're not sure if this is unusual, but it doesn't match with what they've been told all their lives about this awful place. They're certainly grateful, however, as it's made progress a lot easier.

"We might even be home by nightfall," Zack muses.

"Yeah, just in time to be completely ripped to shreds by…" Aerith glances at Tifa. She was about to say 'our parents' and can't think of a suitable alternative. Grief stains the air like blood in a glass of water. "Um, is there any food left?" Tifa brought a knapsack with lunch for herself, and Zack insisted on bringing provisions because there's no point putting yourself at a disadvantage by collapsing from hunger or dehydration, as he told them.

"Here." Cloud rummages around and passes her a biscuit. "We should probably get going."

"Hmm." Zack makes a noise that could be agreement, or could be thoughtfulness as he scans the horizon. "It's too quiet," he says suddenly, all teasing gone from his voice. "I don't like it. We should've at least seen monster tracks, but there wasn't any evidence of anything bigger than a lizard passing this way for days. And not a bird in the sky, see? It's like …" He fumbles for the words. "It's like they're all afraid of something."

"Monsters? Afraid? Of what?"

"I don't know, but I don't like it. C'mon." Zack gets up, absently touching the Buster Sword hilt as if to reassure himself it's still there. "Let's move. Tifa?" His tone turns gentler. He holds out his hand to the hollow-eyed girl.

She takes it, letting him haul her to her feet. "Guys, I just … I want to say thank you again for coming after me. I thought I could do this on my own, but I … I'm really glad you're here."

"Nobody should have to do something like this alone," Cloud says softly.

Tifa turns a wan smile on him. She looks exhausted, though several times she's overtaken them in her determination to reach the mountains, and hasn't complained once. It's as though she's staving off the full force of her grief by concentrating on this task. "Thanks for not listening to me. I'm glad it was you who spotted me leaving. I never realised what a good friend you are. We've never really talked much before, have we? I'm sorry about that. I wish I'd gotten to know you sooner."

Cloud flushes scarlet to the roots of his hair. "Don't apologise!" he says, waving his hands at her. "You don't have to … not now, I mean … I was just trying to … um, Zack, Aerith, c'mon, time's wasting."

* * *

"There's no way we can cross that." Aerith is firm. "No. Way."

"It's looks _kind_ _of_ safe-"

"Zack! It's so rickety it'll disintegrate the moment we set foot on it. It must've been built when these mountains were just molehills."

"You're exaggerating."

To demonstrate, Aerith places her foot on the first wooden slat. It creaks ominously and, while it doesn't break, wisps of sawdust and lichen come off it in a very disturbing manner if one is thinking of using it to cross a giant ravine with dagger-like stalagmites at the bottom.

"See? It didn't break." Zack ducks. "Kidding, kidding. You're right, it's way too dangerous. We'll have to find another way across."

"There isn't another way across." Tifa nibbles her lip, staring out across the huge expanse between them and the other side as though contemplating whether she could jump it.

"Then we'll have to go around." Zack shrugs. "We'll get there, don't worry, but we're not going to take stupid risks doing it. Well," he corrects himself, rubbing the back of his head, "no more stupid than we already have, anyway. We _did_ go into Barren Region alone, after all."

Tifa turns away from the bridge, not looking at them. "So which way do we go now?" she asks tightly.

"I've never been into the mountains before." Aerith looks at Zack. "Did Angeal ever teach you about the geography of this place?"

"Not really. Just the types of terrain certain monsters inhabit and stuff like that. He wasn't too hot on map-reading beyond the basic skill of how to do it."

"We could probably find another place if we just keep following this way," Aerith mutters, looking down the trail that runs alongside the ravine. "I mean, there's bound to be _something_, right? Or maybe we'll find a way down into the valley and out again, and we can stay on solid ground the whole time."

She examines the far collection of dark peaks, knifing up from the gloom like the ribs of some giant beast that died and rotted here long ago. The air is chilly; though that's only part of the reason she shivers. The further they've climbed, the more she's felt that something is wrong with this place –wrong at bone-level, a feeling as pervasive as it is alarming. Zack's words from earlier resound in her head as the suspicion grows within her that, for all they've seen no monsters anywhere, there is something to fear up here. She's not asleep, but it's like she can hear the voices from her Green Dreams whispering warnings to her.

"Cloud? Cloud, what're you doing? Cloud!"

Zack's shout breaks Aerith from her thoughts. She turns. "Cloud?"

Cloud is out on the bridge. He's not quite halfway across and stepping carefully from slat to slat, picking only those that look safe enough to stand on. Both hands are fastened to the rope handrails. Even from here the tension in his shoulders is obvious, but he keeps going regardless.

"Cloud!" Zack yells. "You idiot! Get back here!"

"I'm testing it to see if it's safe," Cloud calls back. "Look, I'm halfway now and I'm fine. We can cross here after all."

"Cloud, come back!" Aerith wrings her hands, terrified for him. Zack makes as if to follow him but she grabs his arm. "The sword's too heavy. It'll put you right through the slats. They're barely holding Cloud's weight as it is."

"But I have to bring him back," Zack protests. "Cloud, get your ass back on this side of the bridge right _now_! Quit trying to show off."

"I'm not showing off. I'm finding us safe passage."

"Cloud!" Tifa cups her hands around her mouth. "Cloud, please, come back where it's safe. We can find another route, it's okay. I can wait. I don't want you to fall."

Cloud half-turns and gives them a smile. "I'm okay. The bridge is strong enough to take-" A horrible cracking noise fills the air, followed by a wheezy groan. "Uh-oh."

"Cloud!" Aerith shrieks. "Run!"

Too late. One of the handrails snaps in two places in short succession. Cloud grabs the other one with both hands as the slats beneath him pitch sideways, going from horizontal to vertical. His feet slide off, kicking for purchase and finding none. Somehow he manages to hook his boots onto the swaying rope and clings there, immobile, his face a mask of disbelief.

"Cloud." Keeping his voice level, Zack crouches at the very edge of the sheer drop, making Aerith fear for his safety too. "Listen to me, buddy. Look this way, not down, and work your way along the rope towards us. Hand over hand, foot over foot, slow and steady, okay? Don't rush it. Take your time and be careful."

Fleetingly, Cloud stays where he is, shock robbing him of speech and movement. Then, achingly slowly, he begins to work his way back towards them. Aerith wants to shout support, but she doesn't want to distract him and so stays absolutely still, hands still clasped as if in prayer for his safety.

"That's it. You're doing great," Zack encourages, voice calm despite the rigid way his arm is thrust against the ground. "Focus on me, Cloud. Focus. You're going to be fine."

Maybe it's because he says this that fate decides to step in again. They all recognise the noise this time. Fear and panic swirl around them so intently they're like coloured smoke.

"Shit. Cloud, hold on!" Forgoing calm, Zack seizes the handrail and hauls back with all his strength as everything seems to snap at once, leaving the bridge dangling precariously. The whole thing is now supported by only the handrails. They're only thin stretches of rope, and just the left one is attached on the other side of the ravine. Zack tries to keep hold of the rope that used to be attached on their side, but his feet skid as the weight of the whole bridge plus Cloud drags him forward.

Aerith has her arms around Zack's waist in a moment and feels Tifa do the same to her. She can smell the other girl's hair and skin, a damp sweatiness trimmed with the sharpness of panic and mustiness of grief. Tifa's emotions mix with Aerith's as they desperately try to stop Zack from being pulled over the edge as well.

"Yaaah!" Zack grunts as he rope zips through his hands, burning his palms. The end flies out of his grasp, jolting the whole bridge and putting extra pressure on the remaining rope. "No!"

Cloud pitches again, scrabbling for the wooden slats to hold onto. His three friends are flung backwards and untangle themselves to peer over the edge at him. Cloud raises his head, eyes wide, and begins making his way back towards them again. He feels out each placement of his hands. His arm muscles must be screaming, but doggedly he keeps going.

"You're doing great, Cloud!" Zack calls, voice tight. "Just a few more feet."

It's no use. The ancient rope can't take this kind of abuse. On the other side of the ravine it creaks ominously. Though Cloud tries to go faster he's still not going to make it.

Frantically, Zack holds out his hand, reaching desperately. When the final rope snaps his fingers are almost brushing Cloud's. There's a frozen moment that seems to last forever, wherein Tifa, Aerith and Zack all see Cloud's wide eyes so clearly they can make out the flecks of lighter blue around his pupils.

And then he's gone.

"Cloud!" The scream rips from Aerith like someone has reached inside her with white-hot tongs and wrenched it out. Her chest constricts. She throws herself forward, only to find Tifa pinning her down before she can follow Cloud over the edge. "Cloud! Cloud!"

Something large bounds over them from behind. Aerith has an impression of black and feathers before it dives off the cliff.

"What the hell-?" Zack exclaims. "That better not have been a harpy!"

Whatever it is hurtles up out of the ravine in an impossible jump. Even Tifa can't jump like that. It finds sure-footing on the other side, landing with the grace of a cat on a pinnacle no bigger than the width of a sword-tip, and then turns to look at them. Aerith can't see properly from this distance, but she can make out a tall, quite thin man with silver hair that wafts in the breeze. A single black wing extends from his back to help him balance.

"Cloud!"

Cloud rests in the man's arms, head back and limbs slack. The man carries him as though he's a child with a doll, one arm supporting Cloud's back and one hooked under his knees. He pauses to look down at Cloud's face and then up at the three teenagers clustered on the opposite side of the ravine.

He smiles. It's tiny, but Aerith _feels_ his smile. It crawls along her skin, making all her muscles tense up, like the feeling of walking into a dark room and suspecting someone is already there. It's the kind of smile that creeps through the undergrowth looking for the lone deer that's been separated from its herd, or lurks on sandbanks waiting for incautious swimmers. She distruststhat smile, despite the fact this man has just saved her best friend from certain death.

"_It's like … it's like they're all afraid of something."_

The man performs another impossible jump backwards, spreading his wing for equilibrium, and is lost from view amongst the rocks.

"Cloud!" Zack roars. "Bring him back! Cloud! _Cloud!_"

_

* * *

_

To Be Continued …

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_What the hell-?" Zack exclaims. "That better not have been a harpy!"_

-- From Greek mythology. One of several loathsome, voracious monsters with the head and trunk of a woman and the tail, wings, and talons of a bird.


	7. Cloud Strikes a Bargain

* * *

**6. Cloud Strikes a Bargain**

* * *

The pain is what brings Cloud back to consciousness. It's worse than when Aerith healed his broken ribs. It's worse than when he nearly drowned in the brook. Not as sharp, maybe, but still insistent. No matter how he twists or tries to rearrange himself he can't escape it. It feels like someone has trapped his chest in a vice and is slowly turning the screws.

"Awake?"

He doesn't recognise the voice. "Who's there?" His tongue is dry and sticks to the roof of his mouth. He clears his throat, the act of swallowing saliva made easier by being on his back.

Why can't he see anything? His eyes are open, he's sure, but everything's still black.

"You're quite broken up inside. You hit the side of the cliff rather hard." The voice is smooth, even kind, but something in it makes the hairs on the back of Cloud's neck stand on end. It's a little _too_ smooth, and little _too_ kind to be genuine.

"Where are my friends?"

"I don't think they should really be your primary concern. You're bleeding internally, you know. And if you try to move your legs, I think you'll find your spinal damage is quite extensive."

The voice is right. Cloud feels his panic rising and forces himself to calm down. Panicking won't help anyone. He remembers hanging around Zack's house, waiting for him to finish training for the day and hearing Angeal talk about keeping yourself together in a crisis.

"A clear head is the best advantage anyone can have, no matter the situation," Angeal said. "Once you allow your thoughts to be clouded you've set yourself on the path to your own downfall."

Right. So. Time to assess the situation. What Cloud needs right now is Aerith, but before he can even think about her healing him he needs to know where his friends _are,_ who the owner of this voice is, and what he's doing here – wherever 'here' is. Cloud remembers the bridge giving way, swinging him against the cliff wall and then … nothing.

"Where are my friends?" he asks again.

"You really are a noble thing, aren't you? Smashed to bits and still more concerned about others than yourself. How selfless. Yes, I think you'll do nicely."

"What?"

"Your friends aren't here."

"Where are they?"

"Probably searching for you. They aren't important."

"Why can't I see?"

"You knocked your head." This is said as if it explains everything. "If it hadn't been for me, you'd already be dead right now."

"Thank you."

"I wouldn't thank me if I were you. I never do anything unless there's something in it for me." There's a rustling noise. Cloud feels someone breathing close to his face. "You're a very special boy, you know. There's very little darkness in your heart. Still enough to make you human, but much less than others I've considered for this purpose. Very pure. You hate much less than the average human, especially since I sense you have good reason _to_ hate people. You've been treated badly, haven't you? You have a lot of room inside you to contain darkness. And, more importantly, you're in a unique position to make a bargain with. How _fortunate_ for me that you came up here and that the bridge _accidentally_ broke."

"But you can't have – that was an accident!"

"There aren't many things people won't do to save their own lives. Or, perhaps, the lives of those they care about." The voice is like silk tearing on thorns.

Cloud goes cold, and not because of any injury. "Don't you dare hurt my friends."

"Is that any way to speak to someone who just saved your life? Or to someone who might be able to save it properly now? You're going to die if you aren't tended to, and it's just you and me here. Oh, and this."

Cloud recognises Cheepy's peeping. The chick makes frantic noises somewhere higher than he should be, since Cloud remembers putting him in his pocket.

"What are you-?"

"Listen closely, boy. I can save your life; right here, right now. Refuse me and you die."

"Put Cheepy down."

"A life for a life, boy. An act of darkness for an act of darkness. Everything in the universe is about exchange and balance. Now listen closely: I can give you back your life, or I can let you die in the dirt like an animal."

"What are you talking about?"

"You might call it an insurance policy. You have something I require. Agree to let me have it and I'll save your life."

"What is it?"

"Your heart."

"What?" Cloud is confused.

"Not your _actual_ heart, but that place in you that contains your light and your darkness. Your … balance control, I suppose you could say. _Everything_ is about balance."

"You're mad."

The voice contorts into mocking laughter. It's not a comfortable noise, as though the voice isn't used to laughing at all. It snaps back in an instant, levelling off once more into a smooth tenor. "I'm much saner than you think. I need a place I can regroup if things go badly for me."

"_What_?"

"I wouldn't expect a simple country boy like you to understand."

"Why are you even _telling_ me about this?"

"Because what is given freely is much easier to hold onto than what is taken by force. If you fight me, that might make things difficult, but if you accept me from the beginning -"

"You can't have my heart."

"Fine. Then you die. And so do those three others you were with."

"No!"

"The choice is yours, boy. Accept me or accept death – yours _and_ theirs. I can easily kill them. Yes, even the boy with the Buster Sword. I could cut his head off. Or I could stab the girl with the ponytail right through her heart. Or I could tear in half the one you were trying to impress with your antics on the bridge -"

"No, you can't!" Unaccountably, Cloud knows the owner of that voice can make good on these promises. This is not the voice of someone who makes idle threats. This is a dangerous voice, and just being near it makes him feel hollowed out inside, as though all positive emotions wither and die in its presence like plants exposed to poison.

"I'd say 'watch me', but that would be more than a little redundant."

Cloud tries to speak again, levering himself onto his arms, but liquid bubbles in his throat. He chokes, turning his head aside to spit it out. The taste of blood is easily identifiable. It coats his teeth and tongue, a reminder that whatever else this man might be saying, he's telling the truth about one thing: Cloud's injuries are serious. Pain throbs inside him, momentarily blocking out all else.

"It's your choice, boy."

"I … I …"

"I'm getting impatient. Answer me. Do you want to die?"

Cloud's own voice is no more than a whisper. "No."

"Do you want your friends to die?"

"No."

"Would you give up anything for them?"

"…Yes."

"Good boy."

Cloud hears Cheepy squeak once, feels someone gently touch the centre of his chest, and then it's like he's been split open from throat to belly. It's as though the pain he's been in so far was just a precursor to the main event. Agony beyond anything he could ever imagine slices through him; every pore, every nerve, every cell is on fire. He wants to scream but he can't. He wants it to stop, but it won't.

"Ah, there it is."

Then the world dissolves around Cloud into even deeper darkness, like a shadow within a shadow, and he knows nothing more.

* * *

They find him on a boulder some way down their own side of the ravine. They can't explain how he crossed back without them seeing, or where the man is who rescued him is, but frankly they don't care. Tifa, Aerith and Zack fall at Cloud's side, just glad he's alive.

"Cloud?" Zack shakes him. It looks like he's asleep, chest rising and falling in deep, regular breaths.

Cloud twitches and opens his eyes. He stares at the sky for a long moment, blinking, before focussing on them. "I'm … alive?"

"Sure you are." Zack's face practically glows with joy. "Gods, Cloud, we thought you were a goner for a minute there."

"A little longer than a minute." Aerith pushes past him to stand on tiptoe and lay her hands on Cloud, but can find no injuries to heal. Her eyes widen in surprise. "You're … all right?" Her voice changes and she throws her arms around him, half pulling him off the boulder and on top of her. "You're all right!"

Tifa jumps up and punches the air.

Zack runs a hand through his hair in amazement. "Wow, Cloud, how did you do it?"

"I … don't know." Cloud sits up and slides off the boulder, rubbing his head. He doesn't wobble when his feet hit the ground. "I remember … something about darkness. I guess was knocked out. And now…" he stares at them. "I don't know what happened. Did you guys save me?"

"As if. Some stranger rescued you and then took off with you. We were trying to find a way across this stupid ravine to get to you when we found you here." Zack's grin could light a room brighter than a chandelier. "I can't believe you're okay. Do you feel any pain?"

Cloud tests all his limbs. "No."

"You're not injured?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"No."

"Good." Without further ado, Zack punches him. Cloud falls back against the boulder, shocked. "That's for pulling such a stupid stunt and almost killing yourself. If you _ever_ do _anything_ like that again I'll resurrect you just to kill you a second time."

"Zack!" Aerith is horrified.

"No, Aerith. If anything happened to either of you I'd …" Zack averts his eyes, suddenly acutely aware of Tifa.

She notices. There's no way she _can't_ and she isn't stupid. This is a private moment.

"Look," Zack mumbles, "just accept that I needed to do that, okay? I've nearly lost you two before and every time it happens it hammers home how much you mean to me. I promised to protect you both, and that includes protecting you from yourselves."

"Zack." Aerith sighs and shakes her head. "Cloud, do you need me to-?"

"No, I'm okay." Cloud rises and looks around, still holding his jaw. He pats his pocket. "Where's Cheepy?"

"Cheepy? You mean that chicobo you carry around?" Tifa asks. She looked away during Zack's outburst, eyes going everywhere but them, and now they're fixed on a spot just above them on the cliff face.

Cloud follows her gaze. "Oh no! Cheepy!"

The chick is impaled on a sharp rock, obviously dead. He's too far up to reach, but they try to fetch him down anyway. Eventually Zack hooks the tiny bird off by careful use of the Buster Sword, and Cloud holds the sorry remains of his pet in his hands.

"Cloud, I'm so sorry." Aerith puts her arm around him, squeezing him. "We'll give him a proper burial when we get back to town."

"He looks so small," is all Cloud can say. "So defenceless."

"It was an accident," Zack offers, squinting at the bloodied rock and doubting his own words even as he says them.

Something feels off about this whole thing: Cloud's lack of injuries, the absence of the silver-haired man (who had a freaking big _wing_), and finding Cheepy's body so high up on a wall, as though placed there deliberately ... it just doesn't add up. At least, not to anything good.

Zack keeps the Buster Sword in hand and scans for Cloud's supposed saviour.

Tifa scuffs her foot. "I'm sorry, everyone. I'm sorry for coming here in the first place. I've brought nothing but trouble to you all." Her eyes are wet with tears.

"Don't be dumb." Zack punches her lightly on the shoulder and recoils in dismay when she bursts into tears and slumps against his chest. "Er…"

"I j-just w-wanted to say goodbye to my m-mom," she wails. This is so unlike her that nobody knows quite how to react. "I n-never meant to cause so much tr-trouble. Cloud nearly died, and now Cheepy and my mom … I'm so, so sorry… I'm such bad luck. It's like death is following me or somethinnnng…"

"Don't be silly." Aerith is at Zack's grateful side. She takes hold of Tifa's hands and rubs her thumbs across the backs of them in a soothing motion. "You're not bad luck. Far from it. Look, Cloud's okay. Cheepy was an accident. You know what an accident is? It's something nobody can control. What we're going to do now is find that cave so you can say goodbye to your mom, and then we're going to head back to town together. All right?"

Tifa sniffs. "I guess so." She sniffs again. "I don't care what any of the kids at school say: you three are good people, and you're better than all of them put together."

"Er … thanks. Come on, now. Cloud?" Aerith turns to him, taking off her jacket. "Here. For Cheepy."

Cloud accepts it and tenderly wraps up the tiny body. He carries it in the crook of his arm as they travel. Tifa drops back to walk beside him, leaving Aerith and Zack to take the lead as they walk along the side of the ravine and eventually find a winding, much safer path into and out of it again.

The legend of Lucrecia and Vincent tells of the cave being beneath an outcropping shaped like a demon with wings spread wide. It's one of the reasons not many people in Hollow Bastion have ever looked for it – or prefer to believe it's _just _a legend with no basis in truth. Their inherent dislike of magic turns their minds away from such possibilities as the cave being real, or the idea that it might still be there, just waiting for someone to rediscover it.

As soon as Zack, Cloud, Aerith and Tifa climbed the first part of the way into the mountains they spotted the demon rock. It was easy to see, even at a distance. They've been working their way towards it ever since. Now it looms like the castle in the centre of town, but somehow despite its shape it's less imposing than that deserted place. Zack picks his way along, testing the stability of their path and choosing the way even more carefully than before.

After a while Aerith draws near to him. "Zack, something feels wrong about this."

"I hear you. I'm happy as a chocobo with fresh seed that Cloud's okay, but there are too many unanswered questions. Who was that guy we saw? How did he do what he did – those jumps should've been impossible for a normal man. And that _wing._"

"Could he …" Aerith bites her lip. "Could he have been a monster? Or maybe a demon?"

"It's possible, but I've never heard of any monster or demon that looks like that. And anything remotely like a human in shape is usually out to eat real humans' flesh, but that one left Cloud alone. It _saved _him, which is totally un-demon-y behaviour."

"So you think it was a man?"

"Maybe. Where did he go? _Why _didn't he stick around after rescuing Cloud?"

"I suppose maybe he didn't want gratitude. Some people are funny about that sort of thing. He might be a hermit and doesn't want us knowing where he lives. Or perhaps he's like me, and doesn't want anyone to know he has magic in case they hurt him. But that doesn't answer the other questions."

"You know what else I think? I think that guy may have done that to Cheepy. There's no way that was an accident. It's like it was staged or something. Do you reckon he took Cheepy's life as, like, payment for saving Cloud's?"

"That's sick." But Aerith has to admit she doesn't know. "Cloud doesn't remember that man at all, so it's not like we can ask him. And did you notice? Cloud didn't ask anything about the guy when you said how he rescued him. That's a little strange, don't you think?"

"He _is_ pretty cut up about Cheepy," Zack suggests unconvincingly. "But I get what you mean. We should probably keep a look out in case that guy comes back. And we should definitely keep an eye on Cloud, just in case."

"Definitely." Aerith glances back to where Tifa has a hand on Cloud's shoulder. It's not remotely proprietary, so the sudden rush of jealousy surprises even her. Aerith returns her gaze to where she's going, embarrassed and confused, and a little scared – though she can't narrow down why to just one reason. "Just in case."

* * *

They find the cave eventually. It's dank and far colder inside than outside. Aerith shivers without her jacket. Zack gives her his, playing the macho man and refusing to admit his teeth are chattering. They're not sure what they're going to find and proceed with caution, Zack and the Buster Sword at the front of their party and Tifa bringing up the rear, her fists at the ready.

Some way inside they have to light one of Zack's matches. They've gone through five more when the narrow passage opens out into a grotto lit by small holes in the ceiling. Sunlight streams through, refracting off a beautiful array of huge crystal formations to illuminate everything with an ethereal light. It's bright as a night with a full moon; a genuinely breathtaking sight. Smaller formations are scattered around like courtiers surrounding a queen, but it's the throne-like central mass that truly captivates. They can easily imagine Vincent and Lucrecia playing out their ancient tragedy here.

Tifa lays her hand against it for a long time. The other three linger at a short distance, allowing her some privacy. They're not sure whether she communes with her dead mother, or whether it's just the awe of being in the middle of such a natural wonder, or even that the journey itself has helped her to accept what's happened, but when Tifa turns to face them again her face is relaxed and she seems more at peace – with herself and the world. Instead of the tight ball of repressed grief they've been travelling with, she looks much more like herself.

The trip back down the mountains is uneventful. Zack and Aerith keep an eye out but they don't see so much as one feather. They're still wary about crossing the wilderness, but that, too, passes without incident. They might be more suspicious of this, if not for the crowd that awaits them as they approach the town, creating a jumble of dread and guilt that submerges all other emotions. Night is falling, they're weary and sore and the multitude of torches at the crumbled part of the wall doesn't comfort them at all. Rather, their hearts sink and their quest dwindles in their minds to nothing more than a silly flight of fancy against the hard stares and thin mouths of their loved ones.

"It was all my fault," Tifa says before anyone else can speak. "I went into the mountains by myself and Zack, Aerith and Cloud followed me to bring me back. When I wouldn't come they went with me to make sure I didn't get hurt. It was all my idea. They just did what they thought was right, so don't punish them for my selfishness."

Angeal heads the crowd. The other adults are all happy for him to be there. Angeal has become the unspoken protector of Hollow Bastion, a figure of justice, strength and fairness to whom everyone turns when they have doubts the mayor can't solve, and whose word is respected as much as the mayor's – if not more so. Angeal's face is impassive but his eyes are not. Zack quails under their hard stare.

However, just as Angeal opens his mouth to speak, another man bulldozes his way to the front of the crowd. His eyes are as intent as Angeal's but they're also wild with rage and worry. As soon as he spots Tifa he rushes to grab her by her shoulders, shaking her hard.

"You stupid girl! You stupid, stupid girl! Do you realise how worried I've been? Did you even think? What the hell was going through your mind to make you take off like that without _telling_ anyone where you were? It's bad enough you engage in ridiculous heroics fighting monsters that come _into_ town, but to go out into _Barren Region_ on your own _looking_ for them?"

"I-I…" Tifa is stunned by her father's vehemence. He's always been a demure figure, cutting his meat into small chunks before he eats it and dispensing low-voiced orders from behind his ancient books and rock-solid prejudice. To see him like this, his hair mussed, his chin unshaven, robs her of speech. She has never doubted that her father loves her, and there's still love in his eyes now, but it's mixed with grief and fury so strong she barely recognises him. "I didn't … I just went to speak to mom-"

"Your mother is dead," her father snaps, making her flinch. "And I thought you were too. How dare you make me worry so much! How dare you put me through that so soon after … after …" He runs out of words and raises an open palm to finish his sentence.

However, before the slap can make contact someone grabs his wrist. He turns to tell Angeal to mind his own business and is surprised to see Cloud, whose face is white with anger of his own.

"Don't you lay a finger on her," Cloud grits.

Everyone is shocked at the speed with which he moved. Even Angeal blinks.

"_You_." Mr. Lockhart narrows his eyes at Cloud. "I should've known you'd be behind this. You've always been a bad egg, you and that filthy mother of yours. Now you're leading Tifa astray just like … aaaah-ahhhhh."

Cloud squeezes his wrist tighter. "Say one more word against my mother and I'll break it." He doesn't raise his voice above a monotone, but there is no doubt he means what he says. His face is a mask of hatred. It's so totally unlike him that everyone is shocked into silence.

Until this moment, nobody's ever noticed how tall Cloud has grown. He's still shorter than most boys his age, but he _stands_ tall, which is even more striking than actual inches and bulk. His chest is still thin, but not as thin everybody assumed when he was just mucking out stalls and petting dogs. His entire body hums with the energy of one who can rein in a bolting chocobo rooster.

"Daddy, I'm sorry."

Cloud flinches at Tifa's voice, releasing Mr. Lockhart and backing off so fast he stumbles and falls over. Instantly, all his sudden height is gone and he's back to being plain old Cloud Strife, too gentle and unassuming for his own good. Aerith's jacket falls from his arms and he snatches it up, clutching it like an anchor. When Elmyra runs to Aerith, and his own mother appears from the crowd to sweep him into a hug, Cloud keeps the bloodstained bundle against his chest, unconsciously putting it between them.

"I think what everyone needs now is to go home," Angeal says loud enough for everyone to hear. "Emotions are running high, but what is said in anger is not always what is best – or truthful. The young ones are safe and that's the most important thing. I think it's best if it's left to their parents to deal with them as they see fit." He fixes Mr. Lockhart with a penetrating look. "And as is fair, given their actions were the result of grief and friendship. You should be grateful your daughter has friends who are willing to put themselves in danger to keep her safe, sir."

"I … yes," Mr. Lockhart says grudgingly, refusing to look at the Strifes.

Aerith and Zack watch Cloud and exchange a meaningful, worried look.

"Zack," Angeal barks, breaking them apart with the sharpness in his tone. "Come on. You have some serious explaining to do, young man."

* * *

_**To Be Continued … **_

* * *


	8. The Truth of Angeal’s Past

**A/N: **Wow, talk about a brilliant response! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, everyone. I really appreciate it and hope you like this chapter as much as the last one.

* * *

**7. The Truth of Angeal's Past**

* * *

Strange men have come to Hollow Bastion. They've come from far away and the ground quivers when they rumble across the wasteland in 'tanks'. Some people have heard of these contraptions before, but only one has ever seen them in action. He waits on the outskirts, standing on a rock at the base of the wall and watching them approach with mixed feelings.

It's been three weeks since Tifa, Zack, Aerith and Cloud made their journey into the mountains. In that time monster attacks have ceased and Angeal's interrogation of his nephew has left him with suspicions and a bad taste in the back of his throat like rancid milk. He was considering crossing Barren Region himself to investigate, but this new development occurs before he can.

The tanks stop in a line on the fringes. There are five of them, each slightly smaller than a cottage, topped by a cylindrical cannon as long as fully grown chocobo stretched flat from nose to tail. They're dusky brown splotched with grey and khaki green, presumably as camouflage, but frankly anything that fails to hear or feel the roar of their engines _deserves_ to be shot.

Angeal waits patiently. As soon as he was told about the tanks' approach he asked to be the only one to meet them. He doesn't like giving orders unless it's necessary, but for him just asking is enough. Shutters are kept closed and the streets are empty as the residents of Hollow Bastion leave him to deal with whatever's going on. They know a threat when they see one.

One of Angeal's suspicions is proved true when the top of the middle tank flops back with a loud clang and a figure emerges. Unlike the uniformed man who clambers out after him, he leaps gracefully to the ground, unbuttoned red coat floating behind him in a way Angeal knows is just for dramatic effect. In battle a coat is as much use as a solar-powered lighthouse, unless the wearer has enough skill that dodging projectiles isn't even an issue.

"_Angeal_. I heard you'd retired to some fusty little town in the back of beyond, but I didn't believe it was true."

"Hello, Genesis."

Angeal's old friend smiles and holds out a hand. "Long time no see." It's not said with warmth, but a passable approximation of it. Angeal looks at the hand before he shakes it. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Why are you here?"

"Same old Angeal. Right down to business with no time for emotional reunions. Emotional _departures_ he can do, but-"

"Genesis." There's an unmistakable note of warning in Angeal's voice.

Genesis sighs. "We've had reports of strange happenings in this area."

"And the higher-ups sent _you_, an elite warrior, to investigate unfounded reports of 'strange happenings' in 'some fusty little town in the back of beyond'?" Angeal doesn't invest his tone with much conviction.

This time Genesis's mouth curves further upwards. "There's no fooling you, is there? Then again, I wasn't really trying."

"It's Sephiroth, isn't it?"

"Affirmative. Our longstanding target was spotted heading in this direction and reports of its movements ended, leading us to believe it hasn't yet left this territory."

"'It'? 'Longstanding target'?" Angeal almost lets disgust seep into his tone. "He was your _friend_."

"He was yours too." Genesis's eyes dance. "Isn't that rather the point?"

Angeal doesn't flinch. He _doesn't_. At least, not on the outside. "We've had reports of our own."

"Oh?"

"Several of our young ones spotted a man with long silver hair and extraordinary abilities in the mountains near here. He also had a single feathered wing on his back. There aren't many men who answer to that description."

"Hm. We had to go around the mountains to reach this place, but I suppose it would make sense for him to stop there if he's going to stop at all. Terrain to give the best advantage. No trick missed, eh? Doesn't want the tanks to have him in range and you can't drive a tank up a sheer cliff face. I'm guessing you already know why he chose _here_ to stop when he hasn't stayed in one location longer than a few nights for over a decade?"

Angeal nods once, briskly, just a quick up and down of his head that would give a lesser man whiplash. "Me."

He kept a low profile for so long, but his organisation of patrols and stance against monsters in the protection of Hollow Bastion have carved out something of a reputation in neighbouring townships. He's a warrior at heart, though he's tried to deny it more than once. Maybe it was only a matter of time before someone else noticed. Maybe it was only a matter of time before _this_ happened.

"And now that I'm here too..." Genesis spreads his hands wide. "I thought it was odd that he let himself be seen enough for reports to reach us. I should've known better. He wasn't getting lax, he was orchestrating the whole situation, manipulating us like a regular puppeteer. He knew they'd send me to deal with him. I'm still the number one Elite they have, for all young upstarts keep trying to knock me off the top spot. He's corralled both of us into the same area and picked out his own field so he has a terrain advantage over us with that damn wing of his. Well, now he has what he wants."

"_If _this is what he wants."

"Oh, Angeal, don't play the stupid one. It doesn't suit you."

Angeal surveys the distant peaks. "Have you been tracking him all these years?"

"Actually, no. He's been off-radar for a long time and there have been other crises developing in the world without you."

"Like what?"

Genesis taps the side of his nose. He was always exceptionally good at getting Angeal's goat. From their first day in the military, Genesis seemed to intuitively know his friend's weak spots and what would make him bristle. It looks like he hasn't lost the skill. "I'll warn you now, Angeal, most of what you want to ask me is classified information the military got hold of at great expense, so it'd be impractical of me to just go blurting it out at the drop of a hat."

"And you're such a stickler for regulations." Angeal's sarcasm is so clear it's practically glass.

"It's been years, old friend."

"You're still you, Genesis."

"People change. You know that more than anyone."

Angeal thinks of flowing silver hair, a body throwing itself in front of him to protect him from a demon's claws, and innocent blood on the sword of someone who'd never before raised it in anything but justice. He thinks of a man who was once looked up to by every new recruit who heard his name, who broke down and skulked away in the middle of the night after filing his resignation because he couldn't deal with what he'd done to one of his closest friends. And he thinks of a young boy with violet eyes, too wild and unruly to ever be more than a tearaway in a backwater town, who became the new wielder of the remarkable Buster Sword.

"Well aren't you going to show us some small-town hospitality?" Genesis folds his arms. It's not as forbidding as when Angeal strikes the same pose, but there's a casual strength in the way Genesis moves that contradicts his clothing and manner. The rapier at his side only enhances the image. Unlike those used for games between nobles, his is bigger and Angeal knows that it's made from enchanted metal that can never be broken by humans or human-made weapons.

"You might as well allow your men out of those stinking tanks," Angeal says flatly. "I remember enough to know that those things get very cramped and smelly after a long journey, and if what you think about your '_target_' wanting to avoid the cannons and give himself a terrain advantage is correct, we don't have to worry about him attacking us here."

* * *

Zack doesn't like Genesis. The dislike is instant and irrational. He knows straight away that this is one of the close friends Angeal talked about: a man who was a newbie soldier alongside his uncle, who trained with him, went into battle with him and fought by his side before Zack was even born. Logically he should admire Genesis, or at least give him leeway enough for respect to be earned, but something about the way he walks into a room and belittles its simplicity with nothing more than a glance sets Zack's teeth on edge.

The feeling only intensifies as he watches Genesis interact with Angeal, dropping sly jibes into the conversation and needling him in a way Zack has never seen before. He's surprised and a little horrified that Angeal doesn't reprimand the other man, instead taking each dig without a word.

"You're not even trying to defend yourself," Zack accuses him when they're alone, Genesis having gone to use the privy.

The other soldiers – those who weren't left to guard their precious tanks against sticky fingers – have gathered in the town hall to be fed, watered and admired by townsfolk who aren't too intimidated to venture out of their homes. Residents of Hollow Bastion have always been superstitious and some older folk see them as a bad omen.

Genesis, however, has come home with Angeal. Zack can't decide whether Angeal invited him or he invited himself. He's still smarting from the way Genesis looked at him when he opened the front door and said condescendingly, "You gave up a decorated military career for _that_?"

Angeal continues carefully wiping plates with a washcloth, neither looking at Zack nor slowing his movements in the slightest to acknowledge he's spoken. "What is there to defend against?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Angeal."

"That's the second time today someone's told me that."

Zack pauses, but only for a moment. "Why are you letting him get away with insulting you? I thought he was your friend. None of _my_ friends would ever be that …" He searches for the right word. "That _malicious_."

"Think about the situation before you cast judgements, Zack," Angeal says softly. "When I left the military I left Genesis to clean up a mess I had the biggest hand in making. It's to be expected that he's a little bitter."

Zack snorts. "A little? I've tasted lemons that are sweeter than that guy."

"He blames me. And he blames himself."

"What?"

Angeal sighs. "I don't really want to discuss this with you -"

"Tough."

"Zack," Angeal warns.

"Angeal," Zack replies in exactly the same tone.

That finally makes Angeal pause. He holds a plate down in the sink of water and turns his head towards his nephew. Zack's arms are folded, his stare piercing, and he gets the distinct feeling Angeal is assessing him against some unknown criteria before he speaks.

"Genesis is a complicated man. He warned me against cutting open the demon to take out her heart. Jenova was legendary and there have been many, many stories about her. One of them said her blood had healing qualities and her heart could give life to those who were dying, but Genesis suspected there was more to it than that. He was right, of course. Her heart gave life, but it corrupted what it resurrected. Still, Genesis may not have made the cut, but he didn't physically stop me from doing it, and so he blames himself as much as he blames me. While I ran away like a coward, he stayed to deal with the creature that was once our friend and explain fix whatever other damage me leaving had caused. It must have been a logistical nightmare – there were only three Elite soldiers, and suddenly there was only one. It's hard on a man, to be given so much sudden responsibility _and _the order to murder someone he once considered closer than a brother."

"You're not a coward," Zack bursts out, unable to contain himself. "You're the bravest man I know!"

"In many ways I may be considered brave, Zack, but not this one. Genesis was far braver than me because he stayed to do what needed to be done even though it hurt him. Now, it seems, fate has decided to give me a second chance to correct my past mistakes and clear my name."

"Your name doesn't need to be cleared," Zack protests, not liking where this is going. "Everyone around here respects you."

"I remember you once telling me about a conversation you had with Cloud, about respecting yourself and how, as long as you have the respect of those you yourself hold in high regard, you don't need anything or anyone else."

"You still respect Genesis." The insight is blunt and so is Zack.

Angeal nods. "Very much so."

"He doesn't seem to respect you much."

"Exactly."

"This is about that guy we saw in the mountains, isn't it?"

Angeal pauses before answering, as though first turning his answer over in his mind like a jeweller examining a diamond for flaws. "Yes."

"He was the friend, wasn't he? The one with the demon's heart."

"I believe the man you saw was him, yes."

Zack licks his lips, which are suddenly very dry. "You never told me his name."

"Didn't I?" At once, though Angeal's gaze is still on him, Zack knows he isn't seeing him. His eyes are distant, looking back at times long ago. "His name is Sephiroth. Or it was. The man I knew as Sephiroth died a long time ago, saving my life on a battlefield. If it hadn't been for his sacrifice, I would've died that day. I tried to save his life to repay my debt, but everything went wrong and the man you saw is what replaced him. There may still be some of my friend in there, but…" He trails off.

"He came here for you?"

"Genesis is not the only one who's bitter, I think. The Sephiroth I knew would never have wanted to become a monster, which is exactly what I turned him into. He's done terrible things since the end of the war. When I left the military he was little more than a raving beast, but if he's survived this long then it's probable he's become coherent again. He may well want revenge for what was done to him and holds myself and Genesis responsible. He may even regret saving my life that day. He tempted the military into sending their best Elite warrior, the one with inside knowledge on how their target thinks, and lured him here, to a town where his other former friend just happens to have been hiding all these years. His intentions are clear. He wants to face us again."

"You mean he wants to _fight_ you."

"That's the most likely conclusion."

"You're not thinking about going, are you?"

Angeal says nothing.

"Angeal!"

"I did say I didn't want to discuss this with you-"

"Bullshit." Zack trembles with rage.

"Zack-"

"Bull! Shit! You think that just because he's there it has to be _you_ who goes to face him? Hell no. If he's after revenge then that probably means he wants to kill you, especially if he has a freaking _demon_ messing up his head, so facing him is the _last _thing you should do."

"Zack, it isn't your place to direct my actions."

"It is if they're stupid!" Zack snaps back. "It is if they're likely to get you killed!"

"Do you really have such little faith in my skills?"

"That's not the point and you know it! If it was me you'd tie me up, lock me in the cellar and put the entire town on lockdown to stop me going." Zack glares with enough heat to melt a crowbar.

"My, my," says a voice from the doorway. "I had no idea you were into that sort of thing, Angeal, but it would certainly explain why you've spent so much time training this puppy and hiding away where nobody could see you." Genesis leans against the doorframe, clearly enjoying their argument. There's a strange gleam in his eyes and Zack wonders how long he's been there. He was so intent on Angeal that he didn't even hear the man's footsteps.

"You can't let him go," Zack says, not imploringly but like an order. He stands straight, spine ramrod and arms at his sides with elbows slightly bent, a very don't-mess-with-me-because-I'm-really-not-in-the-mood pose.

"Can't I?" Genesis raises an eyebrow. "I think that's up to Angeal, don't you?"

"He's not part of your army anymore. He's not under orders to go and face this Sephiroth guy. He's under no obligation to do anything."

"_My_ army?" Again with the aerobic eyebrow. "Angeal, what _have_ you been teaching this puppy?"

"Don't call me that."

"Zack," Angeal breaks in, irritation frosting the word.

"I agree with you that our dear Angeal is under no official obligation," Genesis allows. "However, I believe his overdeveloped sense of justice and underlying guilt complex mean he feels he has an obligation to_ himself_ to see this through to the end. Am I right, old friend?"

Angeal doesn't reply.

"Angeal!" Zack whirls on him, not so much angry as desperate now. "You can't!"

"_I'm_ the one with an overdeveloped sense of justice?" Angeal says, ignoring Zack and focussing instead on Genesis, who flicks a hand like he's batting away flies. "_I'm _the one with a guilt complex forcing him to do things? May I point out, _old friend_, who ran away and who stayed behind to hold down the fort when things got tough?"

Genesis tips his head forward, allowing a curtain of reddish hair to fall across his face, shielding his expression. An instant later he tosses it back again, revealing a dazzling, if brittle smile. "Perhaps you have a point."

Genesis's smile reminds Zack of those china dolls girls at school used to bring to show off but never play with – the ones even Aerith thought were creepy with their painted smiles, porcelain skin and cheerful stare that never relented. They never stopped smiling, even when they were dropped, porcelain smashed and limbs twisted at disturbing angles.

Genesis's smile widens. "Perhaps."

* * *

Zack can't dissuade him. Angeal's always suspected that someday he'd be forced to face his past, and has long since reconciled himself to it. Part of him is even looking forward to clearing out metaphysical closets that have been locked too long. He's tired of avoiding certain memories and trying to forget people who once meant so much to him.

They have a night to rest and then rise at dawn to meet at the line of tanks. Angeal doesn't have a uniform anymore, but he wears his training gear plus the most supple tough-as-a-dragon's-skin boots he owns. He puts a lot of stock in a good pair of boots, and even more in the laces to hold them on his feet. When he's dressed he goes to fetch his sword and finds Zack sitting in front of it.

"Is there anything I can say to stop you?"

Angeal shakes his head.

"Would punching you and knocking out help?"

"You're welcome to try."

Zack only sighs. "I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not."

"But-"

"This is my fight, Zack. I could never forgive myself if this mess got any bigger and something happened to you. This has been a long time coming and I'm determined to see what I started to its end."

"But you don't have to be alone," Zack insists.

"I'm not alone. Genesis will be there, and his unit, and their tanks."

Zack curls his lip. He can usually disguise any mood with a smile and a joke, but he's taken against Genesis for some reason and doesn't see the tanks as an advantage. Angeal supposes he can see his point on the last one. The tanks will be just for getting them across Barren Region. Everything else will have to be done on foot.

"I trust Genesis with my life."

"You know him better than I do," Zack mutters. "That's not what I'm worried about. I've seen a little bit of what Sephiroth can do. You said it yourself, he's part demon now. You don't have his abilities. And even if you _can_ defeat him, will you really be able to kill one of your closest friends?"

"The Sephiroth who exists now is not the man I knew, just his echo," Angeal says firmly. "Genesis has spent years formulating strategies to defeat him. He was always the top strategist amongst us. I don't doubt he has a plan now."

"So you're just going to walk into Barren Region in the hopes that a man you haven't seen in years is still on top of his game enough that he can think up a way to kill someone who's not only more than human, but knows you _and_ the way you fight? You may be a sitting duck out there."

"I won't be alone."

"Yeah, I know. You'll have Genesis. Two ducks waiting for the hunter. Genesis must be a hell of a guy for you to put so much faith in him."

"I watched Genesis grow from a quivering teenager with acne into one of the finest Elite who ever lived. He always had a spark of greatness in him. Don't let his manner fool you, Zack. Genesis is a good ally and an exceptional warrior. Plus we'll have his soldiers with us. They may not be Elite, but I doubt he'd have chosen to bring troglodytes with him on a mission like this."

Zack sighs and stands. At sixteen, he's nearly as tall as Angeal. "And you'll have this." Deferentially he unsheathes the Buster Sword and holds it out hilt-first.

Angeal takes a step backwards. "No, Zack."

"I'm giving it to you. It's yours."

"That sword hasn't been mine in a long time."

"Then just _borrow_ it. Look, Angeal, either you let me go with you or you take the damn sword. You need every advantage you can get out there. I know this isn't just about defeating a monster, but I'm not going to lose you just because you think you don't need help." Zack gestures, holding the hilt further forward for him to take.

Slowly, Angeal does so. He holds the Buster Sword up to the light and feels the old familiar pull of its power encircling his heart and mind. He's under no illusions – the sword is redolent of Zack and unmistakably his now – but it feels good to hold it again with more than disgust at what he once used it for. "Thank you, Zack."

Zack clenches his fists and hides them behind his back. "Just promise me you'll come back, okay? You have to return my sword to me." His familiar smirk emerges from under the tightness at the edges of his mouth. "And make sure you clean it first, okay?"

* * *

"You're proud of your puppy, aren't you?" Genesis asks.

"Yes," Angeal replies shortly. For all he defended Genesis to Zack, the man's discourteous manner gets under his skin fast. "But don't call him that. He has a name."

"Oh yes. Zack." Genesis rolls his eyes, then narrows them against the rush of air that comes with travelling at speed on top of a tank.

Angeal admits he's competing by perching up here with him. He's not out of shape and part of him wants to prove this against his friend's assessing eye. He doesn't want Genesis thinking life in a 'backwater' has made him soft, or that he'll be in any way a burden during this battle.

And there will _be_ a battle, of that he's certain. Sephiroth doesn't want to just talk about old times. If that were the case, he had ample opportunity last night when Genesis slept under Angeal's roof. He didn't try to make contact, ergo talking isn't what he wants. All that remains is to find out what he _does_ want and, to use one of Genesis's phrases, to 'take care of him'.

Angeal winces.

"Are you certain you're up to this?" Genesis asks abruptly. "No sudden regrets? No desire to turn back and live the quiet farmer's life?"

"I am not, nor have I ever been, a quiet farmer."

Genesis gives him a sidelong look. "I suppose not." He averts his gaze back to the way ahead and the ever-nearing mountains. "I have to admit, I'm glad you're here."

Angeal raises both eyebrows at him. He doesn't smile. It's never been what they do. He does, however, turn his lips up at the corners. "I wouldn't want anyone else at my side during this battle, either."

"Good. I'd hate to think fatherhood had softened you into one of those doughy, dewy-eyed idiots who can only talk about their offspring and how boringly _wonderful_ they are. At least you haven't forgotten how to conduct yourself in the field."

Angeal opens his mouth to argue, but thinks about this statement and changes what he was about to say. "Do you have a plan?"

"Don't I always? More to the point, are you going to actually _listen_ to me this time?"

"Of course." Angeal grasps the hilt of the Buster Sword strapped to the magnetic harness on his back. The sword always did like resting with minimal layers between it and his skin. He wonders whether Zack draws the same reassurance from the weight and feel of it so close.

_I will be back, Zack. I promise. Don't doubt me. I just need to take care of this first_. He glances over his shoulder at the diminishing town, where he knows a lone figure probably still hasn't left his spot at the edge of the wall. _Wait for me_.

* * *

_**To Be Continued …**_

* * *


	9. The Hands of a Bitter Man

**A/N****:** Many thanks again to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I really appreciate it.

* * *

**8. The Hands of a Bitter Man**

* * *

_In any other world,  
You could tell the difference,  
And let it all unfurl  
Into broken ruminants._

_Smile like you mean it  
And let yourself let go._

_'Cause it's all in the hands of a bitter, bitter man;  
Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in.  
Take a bow, play the part of a lonely, lonely heart;  
Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in._

-- From **Any Other World** by MIKA.

* * *

Aerith approaches Zack hesitantly. He hasn't moved in hours. The sun has already cast long shadows, and they're steadily lengthening as evening approaches. Still, Zack stares out across the wasteland, waiting. The crowd that gathered this morning dispersed when the tanks were out of sight, but nobody could convince him to budge.

"Zack?"

He doesn't answer.

"Zack, it's okay to blink now and then."

"Do you think he's okay?"

Aerith follows his gaze. "I'm sure he's fine. He's … well, he's _Angeal_."

"Yeah." Zack looks different without the Buster Sword – smaller. Or maybe it's worry that makes him seem somehow reduced. "He's Angeal. He taught me everything I know, and there's still stuff in his head I want to learn. He has to come back. He's … Angeal." It means enough to both of them, though it might have sounded silly to outsiders. Angeal was _too_ Angeal not to be okay, no matter how long he'd been gone or how impossible the odds stacked against him. His invincibility is a cornerstone of their lives.

Aerith puts her arms around Zack's waist and presses her face between his shoulder-blades. She hasn't been able to do this for so long because his back is always covered by unrelenting metal. The tension in him could suspend the entire town on a single length of twine.

"I'm … worried." There's a catch in his voice.

"We all are. It doesn't mean we don't have faith in them."

"I _need_ him to be okay, Aerith."

"I know."

She wishes Cloud was here too. Zack needs them both right now, but she couldn't find Cloud when she went to his house and his mother didn't know where he could be. He wasn't at the stables, the chocobo breeder's, or even at Cheepy's burial mound, and she couldn't think where else to look for him that wouldn't take up valuable time better spent at Zack's side.

After the incident in the mountains they snuck into the graveyard and buried Cheepy in the corner so no predators or stray cats could dig him up. Cloud goes there sometimes and just stares at it, never talking about his thoughts or letting them play across his face. For Cloud, who doesn't just wear his heart on his sleeve but suspends pieces of it from every part of his body and then throws himself at the metaphysical equivalent of a cactus patch, this is very odd.

"Where's Cloud?" Zack asks, as if reading her thoughts.

"I don't know," she replies truthfully.

"I'm worried about _him_, too. Lots of worry. Big pot of it. Enough for everyone."

"You don't need to worry about me," says a voice behind them.

Aerith turns but doesn't release Zack's waist. "Cloud!"

He's standing on a piece of wall-rubble slightly higher than theirs, scuffing his feet and looking embarrassed. "Hey. My mom said you were looking for me. I, uh … anything yet?"

Zack _still_ doesn't drag his gaze from the mountains. His eyeballs are going to dry out if this keeps up. "Nothing. Yet."

"Have you eaten at _all_ today?"

"He hasn't," Aerith replies.

Cloud sighs. "Here." He holds out two packages which, when Aerith lets go enough to unwrap one, prove to contain cold meat, cheese and bread. "Goat's cheese, so it's stinky as Zack's socks, but it'll keep you going." Cloud sits down and unwraps a third package.

Aerith looks at the food. Since Ms. Strife didn't know where he was, Cloud didn't ask her for money to pay for this. Cloud's no thief. He was at the stable and chocobo breeder's this morning, which means he worked but sacrificed his customary payment of riding for money to buy this instead. After Cheepy's death and the memory loss of his near-death experience in the mountains, Cloud has taken comfort from riding.

His actions now make a lump rise in Aerith's throat. "Is this where you were?"

"Yeah. I went to the market. I also have bottles of cherry cordial and some nutrient blocks, but I thought you'd appreciate real food before we have to resort to that tasteless imported stuff. I hear that's what the army marches on. No wonder Angeal loves to cook so much. He's probably making up for all those times he was stuck in a foxhole eating green cubes." Cloud's attempt at conversation is heartening after the strained silence.

Aerith is grateful to have him there. They've always coped best when they're together. "Zack, sit down. We don't have to go anywhere, but sit down and eat with us."

Finally Zack swivels his head to look at her. He blinks rapidly, giving credence to the eyes-drying-out idea, and then unfolds his arms to run a hand through his hair. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

"It _is_ a good idea," Cloud says, unconsciously mimicking him with his own hair. "Sit down before you fall down."

Zack kneels side-on to the mountains and looks up several times as they eat. It's almost a picnic; three of them clustered on one rock at the bottom of a broken wall. Aerith and Cloud look at each other but say nothing. Sometimes there really is nothing to say.

"He's Angeal," Zack says, suddenly and decisively, a chunk of buttered bread still in his hand. It's like he's been arguing with himself in his head with every bite, and has now come to a resolution he likes enough to permit it out of his mouth. "He's _Angeal_."

Aerith nods. Both she and Cloud understand what Zack actually means, and she's glad her relationship with her mother allows her to say 'I love you' without worrying about sounding like a wuss.

* * *

The sky is burning.

That's what Angeal thinks when he opens his eyes. He's on his side but his face is twisted to the sky, and it really does look like it's on fire. The knowledge that it's actually a detonated firearm incinerating the remains of a soldier doesn't alter the impression, though it does make his stomach roil.

He pushes himself onto all fours and shakes his head to dispel the dizziness that momentarily overwhelms him. There's a dull ache in his side where he cracked a few ribs, but he's had busted ribs before and he knows he can keep moving against this kind of pain. In fact, the pain motivates him to move. It sharpens his senses.

It pisses him off.

What happened while he was knocked out? He remembers the long trek up the mountain, finding the broken bridge just where Zack said it would be, and travelling along the edge of the ravine to the rock and bloodstained outcropping where they found Cloud and his pet after his miraculously-survived fall.

Angeal guessed early on that Sephiroth wanted to tire them out, to have them running in circles possible as he watched. However, Genesis wanted a defensible position and pushed them on until either he was satisfied, or Sephiroth attacked – whichever came first.

It was early evening before anything happened. The soldiers Genesis brought with him had time to rest after carrying the heavy weapons previously stored inside their tanks. Angeal watched with grudging interest as they unpacked and set up. Apparently technology has advanced quite a bit while he's been carving staircases. Genesis observed his reaction with a smirk and couldn't resist commenting on his friend's wide-eyed wonder.

"We need every advantage we can," Angeal replied.

"We have them." Genesis looked out from their vantage point. "I'm just concerned that he _let_ us have them."

"Perhaps he's already moved on from here and this is a wild goose chase."

"Do you honestly believe that?" Genesis arched one eyebrow. "I thought not." He hunkered down, cross-legged and hands on his knees as if in meditation.

Angeal was so taken up with being here, doing this and interacting with his old friend after all this time that he hadn't talked much with the rest of the unit beyond basic exchanges. They seemed a good bunch, the crème de la crème of what their rank had to offer, all outfitted with the latest military artillery. When Angeal left there were only guns, tanks, cannons and the Elite, but this new stuff is so much more. Genesis's very ordinary, very human unit were obviously thrilled with their new playthings and with facing a target dangerous enough to use them on.

They had no idea what they were walking into. They were actually _looking forward_ to facing Sephiroth.

As Angeal staggers to his feet he can see their target is far more dangerous than any one of those boys anticipated. There are huge chunks missing from the cliff face. He wasn't aware until this moment that rock could burn and melt like that.

He looks around for the Buster Sword and spots it sticking out from under a pile of rubble that buried two men but knocked him clear. He hurries over. When he's still bent over, wrenching it free, one of the peaks behind him explodes.

He whirls to see Sephiroth, monstrous wing spread wide, advancing on Genesis. Genesis is bloodied but defiant, striking out with his rapier even as he's forced backwards. A rapier should not be able to stand up against anything more substantial than a katana, but these are no ordinary weapons, and this is no ordinary swordfight. Angeal recognises Masamune, Sephiroth's outrageously long blade, which he still manages to handle with a grace that belies its awkwardness.

Sephiroth was the first of them to find an enchanted weapon while they were all still grunts. Masamune is imbued with the same kind of connection the Buster Sword provokes with its wielder, with one crucial difference: while the Buster Sword can choose a new warrior, Masamune can only ever be used by one master. Sephiroth is blood-bonded to it. If anyone else ever tried to hold the hilt their hands would blacken and sizzle. Sephiroth used to say that if he died, Masamune would die too and follow him into the afterlife like a devoted lover from ancient legend. The strength he draws from it is what advanced him up the ranks so quickly, making him the first of them to eclipse every rank the military had to offer, forcing them to create the Elite just to compensate for his incredible skill. Angeal found the Buster Sword not long after, and Genesis journeyed far and wide to track down a similar weapon in his rapier.

Looking at Sephiroth now, Angeal wonders whether Masamune really did die that day on the battlefield, to be reborn in a new, corrupted form like its master. Sephiroth's fingers are gnarled like claws and the sword seems a part of his hand, slicing and thrusting with deadly force.

Genesis cries out and drops to one knee, holding his forearm. Angeal rushes to his side, parrying Sephiroth's blow before it can strike his friend down permanently. The two swords connect and stay connected, each man staring at the other over the spark of metal on metal.

"Angeal," Sephiroth says as though they're doing nothing more serious than taking afternoon tea. "It's been a while."

"You're not Sephiroth." With a burst of strength Angeal forces Masamune aside and brings the Buster Sword up inside the other man's defences. For a moment he thinks this is it, the killing blow, but then the bluish wing opens and he's left swiping at empty air. "Genesis! Are you -?"

"I'm all right," Genesis grits, getting to his feet and adopting a ready stance. Angeal moves into his own stance against Genesis's back. "Where is he?"

"I am still Sephiroth, whatever you may think," says a voice above them. It should be impossible for a single wing to allow flight, but again, this is not a normal battle and Angeal knows he can't forget that if he's to have any hope of surviving it.

As one, both he and Genesis raise their blades to meet Masamune before it can reach them. Rapier and Buster Sword cross and flick outwards so perfectly it's amazing to think they haven't choreographed it, much less not seen each other fight for years. The combined force of their blow actually sends Sephiroth reeling through the air.

"We have to attack him together," Angeal surmises. "With Jenova's heart he's too strong one-on-one. Together we have a chance of defeating him."

But Genesis replies with a brusque, "No!"

"What?" Angeal can't believe his friend, the master strategist, would say something like this, but his attention is grabbed by Sephiroth's renewed attack. He tries to leap aside, to put his back against Genesis's again, but Sephiroth twists and tosses Angeal away from his friend using the bony joint of his wing. Angeal rolls with the blow, coming up with Buster Sword braced, but he still only just meets Sephiroth's attack. "Genesis!"

Sephiroth leans close. "You may have convinced yourself that I'm just a demon wearing your friend's skin, but make no mistake, Angeal, I _am_ Sephiroth. I didn't die in the way your think. The heart you gave me was a great gift and I've been waiting years to thank you for it – and to prove to you what it can do."

"You're. Not. Him!" Angeal performs a risky move by dropping back onto his tailbone, allowing Sephiroth's drive to take him forward an extra couple of inches. Angeal boots upwards at the hand holding Masamune's hilt. The soles of his feet connect, and for all his power Sephiroth's hand still goes nerveless and spasms open. Masamune soars upwards from Angeal's kick. "Genesis!" Angeal shouts desperately. "Quickly!"

A smear of red darts into Masamune's path, snatching it out of its arc. Genesis lands a distance away, holding the metal blade between his flat palms instead of the hilt, his own rapier rammed into its scabbard to free his hands.

For the first time in this whole battle, something more than mild amusement shows on Sephiroth's face. He snarls and lunges over Angeal, flying straight at Genesis who, despite holding one of the most powerful weapons in the world, can't defend himself. Angeal turns over and grabs onto Sephiroth's foot with one hand, bringing him to earth with a thump.

Sephiroth spreads his wing and beats it backwards, scraping the feathered tip over Angeal's face. It's like being scoured by barbed wire. Angeal hangs on grimly, but his vision is stained red from a cut on his forehead and he knows he's suddenly missing a lump of cheek and nostril. Every time he breathes in he inhales his own blood, so he opens his mouth – only to get the full effect of smoke and burning flesh from those soldiers Sephiroth picked off before turning on him and Genesis. Gods, he had forgotten the sensory overload of battle.

Angeal blindly raises the Buster Sword, but one of Sephiroth's feet connects with his chin. He sees stars for a moment and his fingers lose their grip.

He hears infrequent footsteps and knows that's Genesis leaping around in an acrobatic display that wouldn't be possible without the magic imbued by his rapier. His face aflame and dripping with blood, Angeal nonetheless scrubs at his eyes and gets up to help his friend.

"You're nothing without your sword!" Genesis shouts. "Masamune is the only reason you ever advanced to Elite!"

"Ah, and so you begin to show your true feelings, Genesis. Have you been keeping them secret, waiting to tell me for all this time?" By comparison, Sephiroth's voice has a pleasant lilt, all hint of a snarl evaporated like morning mist after the sun rises. "But you're incorrect, my friend. I am far more than just my sword, as I shall now demonstrate."

There's a whooshing, like a boulder being shot from a catapult. Genesis cries out in agony.

"Did I need Masamune for that? No. Your inadequacies are no match for me, Masamune or not, but I _will_ take it back from you now."

Angeal opens his eyes to see Genesis fall limply from too high up – higher than he can jump, which means he's been thrown or dropped, and definitely higher than he can survive falling from. Enchanted rapier or not, a body is still just a sack of liquid if it hits stone at high velocity.

"Genesis!" Angeal roars, calling on the Buster Sword to give him the strength he needs to catch his friend in time.

Not even the sword can give him enough speed, however. Genesis bounces once off the cliff face and tumbles, arms and legs pinwheeling, over the side of the ravine and into the darkness below.

"_Genesis_!"

"And then there were two." Sephiroth, with Masamune once more in hand, descends like a perverted angel. "The first and the second."

His words cause Angeal to remember the rest of his conversation with Genesis from when they waited for their former friend to appear. He remembers the unusual faraway look in Genesis's eyes as he sat cross-legged beside him, not scanning for danger but peering at something tattooed on his own retinas, or else graffitied in block letters across the inside of his skull.

"Do you know, I used to think you two were intent on leaving me behind when we were grunts? First, second and third, and never the placements shall change, right through from obstacle courses on wet Sunday mornings to when we became Elite. And Sephiroth was always _going _to be first, right from the start. He was gifted, we all knew that. While you and I had to work so hard to achieve and to better ourselves, he seemed to just … flow ahead of us. Things fell into his lap as he needed them because he was just _that good_. He was always this noble force of nature everyone looked up to – even you. And then there was me; not a slouch, and certainly not a failure, but trailing behind you two all the same. And then …" Genesis sighed. "And _then_ he went and completed the image of the perfect warrior by martyring himself for a friend. How was anyone ever supposed to compete with that?"

"We're not supposed to compete with it," Angeal said, thinking not about the Sephiroth they knew but what he became. "We're supposed to make sure everyone remembers the noble warrior and not the demon."

"Yes. Quite." But there was something in Genesis's voice, some furtive longing that made Angeal feel sorry for him.

Unlike Angeal, who has had Zack and Hollow Bastion to focus on, Genesis has spent the time after Sephiroth's fall mired in a world with a gaping hole where his friends used to be. Angeal can't imagine what that must have been like, going to the same places, hearing people talk about the fallen perfect hero Sephiroth, and having to nurse a private guilt over it without even his surviving friend for support.

"He was a good friend," Angeal said, putting a hand on Genesis's shoulder to reassure him. "We're honouring his memory today. Don't worry, Genesis. I'm here to help you shoulder the burden now."

Genesis blinked at him, pulled from his thoughts. "Yes," he said again. "Quite."

Except that Angeal _wasn't _there when Genesis needed him. Consumed by grief and remorse that he's failed his friend one last time after failing him for so long, and still seeing the fluttering red coat go over the edge, Angeal throws himself at Sephiroth with renewed energy.

The next few minutes pass in a dervish of sparks, clanging metal and impossible acrobatics. Angeal is breathing hard as he slews to a stop next to a pile of half-disintegrated boulders. He holds the Buster Sword before him, blade forward and aimed at Sephiroth as precisely as it was during his first attack. Despite his injuries and his fury his hands don't shake.

"You can't win, you know," Sephiroth tells him. "First and second, remember? I've always been better than you, Angeal."

"Stop pretending you're the real Sephiroth!"

"Shouting won't change what's true. Don't you recognise me? Don't you remember the times we shared? Everyone else in that little party of armed idiots you brought along was eulogising me. Even Genesis acknowledged that I was always a few steps ahead of you and he on the road to success."

"You were listening?" But … not even the Buster Sword sensed him –

"Of course I was listening." Sephiroth shakes his head like an adult talking to a slow but amusing child. "Do you know why I brought the pair of you out here, Angeal?"

"To punish us for turning you into a monster." Angeal's answer is instant and unwavering.

"That's what you'd like to think, but no. You and Genesis were never quite the same level as me, but you were still the best warriors I've ever met. Jenova was never a part of the Ogre War, you know. She had a much higher purpose in mind until the day we met her. She'd made it her life's goal to find and defeat the strongest warriors she could, making herself the strongest creature in all the world – demon, monster or human. You had a good day on that battlefield, and she mistakenly thought you were the strongest warrior there. She didn't count on me or our friendship getting in her way. It proved to be her undoing, but she didn't die completely that day. Her quest remains. Since you gave me her heart I've continued her search for strong warriors to defeat – I began with our men on that battlefield and have progressed from there. With every life Masamune takes, I become stronger. Still, I always wondered who would win if I was pitted against my two old friends."

"So you lured us here?"

"It wasn't difficult after I figured out where _you_ were. Genesis was easy enough to entice, and as soon as your emotions became involved you couldn't stay away. You always were rather at the beck and call of your feelings, for all you refused to show any on your face; while for Genesis it was his pride that directed him. So now I know." Sephiroth waves his free hand. "It's what I always suspected, but never had the courage to prove before Jenova's heart beat inside me: not even you two are strong enough to defeat me."

Rage washes through Angeal. "It's not over yet."

"Yes. Quite," Sephiroth says in such a perfect impression of Genesis that Angeal is taken aback. The pain of losing him is still too fresh for this kind of mockery – if indeed it _is_ mockery. The Sephiroth Angeal knew wasn't adept at it, but for this one it seems like a whole different language. It's more likely a tactic to throw Angeal off balance.

Well, he won't fall for it. He keeps his face impassive, not even letting the pain of his injuries show in his expression.

Sephiroth nods. "Still the strong and stoic one. Then let me put this to you, old friend, and see if it can give you the motivation to make this fight more remarkable than I anticipate it being. If you _don't_ defeat me, what is there to stop me going to the little town you like so much and finding that boy you dote on? I saw him when he came up here. I saw the Buster Sword on his back. For you to give him your precious weapon means he must be very important to you. He even acts somewhat like you, though he seems to have more sense of humour. I wonder," he drops his voice, but Angeal can still hear it clearly, "what his dying screams would sound like."

If the previous skirmish was a blur, then this one is a blur of a blur. Angeal's body moves in ways it learned long ago, sliding from one position to the next without conscious thought. He's vaguely aware of Sephiroth's face, his throat, his solar plexus, the critical points on his body that, if hit, will provide maximum damage. Angeal whirls, he parries, he slices. He presses his attack, totally on the offensive and consumed by three mantra-like thoughts: Protect Zack. Avenge Genesis. Free Sephiroth's spirit. If anyone from Hollow Bastion could see him now they'd think him a demon himself, such is the power and ferocity with which he fights.

However, even the strongest burst of energy can't last forever. Sephiroth is so fast he seems to slip between moments. A few of Angeal's hits connect, but not nearly enough to slow Sephiroth down.

Sephiroth hits out with his free arm, a backhand that sends Angeal pirouetting to the ground. Angeal scythes his legs, trying to sweep Sephiroth's out from under him, but Sephiroth simply flaps his wing and floats away. It's a ridiculous move that even an untrained child could predict would fail. Angeal has allowed himself to be motivated by his emotions, and his mind has become clouded as a result. On the other hand Sephiroth has viewed the entire encounter like a chess match, extracting himself from the moment to examine and counter practically before Angeal has time to decide what he's going to do next.

Sephiroth jabs down and severs the tendons in the backs of Angeal's knees, crippling him. An elegant leap lands him on Angeal's arm, shattering the wrist and effectively ending their swordplay. Angeal grimaces in pain but doesn't cry out, instead reaching for his weapon with his other hand. A small yelp does escape him when Masamune slices between his knuckles, pinning his hand in place.

"A good attempt," Sephiroth concedes. "Age and soft living haven't dented your skills too much, old friend, but they're still not enough to defeat me." He kicks out, yanking his sword upwards as Angeal is flipped onto his back. Sephiroth prepares to drive Masamune down through Angeal's sternum and shatter his ribcage, destroying his insides like meat in a bag of glass shards. "And then there was one."

So it is that Angeal is perfectly placed to see the tip of a thin blade punch through Sephiroth's chest from behind.

Sephiroth's face warps with astonishment and disbelief as he looks down and then over his shoulder. "You …"

"Yes," Genesis replies. "Me."

Blood wells at the corners of Sephiroth's mouth and dribbles down his chin. Genesis's rapier has gone straight through Jenova's evil heart. Still staring, Sephiroth slumps to his knees and then onto his face, silver hair spreading around his skull like filigree.

"Genesis," Angeal breathes, so relieved that even if he wasn't in excruciating pain he'd be unable to speak. "How…?"

"Contrary to what he thought," Genesis spits, "I'm not so easily defeated. Third to his first and your second? Don't make me laugh." But he does laugh, scornfully and holding his middle, where Angeal can see ragged fabric and a huge discoloration staining his red coat an even darker red. Apparently Genesis didn't survive his fall completely intact.

"You're hurt."

"Yes, well, rebounding off a rock face and falling past lots of sharp outcroppings into a canyon of stalagmites will cause a few dents." He coughs, covering his fist in blood. "Damn it."

Angeal tries to roll onto his front. His body screams at him to stay exactly where he is, but he knows they have to get medical help, and quickly, or neither of them will survive. "The tanks … we can take one back to Hollow Bastion. There's a Healer there…" Gods forgive him for letting Aerith's secret out, but these are desperate times.

"Hollow Bastion? Is that what they're calling it now?" Genesis staggers forward to pull his rapier out of Sephiroth's back, but it's stuck. Jenova refuses to give it up and it seems Genesis doesn't have the strength to retrieve it. He kicks the body, Angeal assumes to make sure their enemy is dead.

'Their enemy'?

_It wasn't Sephiroth anymore,_ he tells himself. _That wasn't him. It was just a parasite, a thing living inside his remains, making them walk and talk like a marionette without any free will. _He has to remember that. In some ways, that thing even thought it was the real Sephiroth, but Angeal refuses to believe his friend could commit such terrible crimes. That thing may have had Sephiroth's memories and personality traits, but it still wasn't him. It _couldn't_ be him. _Please, don't let it have been him._

"Ansem must've pulled a real trick to make everyone in that stupid little town forget about him," Genesis goes on, his words a little slurred. "Even _you_ think it's called Hollow Bastion, and you never once mentioned that giant _castle_ the whole time me and my unit were there. When he vanished he made sure to cover _all_ his tracks. Didn't want sticky fingers pawing through his research, did he? Always so insular and resistant to outside interference. Not that it'll stop anything. Everything always comes out in the end – _everything._ Should really report this back to base, but it seems rather … pointless … now."

What? Angeal has no idea what Genesis is prattling on about. And why is he even prattling on about _anything_ right now? "The tanks…"

"We're not going to the tanks."

"Excuse me?"

"Be serious, Angeal. The condition we're in, we both know we'd never make it down the mountain, much less pilot a three-man tank back to that squalid little 'Hollow Bastion' of yours."

"But -"

"And then there were two."

Something about the shape of these words prickles the hairs on Angeal's neck.

"I didn't start out hating," Genesis says softly. "It's something that developed inside me over time, like a tumour. First, second and third – Sephiroth, then you, and then me. Always me last in the grand scheme of things – last to graduate from the military academy, last to find a sword, last to become Elite, and last in everyone's estimation. I worked harder than either of you, was more tenacious, more passionate, more committed, but it was always Sephiroth they talked about. Even when he became a monster they idolised him – to my _face_! Can you believe that? There I am, working myself to death, the only one of us who actually stayed behind to fight and do what we'd all sworn to do when we signed up, and they still raved about that bastard like he was a _saint_. Reports coming in about another village he's wiped out, widespread mass destruction he's caused, wars he's started, while I run around cleaning up his mess, and I'm ignored while his pedestal gets higher and higher."

"Genesis -"

"And then there was you, the deserter. But do they scrub your name from the records? Do they tell the truth and call you a coward? No, they praise you almost as much as they do him. New recruits all wanting to be like the great Sephiroth or Angeal, but never like Genesis. No, they never want to be like the workhorse who gets no recognition. They want to be glorious. They want to be legends. He doesn't look so glorious now, does he?"

"Gen-"

"And who killed him in the end? Who proved himself greater than the greatest warrior who ever lived? Why, none other than _Genesis_. I knew I was better than him. And I wanted to prove to you that I'm better than him, too; that I'm better than both of you and should never have been consigned to your shadows." Genesis leans over Angeal, meeting his eyes. "First, second and third? Only the order in which we die, _old friend_."

Angeal is halfway to feet that can't possibly support him when Masamune, Genesis's fingers blistering to blackened stumps around its hilt, runs him through.

Angeal's vision is already fogging when Genesis surrenders to his stomach wound. Ironically, he slumps across Sephiroth's body, embracing the man he grew to hate as though grieving for him. His breath rattles only once, disproving his own words about the order of their deaths.

Angeal falls back, his eyelids fluttering. _I'm sorry, Zack_, he wants to say, but his mouth is full of blood and he can't get the words out. _I know I broke my promise, and I taught you never to do that, but I wanted to come back. I wanted…_ His eyes close and his chest stills.

Overhead, the sky is burning.

* * *

In the end it was too cold to stay outside, so they retired to Zack's house, where exhaustion claimed them one by one. Zack didn't sleep at all last night. He was too consumed by worry over what today would bring, but he's still the last to drift off. He's also the first to snap awake when Aerith gasps and sits bolt upright like she's been propelled off the couch by invisible arms.

"Oh…" is all she'll say, over and over. "Oh … _oh_ …"

"What?" Zack demands. "What's the matter?"

"He's … _oh_ …" Tears slide unchecked down her cheeks. She won't look at him for a long moment. When she does it's with heartbroken eyes. She doesn't need to say it. "I'm so sorry, Zack. It's Angeal, he's -"

"No." Zack shuffles away from her. "You're wrong," he says hoarsely. "You can't possibly know that."

She shakes her head. She's so upset that she temporarily forgets how to breathe. "I felt him -"

"You're _wrong_," Zack insists, angry now. "He promised he'd come back. A warrior always keeps his promises. He taught me that. He's coming back. He _is_."

On Aerith's other side Cloud just looks shell-shocked. He has a hand on his chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt in his fist.

"Zack, I'm sorry," Aerith starts to say, but Zack leaps off the couch, out of the warm nest of blankets the three of them have wrapped themselves in.

"You're lying!" he accuses, irrational. He even points a finger at her. "You're making it up. You hear voices in your dreams, you don't feel people die. You didn't … you couldn't … oh _gods_ …" Zack sags against the wall, sliding down it with his head in his hands. "… Angeal …"

Aerith leaves the couch too, Cloud following only a confused moment behind her. They curl around Zack, protective and insistent, even though he tries to push them away. Because they won't leave his side a thin wail goes up from somewhere deep inside him – the cry of a lost child. He doesn't weep. Aerith lets go of all their tears, while Cloud hoards their stunned silence and Zack simply keens grief so raw it makes the air bleed.

"You _promiiiised_!"

* * *

Underground, beneath the feet of Hollow Bastion, are forgotten rooms where there only shadows reside because there's no light. Electric bulbs are placed at regular intervals along the walls, but there's no longer anybody here to switch them on. Likewise the air system. Fans that used to turn to keep people alive down here have been still for years. There are no people left who remember these rooms. Dust sits over everything only because undisturbed dust has no memory.

Deep in the dark is a faint scrabbling. There has been no noise here since the day everyone left. The tanks are sound-proofed. They're also air-tight, but that's okay because the things inside them don't need to breathe. They've been circling their prisons, throwing themselves against the walls, climbing over each other and feeling for weaknesses every second of every hour of every day since they were born. They don't understand the concept of giving up – their primitive minds simply don't have a place the correct shape to house the thought. They know their purpose, though, and that's enough.

Nobody is around to hear the scrabbling. Nobody hears the first airlock give way to time and supernatural perseverance. Nobody witnesses the first oily body flop to the floor, or sees it begin to inspect this fresh, slightly larger prison. It ghosts over abandoned equipment, running its antennae along sharp tools, old bloodstains, dropped clipboards and sturdy walls. By the time the second body hits the floor it has found the air vent in the ceiling and is learning how to scale walls to reach it.

The first tank is almost empty when the smallest of the creatures breaks the pattern set by the first. Instead of climbing insect-like up the wall, it shuffles to the machine on the far side of the room. It sprawls over it, pressing its tiny black chest against the cool metal. Not that it can tell the metal is cool – it doesn't understand temperature beyond the fierce hotness deep within living chests. Like all its kind it craves that moist heat – the wriggly, ferocious turbulence of emotion baked into an organ that can be torn out and consumed. This one has never tasted it before, but it still knows what it is. The two most important parts of its existence are built into it at a molecular level – find food and reproduce.

The long arms of the machine are dormant. It will take a long, long time for the creature to hit the right buttons to activate it again, but it's nothing if not persistent. When it does it will tip its head on one side as the arms round up a clump of darkness to condense into a fidgety shape. It won't be pleased because it doesn't understand how to separate one feeling from the next, but it will briefly touch feelers with this new one, sense the mark on its chest and know that it is _different_. It will understand that it's fulfilling a vital role and quiver even faster than its siblings, which have found the outer barrier and a way to slip through it.

Once outside they scatter, pulled in different directions by the thousands of hot, unprotected chests they can sense in the world outside their prison. They spread outwards, away from Hollow Bastion, sensing their master's old wish for them to take this world but leave this part – _his _territory – until last. Just as they learned to climb the wall, burrow past wires of defunct security systems, and slip through cracks in solid stone, they will learn how to warp themselves from place to place in search of their prey.

And when they have consumed the hearts of those with the technology and knowledge to open Dark Corridors, they will spread even further, the ripples of their travel calling their master back to them, just as the echo of his bitter spirit call them to him in a place where distance and time have no meaning.

Deep beneath Hollow Bastion, things are moving.

And they're hungry.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	10. Suddenly, Ninjas Drop From the Sky!

* * *

**9. Suddenly, Ninjas Drop From the Sky!**

* * *

_Her face is a map of the world,  
Is a map of the world.  
You can see she's a beautiful girl,  
She's a beautiful girl.  
And everything around her is a silver pool of light;  
The people who surround her feel the benefit of it,  
It makes you calm.  
She holds you captivated in her palm._

-- From **Suddenly I See** by KT Tunstall.

* * *

The townsfolk mourn. They mourn for the dead soldiers. They mourn for those soldiers' leader who brought them here to fight a demon. And they mourn for Angeal Hewley, a man who wasn't born in Hollow Bastion but who made it his own as they made him theirs. While somewhere distant the great Elite warrior Sephiroth is glorified, it can't compare to the ripples of sorrow and respect that convulse the little town between Barren Region and Dark Forest like it's been picked up and shaken.

A party of chocobo riders cross the wasteland and go into the mountains to fetch the bodies home. They return dragging far too many covered palettes.

Less than a day later more soldiers arrive to retrieve all of them except Angeal's. The commander in charge tries to remove him, too, and it takes several people to hold back Angeal's nephew. The commander is eventually convinced that, as Angeal retired from the military years before and entered into this mission of his own free will, the army has no claim over his sword or his remains. They Instead, they're interred next to his sister and brother-in-law in the town graveyard. Though the commander only grudgingly allows it, the sword is returned to its rightful owner and the military depart to recover their abandoned tanks.

Angeal's nephew stays in his house. He's almost seventeen, an adult by Hollow Bastion's standards, but there's some concern over leaving him alone in the house he shared with his uncle after losing the man so suddenly. He refuses to leave, however, shutting himself away where nobody can tell him how much they liked Angeal, how sad it all is, or how proud he must be that his uncle died defeating such a great threat. People knock the door with food but the boy stops answering, so they leave it on the step where it's either overturned by cats or taken in by the handful of visitors he does admit.

In other circumstances it might be frowned upon when the flower shop girl moves in with him. An unmarried boy and girl living under the same roof? Shameful. Even worse when the son of one of the barmaids – the _unrespectable_ one with the chequered past that drove her to Hollow Bastion sixteen years ago – takes the number in the house up to three. Yet these are mitigating circumstances – which means there _is_ gossip, but people keep it under their hats and don't shout rumours to each other across the market square on a busy afternoon.

It takes a while, but eventually the monsters return to Barren Region from wherever they fled to while Sephiroth made it too dangerous even for them. They prowl at night, not coming too close to town, but people can feel them there. They whisper to each other. Men who admired Angeal take up their old patrols, walking familiar paths and setting up defences along the ever-crumbling wall, but it's like stepping in footprints made in melted snow. Hollow Bastion hasn't forgotten what Angeal taught them, but still they whisper to each other. They feel vulnerable without him. Without his strong presence they remember that the wall is broken and that Bugganes once used the loose chunks to climb up and steal their children. Angeal was only one man, but he made them feel safe by teaching them to do more than just fear what lurked in the dark.

"What should we do?" is the most asked question. "What should we _do_?"

The nephew finally emerges from his house, but he's different. He wears his sword with pride and walks with his head held high, but his violet eyes are more complex than they used to be. Though he's learned to smile again there's always a grain of sadness in them now, no matter how much his mouth turns up at the corners. His hair, which has been dependably messy since he was a toddler, is slicked back. Unlike Angeal's hair, however, a single forelock refuses to be tamed, which would tell people a lot about the boy's character if they looked and stopped congratulating themselves on having another warrior to protect them and make their world right once again.

* * *

Aerith wrinkles her nose at the familiar stench. "Cloud!"

"What?"

"Leave your boots by the door."

"Aw, but-"

"By. The. Door."

Grumbling, he removes them. He's about to dump them next to hers when she holds out her ladle, not even looking in his direction. Droplets of soup fly through the air with the force of her straightened elbow.

"_Outside_ the door until you clean them."

"You never make Zack do this."

"I do when he steps in dung and tries to bring it inside. Have you _smelled _what comes out of chimera? It's nearly as bad as what comes out of a chocobo."

Cloud sighs and dutifully does as she asks, going to the sink afterwards to wash his hands. It's an established rhythm, emphasised as Aerith turns and he practically presses his back to hers like warriors in battle, staying away from the hot saucepan and snatching dishes from the cupboard as he passes. One final spin and he's on the other side of the table, setting three places she didn't have to ask him to set.

"We need another two."

Cloud looks up. "We do?"

"Mm-hm, my mother and yours are coming over."

"They're checking up on us?"

"I'm saying nothing, but if my mom looks at you and Zack strangely, try and look as upstanding and respectable as possible."

Cloud isn't as innocent as he once was, though he still flushes scarlet at the mere thought of what people think they get up to behind closed doors. "My mom knows we're just friends," he protests.

"Mine too." Aerith shrugs. "But people talk, and you can't close your ears like you can your eyes. Could you fetch the bread? It's in the oven."

Cloud takes down the long wooden spatula and flicks open the door of the masonry oven set into the wall. The blast of heat hits him in the face, drying out his eyeballs and making him blink. "Ynf!"

"Did you forget to step out of the way to let the first blast pass?"

"… No."

When this house was rebuilt it was made sturdier, and could take such a thing as a masonry oven. When Cloud and Aerith first decided not to leave Zack living alone with only ghosts and memories for company, the whole house was cold as ice. These days they keep a fire in the grate and embers glowing inside the oven so the place is always pleasantly warm. It's homey, and for all Zack tried to send them away at the start, they both know he's glad of their company now.

However, when they sit down to their meal Zack is still notably absent. Elmyra exchanges a look with Dala Strife, which Cloud catches but doesn't understand. They make light conversation and it's all very agreeable, even if he does feel like he's being inspected. He, Aerith and Zack have been friends for so long he finds it hard to believe that anyone who knows them would squint the way his own mother does when she passes the butter.

"So," Elmyra says eventually, steepling her fingers over her food. "How _is_ Zack?"

"He's better," Aerith tells her. "Things were bad for a while." She pauses. "Really bad. But they're a lot better now."

"He's coping all right?"

"Well, he's smiling again." So is Aerith. She barely smiled the whole time Zack's mouth remained a straight line, and it hurt Cloud more than he can say to see them feeding each other's pain. If anybody in the world was born to smile, it's those two.

"Uh-huh," he says emphatically.

"And it's not that horrible fake smile we had for a while, either."

Cloud winces. That was a bad time; when Zack went from room to room smiling with everything except his eyes, pretending he was fine while the sun was out. He even tried to laugh. It was terrible to hear. Then either Cloud or Aerith would wake in the night to find him in Angeal's room, or sitting halfway down the stairs running his hands over the carved banister. They spent long hours coaxing him back to bed, warming pans of hot milk, or just sitting beside him, doing nothing but being there and reminding him without words that he still has people who love him. They all miss Angeal. He was the only real father figure any of them had, and that shared experience helped Zack slowly come to terms with his death.

The townspeople have adopted Genesis as their second martyr. Angeal's wounds suggested Sephiroth killed him, and Genesis avenged his friend by killing Sephiroth, only to then die of his own fatal injuries. Neither Aerith nor Cloud could stop Zack going to see the bodies, and they'll never forget the look on his face when he came home. He acknowledges he was wrong about Genesis. The man was badly injured in the fight and had an ugly death. Sephiroth even burned off half his hands, which wouldn't have killed but would have put Genesis through an enormous amount of agony. Raw inside, Zack took on fresh guilt for doubting Genesis and added it to the grief that left him sleepless and aching.

But he's a lot better now. Everyone acknowledges it, including Zack himself. He's not completely healed, and perhaps he never will be, but ever since he took up the Buster Sword again and set out to continue Angeal's work, he's been much more at ease with himself and the world.

"It _has_ been months." Elmyra's gaze flickers around the room, reminding Cloud that she used to sit here when they were all kids, at this table, maybe even in the very seat she's in now, and drink coffee with Angeal. The brief pinch of sadness in her eyes makes him wonder if perhaps Elmyra once hoped for more time with Angeal than she got, or that she'd spent that time in different ways.

"Nine of them," Dala puts in helpfully.

Aerith looks between them both, but it's Cloud who answers. "What's your point?"

Elmyra sighs. "When are you coming home?"

"This is home," Aerith says eventually. "It's not like we've moved away where you never see us. I still work in the flower shop all the time, and Cloud … okay, maybe he doesn't drink, but we're neither of us strangers to you."

"We just want what's best for you," Dala assures them. "You don't want to get a bad reputation. It's easy to get and difficult to lose. And some people never let go." Coming from her, this is sage advice.

Cloud shuffles his feet uncomfortably under the table. "We know what we're doing."

"Do you? Three of you living in the same house and not one wedding ring?"

"That's outmoded thinking -" Aerith starts.

"That's Hollow Bastion thinking," Elmyra cuts her off. "People were willing to look at the other way when Zack was in mourning, but it's been _nine months_. I understand that you three are close and you want to be there for him, but there's no point in making life more difficult than it has to be."

"We're not sleeping together!"

"_We_ know that, but people need clear signals when they have thick heads. You're all of marriageable age – or close enough that it makes no difference."

Aerith's irritation is blooming into anger, though her face remains composed. Cloud recognises the signs, but before she can speak or he can pour reassurance on the situation, there's a scream from outside.

At once, everyone forgets what they're saying and bolts for the door. Cloud reaches it first. He has become a regular hand at the chocobo stables and working with the enormous birds has made him stronger and more muscular.

Outside on the street, a woman cowers away from a small black creature shaped like a sack toy. It's a tiny, ridiculous looking thing, but something about it causes ripples of revulsion to run through Cloud.

As they watch in horror, the creature's yellow eyes glow. It thrusts its hands _into_ the woman's chest and yanks out what looks like a heart-shaped crystal. The creature scrabbles, but seems to lose its grip on it, and it rotates in the air before vanishing, leaving the woman's body to disintegrate into dust. Almost at once a second creature peels itself away from the first like the skin off a rancid and blackened banana.

"What in the world _are _those things?" Elmyra asks, hands flying to her mouth. "I've never seen monsters like _that_ before."

Cloud is suddenly very aware that there are three women behind him, one of whom is his mother and one of whom is Aerith. Desire to protect them suffuses him, especially when the sack-toy creatures turn their eyes on them and shamble forward.

"Get back inside," Cloud orders, reaching for the wooden practise sword inside the umbrella stand. He's no master swordsman – not even _close_ – but nine months of trying to cajole Zack back to himself has brought a fair amount of sparring. Zack works in physicality so much it's like a second language to him, and Cloud has tried to learn enough of the lexicon to say what his friend needed to hear. He's absorbed a lot more than he ever thought he would, though Zack can still hand him his ass in under a minute.

Cloud just hopes the creatures coming their way don't have his friend's skill.

Some people sneeze when they're in others' thoughts. Some people scratch their noses, or shiver. Zack careers around the corner and cuts the creatures in half with a swish of the Buster Sword. They don't make any noise as they fall to pieces and disappear.

"Hey, guys." Zack props the sword on one shoulder and grins at them. "Sorry I'm late for dinner."

"Zack!" Aerith claps her hands to see him.

"What _was_ that thing?" Cloud asks, letting the tip of the practise sword drop to the ground.

Zack shakes his head. "No clue, but there were a whole bunch of them I found on patrol by Dark Forest. That's what held me up, but one of them got away from me – at least, I _thought_ it was only one. I must've been mistaken."

"Th … they … killed that woman," Dala squeaks. Cloud immediately turns and wraps his mother in a comforting hug. She's never been so close to this sort of thing before and she's trembling. Instantly he berates himself for not telling her to run away so she wouldn't have to see. "They took her heart…"

"Shh, Mom, it's okay."

"Her _heart_!"

Zack's eyes narrow and his expression becomes dark. "They did?" It switches to confusion as he casts around for a body. "What woman?"

"She vanished," Aerith explains. "But it was weird. It wasn't a heart like a proper heart that sends blood around your body; it was more like those hearts we dangle from ribbons around bouquets on St. Valentine's Day."

There are people at the doors of other houses, all crowding and pointing. Zack raises his sword in a wave and a half-hearted cheer goes up. He looks back at the four faces at his own door. "I'll scout around; make sure there aren't any others. When I get back we'll talk – inside. I don't want a panic starting because of this."

Cloud's not looking at him, but from the corner of his eye he sees Aerith nod. "Please be careful," she says.

"Aren't I always?"

"No. You're a knucklehead about putting others' safety above your own. That's my point."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. All right, all right, don't look at me like that. I promise I'll be careful."

Cloud holds tight to his mother as she trembles like a newborn lamb finding its feet.

* * *

"They don't leave any bodies when they die," Zack says. "It's like they're not even really there – like I'm fighting phantoms."

"Except that we saw what happened to that woman," Aerith points out. "That wasn't the work of any phantom."

They're around the kitchen table, dinner dishes having been cleared away. Elmyra and Dala sit by the fire, leaving their children to talk and wondering how they raised them to be so calm in the face of … whatever just happened.

"They have a point," Cloud had pointed out when his mother was settled with a hot drink and had stopped quaking. Elmyra developed more of a tolerance for the extraordinary while Aerith learned about her powers, and her calming presence helped Dala to relax. "Since when did we become Hollow Bastion's defence council?"

"Since we live with its resident hero," Aerith replied, putting bread and cold cheese in front of Zack. The soup was a congealed paste and she deposited it in the slop bucket to take to the chocobos on the other side of town. Mix practically anything with grain and a hungry bird will eat it. "Here. You must be starving."

"Famished." Zack did his best impression of a hungry chicobo.

"Shouldn't we be discussing this with the others who patrol the borders?" Cloud asked.

There are quite a few of them now, though nobody's as dedicated as Zack. Mostly they're men and boys who have other jobs as well and fancy themselves as heroes on the side. They bring whatever weapons they have, which can range from swords bought specially from the travelling swordsmith, to an upturned bucket and a big stick with a nail in the end. Zack organises them, but they're not a militia, so he does most of the patrolling himself. Since 'hero' has become Zack's de facto profession he gets a lot of donations and can generally go to any shop or market stall and find himself with an armload of freebies. Whenever he does draw on the funds Angeal left behind he finds prices reduced and a blanket refusal to take the full amount when he tries to pay it. It's as if people are worried that he won't have as much time to defend them if he has to go out and earn a wage.

"I'd trust you two to make more sensible decisions than any of them," Zack replied. "They'll just want to run off with rakes and pitchforks or something. When it comes to fighting monsters most of them are heavily into hitting and yelling with a little space in between for logical thought. They don't seem bothered about challenging the stereotype of small-town fighters."

That was half a conversation ago. Since then Zack has explained about the pack of yellow-eyed creatures that tried to jump him when eh went to investigate rumours of Vetala in Dark Forest. Cloud and Aerith replied by describing in detail what happened to the woman on the street. They've established the woman's identity as Lula Weatherby, an old childless widow who sometimes wandered around looking for her dead goat, which is why nobody else in town is throwing up their arms and bewailing the sudden absence of a family member. Aerith will later put together a wreath for her, since nobody else will bother, and commemorate her passing even though Lula used to spit on her for 'living in sin'. But that's later, and this is now.

"I've never seen monsters that don't leave a body before," Zack says sombrely. "It's not natural. I _felt_ my sword connect with _something _when I fought them. They were real. It just doesn't make any sense. Grah, I wish Angeal was here. He'd probably know what these things are and be sitting there pulling that I'm-not-smiling face while he waited for me to guess right."

Aerith and Cloud both wince, but Zack is past the stage where he can't even say Angeal's name without freezing into a little ball of pain.

"So what do we do?"

"_You _don't do anything," Zack tells Cloud. "I guess the only thing for me to do is keep on patrolling and hope no more of them turn up. It might be a temporary thing, like when that pack of imps tried to set up home in Dark Forest: dozens of imp attacks for a week, until they figured out it was less complicated to live someplace else and left. At least I know these new creatures aren't immune to the Buster Sword, so I can take care of them if and when they stick their noses in."

"That seems like a very unreliable strategy to me." Aerith rests her chin on one half-curled fist. "I don't know, something just doesn't feel right."

"Did you dream anything like this?"

"I haven't had any Green Dreams in a while, but I can't help feeling like we need to be doing more than just ignoring those things and hoping they go away. We don't even know what they're _called_." She has an old book in front of her with a hideous face on the cover. She bought it from a travelling book merchant when she was fourteen, and it's become well-thumbed with every monster Zack fights. When she moved in with him it was one of the first things she brought from her room above the flower shop, but there's nothing in it that even resembles what killed Lula Weatherby.

"Shadow monsters?" Cloud suggests. "Sack-toy monsters?"

"Pain-in-the-ass monsters?" Zack stands up. "I trust your feelings, Aerith. If you say there's more to this than meets the eye I believe it, but unless you can tell me what else to do there's nothing more to say right now."

Aerith frowns. "You're going out again?"

"You're not the only one with a bad feeling. I'm going to check where I found that group of them; see what I can find."

"I'm going with you." Aerith is firm. "Maybe I'll get a clearer idea of why my stomach's doing flip-flops if I see more than the inside of this house. Cloud, you stay here with my mom and yours."

"Hey!" Cloud protests, not liking the idea of them going to look for more of those dangerous creatures without him.

"Do you really want them to be alone right now, with more of those things possibly on the loose?"

"… No."

"That's that, then. Come on, Zack. I'll get my coat."

"Don't you want to change first?" Zack asks.

"What? Why?"

"It _is_ a monster patrol. It'll involve going down the rocks. Which means sliding and climbing."

Aerith looks at her dress. She's never liked trousers or shorts, preferring the floaty femininity of a hemline. Maybe pants would be more practical, but she hasn't enough confidence in the shape of her hips and plane of her stomach to try. She compromises. "I'll put on some boots."

* * *

"So this is where you found them?" Aerith looks around. It isn't much to write home about; just a patch of what was once grass sloping into a gentle hollow. It's not even all that close to Dark Forest, instead edging more towards another shattered chunk of wall.

Beyond the wall of earth is whatever sits beneath the castle; dungeons or basements or whatever. There's a small gap in the soil there, no bigger than a rabbit hole, the edges worn smooth. Aerith might ponder it more, but her thoughts are already sliding away as she thinks these things, as if pushed in a different direction by invisible hands, and she turns them to the bulk of trees instead.

Dark Forest is a shadow of what it used to be, many trees withered and almost no flowers at all.

"No, this is where _they_ found _me_." Zack inspects the area by walking around it. "It's like they were laying in wait to try and take me out. I swear one of them stuck its horrible little hands right inside my chest."

"_Inside_ your chest?" Aerith thinks of Lula and the first shadow-creature.

"It sounds weird, but yeah. Went straight through me like it was a ghost, until I cut its legs off and it vanished. They were working on mob mentality, like a nest of disturbed ants. Not much finesse, just a big attack on one target – me – like they were clockwork toys someone wound up, pointed in the right direction and let go." He grunts. "I'm getting bupkiss out of this patrol. You?"

"I don't feel anything." Aerith is confused. The vague unease in her stomach is persistent but formless, as though it can't decide which of multiple dangers to warn her about, and so can do nothing but send her partial garbled messages about all of them.

"So I guess we head back." Zack sounds frustrated.

They've only taken a few steps when the air in front of them wobbles and darkens. Zack is instantly alert, Buster Sword out and body poised for battle. A yellow-eyed head pushes its way into view as though dragging itself out of a hole in mid-air. Zack lops it off, but the moment he does so a dozen more dark patches pop into being around him and spew out little bodies like rice pouring from sacks.

"Zack!" Aerith cries as he's submerged by a writhing mass of living shadow.

"Aerith, run!"

"I won't leave you!"

"I said _run_!"

Yellow eyes swivel to fix on her. Several creatures advance with their shuffly gait. Aerith takes a step back but stops, determined not to leave Zack. She flourishes the cast-iron frying pan she brought along in case she needed to defend herself, and takes grim satisfaction in the solid clang of it connecting with one creature's head. It doesn't dissolve into dust, but it does fly backward and seems a little stunned. They aren't ghost. She's not sure what they are, but they're not ghosts.

Buster Sword cutting around in a circle, Zack hacks his way towards her. "Aerith!" However, no matter how many are destroyed, more appear to take their place. He's forced backwards, away from Aerith.

Aerith's arms soon begin to ache. She fights to reach Zack regardless. Sweat runs down her back even though it's not warm. Gamely, she keeps on swinging her frying pan, until something worse than cold punches into her from behind. She gasps, back arching, as a softness in the centre of her chest suddenly _constricts…_

"Yaaah!"

Something large and noisy drops from the sky on top of the creature with its hands in Aerith's ribcage. Aerith gasps, toppling forward, but finds herself supported by someone too skinny and female to be Zack.

"Fly, foul demons! Fly from here or prepare to meet your maker at the hands of the greatest warrior who ever lived!"

The creatures don't even pause in their attack.

"Fine then. Be that way." Aerith is swivelled, forcibly bent forward at the waist and propelled to one side. "'Scuse me, Ponytail." A foot uses her as a step-up and the figure is back in the air again. "Eat shuriken, bastards!"

A series of spinning silver stars whirl in a circle around them, hitting shadow creatures with deadly accuracy. The creatures explode into puffs of black dust, but the stars keep on spinning around and around until there are barely any targets left to hit.

Zack chops at the remaining few and stands awkwardly, obviously wondering where the horde of insurmountable enemies went.

"Ha!" The figure drops to the ground, deftly catching the stars. "No applause, please. All in a day's work for the Great Ninja Yuffie." She makes a breathy noise in the back of her throat, like a distant crowd going wild. "Thank you, thank you, I know I'm brilliant. Hey there, lovebirds. How about some gratitude for the one who saved your scrawny backsides?"

Aerith, bewildered by the attack and the sudden strangeness of their rescuer, just stares. An unkind thought pops into her head and she roughly pushes it away. _Who are you calling scrawny?_ It isn't like her to be so rude and she puts it down to the trauma of nearly having her heart ripped out of her ribcage.

"Uh, thanks. I guess." Zack replaces the Buster Sword on his back. "The name's Zack Fair. I take it you're Yuffie?"

"Cute _and_ smart. Hold onto him, sister, or I might just sink my own teeth into his tight butt. Rowr!" The girl is obviously younger than them, but her grin is feral and her eyes as irreverent as her words. She grabs Zack's hand and enthusiastically pumps it up and down. "I am, indeed, the Great Ninja Yuffie. You've probably heard of me."

"Uh, no, we haven't."

"Really?" She looks shocked, but snaps out of it so fast it might be faked. "I'll have to fix that. You've already seen my intense skills in battle. By the way, I'm not greedy, so we'll leave payment for rescuing you at one square meal and a bed for the night. Yours or my own, cutie, I don't mind."

Zack looks completely flummoxed and Aerith draws herself up to her full height. "Now look here -"

"Hey, don't worry; I'm not a complete idiot who'd foist herself onto axe-wielding murderers or anything. I've heard of Zack Fair. You're pretty famous around these parts – a regular H-E-R-O and general symbol for all things noble and good and all that junk. A trustworthy guy like you wouldn't take advantage of a poor little innocent waif like me, would you?" She bats her eyelashes at him. "Well, not unless I asked you to, of course. C'mon, let's get inside and I can tell you all about my wild adventures so you can boast to all your friends you met the Great Ninja Yuffie!" She grabs Zack's hand and drags him away. "Which way to your house? Ah, never mind, I'll pick a direction and you can tell me left and right as we go."

For a moment Aerith is too stunned to move. Then she comes back to herself with a sharp, "Hey, wait!" and runs after them.

* * *

"You say you _found_ her?"

"More like she found us." Aerith's arms are folded and she's broadcasting so many Not Happy vibes you can practically see them zigzagging around her. She keeps her face schooled into a neutral expression, and only those closest to her would be able to tell she's ticked off. "She says her name's Yuffie, that she's a ninja, and that she's on a mission from her clan to find out more about those creatures."

Cloud nervously spikes up the front of his hair. "And you believed her enough to bring her home with you?"

"She didn't exactly give us much of a choice."

Yuffie sits at the table, Zack sitting beside her – not because he wants to be, but because she refuses to let go of his hand and has a grip to put thumbscrews to shame. Only having one hand to eat with doesn't impede her progress. She's already devoured most of a loaf, all the cheese and part of the apple pie Aerith was keeping for later. It's a wonder she's still so spindly.

She turns to look at Cloud and Aerith in the doorway. "Wow, Ponytail, it's like hot and cold running water in this place – one dark-haired and one blondie. Do you alternate weekly or do they toss a coin?"

Cloud's cheeks flame.

"My name is Aerith. As I believe I've mentioned several times."

Yuffie waves a hand like this isn't important and gets back to the primary task of demolishing the pie. A few minutes later she sits back, sighing happily and licking the few remaining crumbs from around her mouth. "No wonder they both like you, if you can cook like that. Hell, _I'll_ keep your feet warm if you can make a rhubarb version of that pie."

Aerith feels her own cheeks start to burn. "Right, so you've eaten. Now can you tell us what you know about those creatures? And while we're on the subject, more about _yourself_."

"I get you. You're threatened by me and want to make sure I'm not competition. Good call, I like you already." Yuffie smirks. In better light she's even younger than Aerith first thought, but somehow her smirk still manages to be vaguely filthy.

Cloud takes an imperceptible step backwards.

"Okay, so short version. Name's Yuffie Kisaragi, formerly of the Wutai Ninja Clan. You might've heard of them, might not; we tend to keep to ourselves a lot, but now and then we breed a champion who goes off and makes a name in the big wide world. That'd be me for this generation; though to hear my dad talk you wouldn't think it. He's all 'marriage-marriage-babies-rar' and I'm all, like, 'hel-lo, stuck in the dark ages much?' But I love the big lug, so I decided to prove to him I'm this generation's greatest ninja rather than just seeing which of us could shout the loudest in an argument. Got my opportunity when those Heartless thingies turned up. Heard some rumours about how they're the Next Big Thing on the monster charts, and how they're evil and inescapable and yadda-yadda-yadda. So off I jet on my own personal quest to gather information about the little cretins, 'cause my dad's also really 'information is a ninja's greatest weapon' as well, and maybe I'll impress him with my fabulous braininess as well as my kick-ass moves. Travelled a bit, learned a bit, ended up here and saved your asses from becoming Heartless chow, which brings us up to the present moment. Do you have a toothpick?"

Everyone's still catching up with her breakneck story.

Zack arrives first. "Wait, what did you call those things?"

"Hm? Oh, Heartless. Yeah, I didn't know what they were called at first, either, but some guy in a kingdom out west gave me the name. Really bad hair, lemme tell you, and a complexion like a wet Sunday. I'm all for functional-but-cute in the hairstyle department myself. He said some old coot scientist named the creatures a long time ago but never got around to showing them to anyone, and then he disappeared so everyone kind of forgot about them. He was pretty shocked when I said I'd not only seen some 'Heartless' but kicked their tails so hard they wagged their noses when they were happy. Apparently he only ever read about them in some research paper that disappeared not long afterwards, along with the town it was from. Luminous Gardens or something. You ever heard of that? No, me neither. Real hush-hush-mystery business, apparently."

"So … those things are monsters?"

Yuffie taps her chin with one finger. "In a manner of speaking. The guy's words (and this is a direct quote, 'cause I'm so kick-ass I remember it) were: 'Heartless were fabled to be hearts corrupted by darkness that no longer have a body to house them or a soul to temper them'. They're pretty much, like, heart zombies or something."

Aerith banishes the mental image of a pig's heart from the butcher's ambling along the street. "Those things were _not_ hearts."

"Not your _actual_ heart, but that place in you that contains your light and your darkness," Cloud says suddenly. "Your balance control. _Everything_ is about balance." His eyes contain a faraway look and he speaks softly, like he's talking to himself more than them. When he realises all eyes are on him he stutters. "Uh … sorry, I was just … thinking out loud."

Zack nods, thoughtful. "I like the way you put that. It makes a whole lot more sense than imagining body parts wandering around."

"Like, when you say to someone 'I give you my heart' or 'You've stolen my heart'." Yuffie bobs her head up and down. "You're both of you smart and cute and _oh_ so adorable when you blush. I'm going to like it here, I can tell."

"I thought you were only staying for a night." There is _no_ strangled note in Aerith's voice. She makes sure of it. "_One_ night."

Yuffie shrugs. "Night, week, month – what's the diff? You guys have got a Heartless problem and I'm on a Heartless mission. It all adds up. I'll give you the benefit of my awesome skills and knowledge and you get the pleasure of my company, and you can tell future generations that you met me. Plus you're the only people who've ever, y'know, actually let me _into_ their home without trying to grope or kill me. Any chance of that toothpick now?"

"People have tried to hurt you before?" Cloud asks.

Another shrug. "Meh, occupational hazard. Nothing a good swift kick in the nuts couldn't cure. 'Course, it helped that I cleaned out their pantries before I pulled a midnight flit over the rooftops, but I call that justifiable payback. Or poetic justice, if I could get them to squeak high enough. You ever heard of eunuchs? I invented my own version: eu-shouldn't-underestimate-the-girl-just-because-she's-skinny-nuchs."

"You've been travelling alone? For how long?"

"Couple months, give or take."

"Across Barren Region?"

Aerith can understand the disbelief in Zack's voice. Yuffie's skinnier than a jockey's whip and there's something vulnerable about her that stops Aerith just short of outright offence every time she opens her mouth.

Yuffie snorts. "Across wherever. Thing about a big ol' quest is you go where the info takes you, and it takes you to some pretty skanky places."

Cloud shakes his head. "It sounds like you've been taking a lot of unnecessary risks in your quest."

"Ninja, remember? I can take care of myself, and it's not like it was a _shock _or anything. My clan's a bunch of noble mercenaries, but the problem with that is you can't pick your clients and some of them like to be paid with stuff other than money. Not that my dad ever let that happen to _me_, mind you, but you see what you see and you hear what you hear. And what _I_ see is a surplus of tasties in a house with only one girl, and I hear the silent cries for some extra female company to balance out all the testosterone in this place. It'd be a _crime_ for me not to correct that. Girl power! So what's your poison, Ponytail? Blond or black? I don't mind curling up with your cast-off."

Aerith doesn't choke, either. She _doesn't_. Not even when her mother and Ms. Strife come downstairs, having retreated up there against the whirlwind of Yuffie's initial inspection of the house. She doesn't choke even when she realises the two women have changed the sheets on all the beds and made up a fourth one on the floor of Aerith's own room.

"It seemed safer that way," Elmyra whispers conspiratorially as she leaves.

Aerith isn't sure _whom_ it's supposed to be safer for when Yuffie slings an arm over her shoulder and chirrups, "So, roomie, mind if I take the bed?"

* * *

_**To Be Continued …**_

* * *


	11. Aerith Takes a Risk

* * *

**10. Aerith Takes a Risk**

* * *

_Only by great risks can great results be achieved._ – Anonymous

* * *

Yuffie is an overwhelming force. It's not that she's hyperactive; it's more that there's too much of her to be contained in one body and so pieces of her personality pop out at the seams. She doesn't just walk, she prances. She doesn't speak, she hoots. She doesn't enter their lives; she drops on them from a great height and leaves an impression of herself like a handprint in dough.

Hollow Bastion can't decide which to gossip about more: the fact that yet another teenager has moved into their hero's house, or just about Yuffie in general. Old biddies whisper when she's spotted cartwheeling down the street, or juggling with kunai while waiting in line at the butcher's. The tavern comes alive with chat after she vaults the chocobo breeder's wall and takes Boko out for an ill-fated, destined-for-the-duck-pond spin. Schoolchildren gawp from their classroom windows as she tours the grounds and building without once touching the floor, hanging upside down from the gutters and waving impudently at them while their teacher drones about fractions.

"Did you see what she did yesterday?"

"It's despicable, the way she runs wild."

"Like an animal!"

"Someone ought to do something about it."

"Someone ought to do something about _her_."

"Zack can't approve of all she does. Can he? Surely not."

"He doesn't seem to _dis_approve …"

"I heard she's only twelve years old."

"I heard she's a twenty-nine year old midget."

"I heard she's under a curse that only makes her look young. She'd actually older than me."

"Now that's _old_."

"Well I heard it was her thirteenth birthday and that's why she tied ribbons to the statue of the mayor in the town square and put hot-root in the stew the school cooks were making. All the pupils' mouths were burning for a week whenever they drank anything."

"She needed a special reason to do that?"

"She can't be that young. She'd a devil, I swear."

"I heard she's a ninja. That's close."

"The stew … was rather a funny joke."

"You're approving of her?"

"No, no, that's not what I said!"

Rumours are traded back and forth, but the nature of gossip prevents people from just asking anything outright. Instead they watch, clucking their tongues and marvelling that Yuffie's haven't killed her yet – or anyone else. She's inventive, effervescent … and exhausting.

After Yuffie arrives in their lives, Zack, Cloud and Aerith enter a state of being constantly worn out. The worst part is that there doesn't appear to be a malicious bone in Yuffie's body, so resenting her is more energy than any of them can summon. She's actually quite sweet in her own way, but you have to dig through layers of smart-mouth comments and trickery to see it. Still, she hasn't set out to cause trouble and she's genuinely grateful for their hospitality, which means she skids to a halt in front of the with treats she picked up from the bakery and then perches on the back of Cloud's armchair with a leg either side of his head to nibble a flapjack.

"Not one Heartless sighting all week," Zack comments at last.

"Is that a bad thing?" wonders Aerith.

"I guess not."

"Are you kidding? I'm hitting Boredom City faster than a runaway tank. Am I getting crumbs in your hair, Cloudy?" Yuffie runs her fingers through Cloud's spikes.

"No, it's fine," he says, shifting away from her until he realises this brings his face far too close to her inner thigh. He freezes. "Uh…"

"I could use a little sumthin'-sumthin'," Yuffie goes on, not bothered in the slightest when she leans forward to lean on him and kicks her heels against his chest like a little kid perched on a garden wall. Cloud looks like a gigged frog, all bug-eyes and bobbing throat. "Didn't you guys say there's a market today?"

"A caravan of merchants came to town this morning," says Zack. "They have to travel together and hire armed escorts to cross Barren Region, so they tend to travel in big groups. Sometimes other traders come with them – chocobo dealers, flower wholesalers looking for orders, people like that."

"Wutai Clan used to get work guarding groups like that." Yuffie claps her hands. "Sounds like fun. And you guys so totally owe me a birthday present."

Zack levels a weary look at her. "Are you _sure_ you're only thirteen?"

"Sure as eggs are eggs." Yuffie purses her lips. "What a weird phrase that is. What else would eggs _be_?"

"You act a lot older."

A grin spreads across her face. She leans even further forward and tousles Cloud's hair. "I'm just really mature and grown-up all that junk."

"Uh-huh," Zack says without much conviction. He's more inclines to believe her 'maturity' is an elaborate front, but as with all things where Yuffie is concerned, he doesn't have the energy to challenge her on it.

Unable to stay where he is any longer, Cloud jumps up and retreats to the kitchen under the pretence of fetching a glass of water.

"I think I'm wearing him down," Yuffie stage-whispers. "Give me a little longer and he'll be putty in my hands." She reverts to her normal speaking voice. "So what're we waiting for? C'mon, oh citizens of Snoresville. Time to live a little."

There's no point in protesting or trying to fight her. Yuffie is inevitable, like hunger or sunset or blinking. They may as well try to stop time.

The town square is alive with carts and interesting wares when they get there. It's an even bigger caravan than usual, with a posse of different-coloured chocobo tied up on one side and an array of traders shouting and snagging customers on the other. Yuffie immediately dashes into the thickest crowd, elbows pointier than the spurs and riding crops Cloud examines with distaste. As ever on these occasions, he's drawn to the chocobos. This time his actions are helped by Yuffie, who wants to be nowhere near the 'freaking bad-tempered bastards' after her episode with Boko. He retreats away from her and into the embrace of his beloved birds.

Zack and Aerith soon find themselves alone and aimless. Having no pressing business they wander past various carts, absorbing the hustle and bustle. They still don't want to cause a panic by talking openly about the Heartless, especially in such a crowded place, so they take the opportunity to have a conversation that has nothing to do with fighting monsters. For the first time in what feels like forever they're allowed to forget their secrets and losses, what they have to do, what they don't know, what they _should_ know, and just be the teenagers that circumstances have almost made them forget they are.

"Pretty scarf for the lady?" A man thrusts several under Aerith's nose. "A pretty scarf for a pretty lady?"

She declines and they walk on.

"This is nice."

"What, trying to avoid our bundle of never-ending energy before she embarrasses us in public by making rude comments?" Zack asks. "It's like we accidentally adopted a little kid or something. I don't remember signing up for that. At all."

Aerith lightly smacks the back of his head and realises as her fingers brush his hair that she can't remember the last time she did that. You don't smack a person in mourning, lightly or not. "No, I meant going to market like this. Just hanging around. It's relaxing."

Zack catches her arm to pull her out of the way as a giant sow squeals past dragging a man on a leash. The pig briefly sniffs Aerith's skirt and then ploughs on. "Yeah," he says wryly. "Real relaxing."

They meander down through the aisles of stalls until they emerge the other side of the square. Briefly, Zack's eyes trace the line of the distant mountains visible between the buildings, and Aerith mirrors his earlier action by catching his arm and pulling him towards the first stall she sees. It doesn't matter what it's for, just that it's a distraction.

It turns out to be a fabric seller. Reams of different kinds of cloth have been artfully arranged according to colour, size and texture, making Aerith think she just walked into a dream from eating bad mushrooms – like when they were ten and Zack insisted he knew which the good ones were and which were bad. She runs her hands over a coarse brown material used for making overalls, thinking about Cloud mucking out stalls and being dragged through the mud by unbroken-in chocobos.

"It's not really your colour," Zack remarks.

"It's not _for_ me."

"Good. You should stick to those lighter colours. What're they called? Pastels. You look good in pink and colours like that."

Aerith can't explain the sudden springy feeling in the bottom of her stomach. Zack's never really commented on what she wears unless he's telling her it's unsuitable or dumb and girly. "Thank you, Mr. Fashion Expert."

"You wanna buy that?" asks the shifty-eyed woman behind the stall, gesturing at the brown material. "Or you gonna get dirt on it all day from your fingers?" She speaks quickly, not masking her impatience. Her fingers flex, as if wanting to snatch the material away. Aerith gets a strong sense of achy bones and painful joints fanning her bad mood.

"No," Zack says suddenly. "We want to buy this." He holds up a scrap of pink fabric, no bigger than a handkerchief.

The woman narrows her eyes at him, taking in the sword on his back and scar on his cheek. She quotes a ridiculous figure, which Zack refuses. She quotes another, which he laughs at, suggesting a much lower one. She laughs nastily at that one. Eventually they barter it down to a more reasonable price.

"I'm very low-cost," the seller says as they walk away. "You tell all your friends how reasonable I am."

"Crabby old bag," Zack mutters. "Here, hold still." He stops Aerith and faces her away from him. She feels him pick up her hair and move it around. Then he steps back, admiring his work. "It suits you." He pulls her across to a silverware stand and hands her an ornate mirror. "Take a look."

Aerith turns her head this way and that, watching the floaty material of the ribbon waft like butterfly wings at the top of her ponytail. "It's … beautiful. But why did you -?"

"I just wanted to do something nice for you. Is that a crime?" Zack's tone is defensive and a little sullen.

"No, it's lovely; I just don't know what I did to deserve it."

"Maybe I just wanted to get for you because you're you."

There are unexpected tears threatening to spill from Aerith's eyes. She's saved from embarrassing herself by Yuffie, who slams into her from the side, giggling madly.

"Oh, man, you two were hard to find. I don't have any money on me and these scarves are just to _die_ for, don't you agree? Perfect birthday gift territory – I mean we're talking _prime _here. Don't you think these are just the bomb?" She holds out several of the bright scarves that were thrust under Aerith's nose earlier.

"They're very nice, but how did you pay for them without any money?"

"Heh, see, that's the thing. I kind of needed to find you guys and your oh-so-generously-generous purse strings, but there was this mean old lady eyeing these up too, and I just knew that if I put them down for even a second she'd snatch them up and I'd lose them, so I kind of …"

"Come back here, you thief!"

Zack slaps a hand over his forehead.

In the end they get things straightened out with the trader and Yuffie dons her brand new yellow ("I'm such a great ninja I can even blend into shadows wearing neon pink, but could I find one of those? No!") scarf with delight. It takes several tries to get her away from the silverware stall, as she keeps slipping through their grasp like water so she can go back and admire her reflection. It's only Cloud's appearance that motivates her to move. She dashes over the cobbles and throws herself at him, literally clinging to his front and entertaining everyone who can see his terrified expression.

Cloud has bought each of them a kruller. They sit eating them near to the chocobos, since it's quieter there than anywhere else. Or at least it is until a particularly sensitive bird is brought out to be examined by a potential buyer, and goes into a fit when it sees Cloud. The reaction is so violent and so unusual that everyone is shocked and the chocobo hastily taken away again for a more docile replacement.

"That thing was scared stiff," Yuffie marvels. "Way to go, Cloudy! Show those mean-eyed overgrown chickens who's boss."

Cloud, by comparison, is dismayed. "What did I do? It took one look at me and went wild."

"It was probably just looking for something to act up over," Zack reassures him. "It looked like something that'd spook easily."

Cloud is unconvinced and loses his appetite for his kruller. Yuffie consumes it as well as her own, licking her fingers and confounding everyone as to how she stays so tiny when she eats so much. "Heartburn, Cloudy?"

"Huh?"

"You keep rubbing your chest and you're off your food. Hey, you want me to kiss it better?" She snuggles close, forcing him to back away and tumble off the end of their seat. "Ooh, want to play in the dirt instead? I like the way you think!"

"No, I didn't – I just – Aerith, Zack, help!"

Aerith and Zack laugh at the pair of them.

"If you didn't react so much Cloud, she wouldn't do it."

Yuffie raises an eyebrow at Zack. "Oh _wouldn't_ I?"

Suddenly there's a commotion from nearby. The skittish chocobo is still causing problems, yanking backwards against its halter and squawking loudly. It paws the ground and throws its head around, eyes rolling.

Hollow Bastion's chocobo breeder is there. He spots Cloud and gestures him over. "He'll help, sir. Got the best touch with these birds that I've ever seen. Our Cloud'll calm this beast down."

Yet Cloud doesn't calm it down. In fact, seeing him does exactly the opposite. The chocobo lets out an ear-piercing shriek of pure terror and barrels forward. After yanking backwards for so long, the change throws the breeder and its owner off balance and they fall back, allowing it to charge into the main market square.

A creature as large and powerful as a fully grown chocobo is no laughing matter when it's running wild. As soon as the screaming starts all four teens are on their feet.

"Stupid featherhead'll hurt someone," Yuffie mutters, shimmying up a wall like she's walking on solid ground and waiting until it passes beneath on the other side. She leaps straight into its saddle, reaching around to yank on the reins. The chocobo is completely spooked and can't be stopped by signals alone, but that isn't Yuffie's intention. A chocobo will always follow the tip of its beak, so she wrenches its head around at the last second so it can't pull up and sends it running into a wall. It knocks itself out and she hops off to leave other people to clear up the mess. "Take that, you mean-eyed, Cloudy-hating featherbutt."

There's still a disturbance in the crowd. People gather around one spot and a cry goes up, spreading like ripples in a pool: _Someone call the doctor_.

"Doctor?" Aerith mimics Yuffie's pointy-elbow trick to force her way through to the front. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

There's a heavily pregnant woman on the floor. She's clutching her belly and groaning, face ashen and hair damp with sweat.

A man kneels beside her, trying to hold her hand. "She must be in labour," he cries helplessly. "But it's too soon. That thing, i-it frightened her, knocked her over and now ... Where's the damn _doctor_?"

Nobody can say. The crowd isn't _too_ large, but it's big enough to have a hive mentality and nobody to steer it.

Alarm blossoms inside Aerith, as does a kind of dull certainty. She shoves past the last few onlookers and drops to her knees next to the woman. Her hands move of their own accord, not guided by her but by instinct. "How long was it supposed to be until the due date?"

The man blinks at her. Obviously he was expecting Doctor Rui, not some scrappy teenage girl in a pink dress. Aerith admits she may not be the most heartening sight in this emergency, but she's all he's got and he seems to realise this. She tries to radiate level-headedness the way Doctor Rui does while also tamping down her own flight response.

"Th-there's still a month to g-g-go."

A whole month? Aerith's heart sinks, but she lays her hands on the woman's abdomen anyway. "Close your eyes." It's a needless instruction. The woman's face is scrunched up with pain and the man's is too with the force of her gripping hand.

Behind her she can hear Zack and Cloud break through and Cloud's gasp when he sees what she's doing.

"Aerith, no …" Zack whispers.

She ignores them both. If somebody doesn't act quickly, this woman and her child may both die. Aerith doesn't know how to deliver a baby, or what proper procedure is so long before the birth is meant to take place, but she senses the infant's distress and the woman's pain. She has to do something.

Her mind skitters over a lumpy realisation, as though tripping over it in a dark hallway. There's something _wrong_ with the way the baby is placed. The word 'breach' pops into her head as though one of the Green Dream voices put it there, and something right down in Aerith's very core refuses to do nothing just because there are people around. She closes her eyes and calls on her healing ability, feeling the soft glow of her power begin to take shape in the air.

"No!" Zack hisses.

"Hey, the damn chocobo's awake again! Everybody scatter!"

As one, the crowd turns. A few do scatter, but most just gape with bovine curiosity.

"Hey, it's still out cold!" yells a man.

"Gotcha!"

_Thank you, Yuffie_. By the time people turn back again Aerith's hands are in her lap, the last golden sparkles have sunk into the woman's womb and the baby's distress has lessened. It shifts around, moved gently by her magic. The lumpy realisation smoothes into a more natural contour. The woman's breathing, too, evens out. Though she still looks awful, Aerith feels the slackening as something unwinds inside her the way it's supposed to. She's a little surprised to realise her knees are wet and looks down at the spreading pool of liquid.

"I think my waters just broke," the woman whispers throatily.

A figure strides through the crowd, closely followed by another, shorter one. "You'd be correct in that assumption," Doctor Rui observes. "Clear the way, please; the street is hardly an appropriate place to give birth. We need to get this woman to my treatment centre."

Aerith scrambles gratefully backwards. She meets a strong chest and arms wrap around her from behind, holding her close. "That's got to be the stupidest, most noble thing I've ever seen you do," Cloud murmurs, face pressed into her hair.

Aerith can feel her heart pounding and the wobbliness in her legs. If he wasn't holding her up she might just fall over. "You don't know the half of it."

* * *

"You may come in," Shelke says, opening the door. "They've been waiting for you."

"Thanks." Aerith steps through the door. She's changed her dress for a clean one but feels like Shelke is judging the frippery. Shelke always wear practical clothes in practical colours, forever an advocate of function over form. Aerith is taller than Shelke now, but feels just as cowed by her as she was when she was eleven and trembling from Black Annis's attack.

"In here." Shelke gestures. "Mr. Fair, I'm certain you have good reason in your own mind to wear you sword indoors, but I would appreciate it if you would either remove it or stay away from anything glass."

"Sure thing." Zack cocks a jaunty salute at her, which she meets with impassive eyes.

"Follow me, please."

"Bitch," Yuffie mutters under her breath. "Who put the cork up her butt?"

Shelke doesn't turn around but replies evenly, "If you wish to know more about suppositories, I'm sure we can accommodate you with a demonstration or two, Miss ...?"

"Kisaragi. And uh, I think you can hold back on that one. I'm fine being ignorant."

"Yes, I suppose you are." Shelke pushes open another door to reveal the man and woman from the marketplace.

They're tired and worn, hair scuffed into peaks and troughs to rival the mountains, but they both shine with the kind of warmth only new parents can generate. The woman is in bed with the man sitting on top of the covers beside her, both bent over the bundle in her arms. They raise their heads at the door opening and the woman's face lights up when she spots Aerith.

"You're the flower girl from the market!"

It seems a bit redundant to answer that. "Are you all right?" Aerith asks instead.

"Never better," the man says proudly.

His wife kicks him from under the covers of her cot. "Speak for yourself. I feel stretched six ways to Sunday. My poor nethers will never be the same again."

Zack and Cloud cough.

"We're so grateful to you," the man says, getting up to clasp Aerith's hand. His palms are sweaty from being wrung so often but it'd impolite to wipe her hand on her dress after he lets go. "We were wondering – oh, but we can't ask you yet! You don't even know our names. I'm Caspian Caspian."

Aerith thinks he's stuttered, but he laughs.

"It's a family tradition – all boys in my family are named Caspian. And this is Anemone." He introduces his wife. "You're Aerith Gainsborough. Everyone knows you. People in the mayor's office are always talking about and your inappropriate … uh … your living arrange-… oh dear" His eyes widen, as he grasps he's wandered into dangerous territory. "I'm the mayor's assistant!" he blurts to cover his faux pas. "There'll certainly be a reward for you for all your help."

"But I didn't do anything," Aerith says, studiously avoiding Yuffie's eye. Cloud and Zack she can trust to keep straight faces, but the surprise at Yuffie knowing her secret has left her unsure what to think.

"You're a Healer, aren't you?" Yuffie said earlier when they got back to the house to change.

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"_Duh, _even ninjas can do other things besides hiding in shadows. Ever hear of multitasking? My clan has a Healer, too. No biggie. But why the hush-hush-keep-Yuffie-in-the-dark schtick? Why didn't you just tell me in the first place?"

"I didn't know I could trust you."

"Pfft. I'm the most trustworthy person on the planet! Well, up to a point. Unless there's unliberated cookies involved. But I'm definitely good at keeping secrets – _especially _if a really good reason to keep them. Small town without its own wizard or sorceress, plus those guys' faces when you started doing your thing?" Yuffie jabbed a thumb at Zack and Cloud. "Really not hard to make the connection. I'll bet this is one of those places that still calls all magic 'witchcraft'. You get found out and they burn you at the stake or something, right?"

"Or something," Aerith conceded.

"Then consider my lips sealed." Yuffie made a zipping motion across her mouth and wandered away to the kitchen. "Is there any flapjack left?"

And no more was said on the matter. Yuffie didn't probe for more information, nor seem annoyed that they'd kept anything from her. She just accepted the way things were with the same straightforward effervescence that she accepted everything, leaving Zack, Cloud and Aerith to murmur uneasily to each other about her habit of talking too much versus her promise to keep the secret – until word came that they were wanted at Doctor Rui's.

"You were a very comforting presence," the now very _­un_-pregnant woman says firmly, batting away Aerith's protests. "I felt better when you were there, which made all the difference in the world. There were some problems with my pregnancy and I was expecting a difficult birth, but everything went like clockwork and now I have a beautiful, healthy daughter. I can't hep but think you were my good luck charm."

"So we've decided to name her after you."

Aerith stares at Caspian Caspian, even more nonplussed than when he told her his name. "That's not necessary -"

"Oh, but we feel it is."

"No, really -"

"I'd go with Ponytail on this one," Yuffie says, and nobody can understand how she moved to the new mother's side so fast without anyone noticing. Not even the woman, who blinks up at her in surprise. "It doesn't look right for the name. Y'know when you can look at a kid and see it wearing a name when it's, like, twenty-seven and fat and ugly? This one isn't an Aerith."

The woman snatches back the edge of the swaddling, glaring at Yuffie. "I think you'll find -"

"Perhaps it would be more acceptable to allow Miss Gainsborough to name your child," Shelke suggests. Nobody noticed _her_ re-enter the room, either, though she's holding a bottle of something purple so she must've left and come back in again. Aerith briefly wonders if Shelke has some ninja in her. "Then all parties would be satisfied."

"I … suppose. Would you like to…?" Caspian motions Aerith forward.

Aerith takes a step back, but finds Zack behind her. "Go on," he whispers. "You earned the privilege. Go and get rewarded for once."

The baby is small and wrinkly, with a squashed red face and a nose like a piece of mashed potato. Aerith has heard people talk about the miracle of birth and beauty of babies, but this one must've missed out somewhere. It looks like someone threw a lot of pieces together without making sure they matched first.

Then it opens its eyes. They're the brightest, clearest blue she's ever seen – brighter and clearer even than Cloud's. The baby blinks, and though newborns can't focus more than a few centimetres in front of their own faces, Aerith could swear this one looks right at her and _sees_ her.

"A girl's name," Aerith says thoughtfully.

"My baby girl," the woman – Anemone, Aerith remembers – says softly. "My beautiful, beautiful baby girl."

"Anemone … that's a type of flower, isn't it?"

"Why yes. It's special because it only lives under the sea. I guess I shouldn't be surprised _you_ recognised it."

"And Caspian … that's the name of an ocean."

"Correct again," her husband says. "Not many people know that. It's a very remote region. My father told me we have a distant connection to the royal family who once ruled over it, that's why we're all named Caspian. I'm actually Caspian Caspian the Twenty-Fifth, but they've long since dissolved the monarchy in that part of the world."

"Angeal was stationed out there once. He said all he ate for a month were cockles, mussels and fried seaweed." Aerith still hasn't broken contact with the baby's stare. "He said it was gorgeous, though. Ridiculously hot, but gorgeous. His unit would go swimming when they were off-duty and he got sunburn on his shoulders doing _kata_ on the sand." Aerith nods to herself and lifts her gaze to meet the woman's. "Kairi. It means 'sea'. That way there's a running theme between all three of your names."

"Kairi." The woman turns it over and smiles. "I quite like it."

"I do, too." Her husband kisses her on top of her head and sits down, completing the family portrait – mother, father and baby. "Kairi. Welcome to the world, my little Kairi."

Yuffie leans close to Aerith. "Personally, I was thinking more, like, Yuffie II. Or Potato Face."

* * *

_**To Be Continued …**_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

"_Pretty scarf for the lady?" A man thrusts several under Aerith's nose. "A pretty scarf for a pretty lady?"_

-- A riff off a line in Disney's _Aladdin_, when Jasmine visits the marketplace for the first time.

_Cloud has bought each of them a kruller._

-- A kruller (sometimes spelled cruller, but I grew up spelling it the way my relatives in Aachen did) is a small, usually ring-shaped or twisted cake of sweet dough fried in deep fat. We used to eat them off sticks from street-sellers, although I've always been more of a sweet-waffle fan myself.

_It's a family tradition – all boys in my family are named Caspian_

-- I wrote this chapter before _Prince Caspian_ came out in cinemas, but it should be mentioned that he's no relation to anyone from Narnia. The name Caspian genuinely does mean 'sea', and the Caspian Sea is a real place.


	12. Disturbing Dreams

* * *

**11. Disturbing Dreams**

* * *

_Dreams are like stars...you may never touch them, but if you follow them they will lead you to your destiny_ – Epicurus (Greek philosopher, BC 341-270)

* * *

Grimoire dies. Aerith goes to her mother in the flower shop and comforts her. He was just a chocobo, but he's been in their lives for so long his passing leaves a void. Elmyra cries a little, and as she cuddles her mother Aerith marvels that she feels so much like a visitor where she used to feel so comfortable. There are doilies she doesn't remember and new coverings on the chairs. The rooms above the flower shop really aren't her home anymore.

She and Cloud go to the stables where Grimoire was kept (because even the friendliest bird can't live in a flower shop) to take care of things. Aerith's glad Cloud is there. He knows everyone and what needs doing, does it all softly but firmly, and soon they're walking away again with a little pot of ashes. It's unusual to cremate chocobos, but somehow he gets it done and Grimoire takes up residence over Elmyra's fireplace.

Time goes on. Weeks turn into months; birthdays come and go, until one day Aerith opens the curtains to find snow on the ground and mistletoe tied above the front door. It's Yule again, and with Yuffie around it's definitely an experience. Three months after the tinsel has been taken down Cloud _still_ blushes if anyone says 'Miss Cloud', while Zack dissolves into unmanly giggles at the beautiful purple dress Aerith knows she'll never be able to wear again. Yuffie's overjoyed at the new boots they get for her and wears them religiously, walking around on her hands when they're muddy and Aerith tries to make her leave them outside the door with Cloud's.

"They're just boots, Yuffie!"

"Wrong-o bongo!"

"What?"

"They're _my _boots, all for me, and nobody else is getting their mitts on them."

"Well … at least wash your hands before you walk over the rug. I've just cleaned it."

The Heartless don't attack again. It's as if they were simply performing reconnaissance and, not finding what they wanted, pulled back to wherever they came from.

Eventually Zack's the one to ask Yuffie what they've all been wondering and kind of already guessed.

"Yuffie, aren't you curious about searching for Heartless anymore?"

"Sure I am." She's sitting at the table with her feet balanced on another chair, totally relaxed like she's lived there since she was a toddler and first climbed onto chairs to get a better view of the World of Kneecaps. As they watch she shoves a whole cracker into her mouth and grins around it.

She always eats like she's got to fill up in case she doesn't get anything later. Even months of Aerith's cooking haven't dampened her approach to meals, and anyone who doesn't finish quickly enough soon finds themselves in a cutlery-battle for their food. It's not unusual to find Zack squaring up to her with his spoon as dessert arrives.

"I'm just, y'know, kicking back a bit." To emphasise, Yuffie crosses one ankle over the other. "Even champions need a little downtime. When I go after those creepy little creepazoids I'll blow through 'em like a fart through a sieve, but there's a time and place for everything, y'know?"

The others volley significant looks.

"Yuffie," Aerith says, reaching across to lay her hand over the younger girl's. She's grown to like Yuffie more than she would've expected. Yuffie may be crude and brash, but she's also sincere and loyal. She never said a word to anyone about Aerith's healing.

Yuffie links her hands behind her head, out of reach "You trying to tell me something, Ponytail? The three of you finally tired of having me around? Want me to skedaddle?"

"We're not saying that at all, but …" Aerith bites her lip. Yuffie has never sent word anywhere, never dispatched the information she's gathered on the Heartless, nor asked any of the caravans for news from her homeland. "Yuffie, what really happened to your clan?"

Yuffie freezes. She never freezes. There's always a small tick – a bouncing leg, or a jumping muscle – ready to send her careening into another handspring, but now she goes completely and utterly still. "I guess I should've seen that one coming."

Cloud looks desperately uncomfortable. "We're not trying to be intrusive -"

"Sure you are, but I forgive you. Yeah, you guessed right. They're all dead. Poof. Every single one of them." Her smile is brittle. "Heartless attack. First time I ever saw the things was when they took my dad's heart. I was goofballing around practising with my shuriken, away from camp because my dad was always all 'you-must-only-practise-with-supervision-until-you-can-throw-one-through-the-eye-of-a-needle', so I wasn't with them when it happened. Rushed back but it was a no-go. Too late. The Heartless were finishing up, and even though I took a few out it was pointless. They left and there I was, all one-is-the-loneliest-number in a ghost camp. So I tidied, took what I needed and upped sticks to find the little bastards and kill them.

"Only I found out along the way that they're like cockroaches – difficult to wipe out and you can't tell one from another. Then I found you guys and, well … that stuff I said about the 'only people to take me in and not try to kill or grope me' part was true. You're all right. A bit neurotic and uptight sometimes, and you need to _get a clue_ about yourselves, but you're all right. And I guess I just thought … if I didn't mention moving on again … you wouldn't make me." The short pauses are as unusual as her freezing up. Yuffie lives life at breakneck speed. She doesn't _do_ stumbling pauses.

"Oh, Yuffie." Aerith gets up and hugs her. It's impulsive, and she feels Yuffie stiffen before relaxing into it. She never likes to be touched unless she's the only initiating contact, but this time she relents. Her forehead touches Aerith's shoulder in a way that could just be accidental, dark hair falling across her eyes. It's brief, but it's enough.

"Hey, Ponytail, no need to get all girl-on-girl with me. So I've got a sob story. So do all of you. This just makes me fit in better with the rest of you freaks." Yuffie wriggles free and stands up. "So _do_ you guys want me to leave? 'Cause I totally understand if you do. I've been wanting to investigate what's beyond those mountains for a while now, and I could start out in the morning if Ponytail stays up and makes enough food to see me through until I hit the next village -"

"Yuffie," Aerith cuts her off, "we don't want you to leave. This is your home now, too." She looks at Zack and Cloud. "Right?"

"Oh, absolutely," Zack agrees. "Just stay away from the Buster Sword."

Yuffie rolls her eyes. "It was _one time_, and I never even got it halfway out the door."

"Cloud?" Aerith looks at him.

"Hm?" He looks up, apparently having drifted off into another daydream. He's doing that more and more lately, rubbing his chest like he has heartburn and looking at an invisible mark on the wall. "Oh, yeah. Sure we want you to stay, Yuffie."

"Gee, way to make a girl feel wanted, Cloudy." Despite her words, Yuffie's eyes shine. "You guys are the best. _Seriously_. I am _totally_ not putting water balloons above your doors like I'd planned to."

* * *

"Kairi's started walking."

"Really?" Cloud's head is under the sink, but he raises a blind thumb's-up. "That's great."

"Nothing too impressive, but she can take a couple of steps before she falls down again." Aerith smiles at the recollection of fat, grabby little hands and the delighted smile of child who is figuring out how to be mobile and looking forward to finally reaching the interesting stuff adults keep on high shelves.

She calls in on the Caspian household if she's passing that way and they're generally glad to see her. Even though that day in the marketplace was so long ago, they still refer to her as their good luck charm, and Aerith has grown fond of Kairi. The little girl is so bright and sparkling it's impossible not to give in when she demands to play peek-a-boo.

"How's that blockage coming?"

"It's not." Cloud fumbles about for a cloth and emerges wiping his hands. "Hey, do you ever wonder where we get our water from? Or our power?"

"From the …" Aerith blinks, mind slipping away from what she was about to say. An image of the castle comes into her thoughts but disappears again like a hand wiping across a chalkboard. "Not really. Is it important?"

"I guess not. I need to try the plunger again. Can you tell Yuffie not to put potato peelings down the plughole next time? It'd save a lot of hassle."

Aerith knows how much good that'll do, so she changes the subject "How's Little Boko?" Boko died a few months ago after contracting Crumble Claw, a disease that can blight a chocobo stable if not caught in time. Cloud's been coming home stinking of antibacterial solution ever since. Little Boko is one of the roosters from Boko's last studding and has shown promise of being just as magnificent as his father.

Cloud holds up reddened fingers. "Still a biter. We're going to have to muzzle him soon."

"Poor thing."

"Me or him?"

The front door slams and Yuffie runs upstairs. She pauses at the top and runs halfway back down to shout, "Totally not my fault!" before bolting back up again.

Cloud and Aerith look at each other. This can't be good.

It isn't.

"Tifa!" Aerith exclaims when she opens the door.

Tifa doesn't get angry easily. The fact she's wearing an expression which could be described as 'outraged' clues them in that Yuffie's been up to her tricks again. "Tell her," Tifa grits, not bothering to identify who, "that the tavern isn't the right place for her to show off her _lock-picking_ skills to her little _fan club_. Do you know how many bottles of beer they stole?"

Yuffie's 'fan club' consists of those kids in town who've decided they want to be ninjas when they grow up. At first it was cute, since none of them could keep up with her and they mostly played ninja wars in the schoolyard. However, then Yuffie noticed them and 'took them under her wing', revelling in being adored and dropping tips about how to emulate the Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi. This has had mixed results, as Tifa's clenched fists now demonstrate.

Aerith sighs.

Tifa grew away from them for a long time after her mother's death, abiding by her father's wishes and not consorting with 'those three terrible influences'. Even the praise heaped on them after Angeal's death hasn't convinced him that Zack, Cloud and Aerith are anything more than 'bad seeds' who'll corrupt his precious daughter's purity if she's exposed to it too much. He's one of the strongest voices casting aspersions on the integrity of their living arrangements, accusing them of everything from sexual depravity to the occult. Fortunately, few people listen to him anymore. Since turning eighteen and taking a job in the tavern Tifa has tentatively reached out once again, making friends with Cloud's mother and quietly squirming out from under Mr. Lockhart's thumb. It's just a shame that her last few visits to the house have been about Yuffie's tricks.

"We'll put a leash on her." Zack comes up behind Tifa, back from patrol. "Hey, Tifa," he says belatedly.

Tifa pushes hair out of her face. She no longer wears it in a ponytail. Instead it's cut to shoulder-length and swishes as she moves her head. "Hey, Zack. Slay any monsters today?"

"Thankfully, no. All quiet today. You staying for dinner?"

"Can't. I've got to work. Which would be a _lot easier_ if there wasn't so much _stock missing_." Tifa raises her voice so Yuffie can hear her from upstairs. Then she bids them goodbye and ambles down the path.

Cloud, Zack and Aerith wait until she's gone. Then they shut the door, turn their backs to it and take a deep collective breath.

"Yuffie!"

"I _said_ it wasn't my fault!"

* * *

A figure rises from the shadows and smoke, dark against dark. A hood obscures the face but the body-shape is lean and rangy. She sees it mostly by the blue-white gleam of the outfit – a long coat fashioned from some kind of leather or other heavy, thick material. It reaches for her.

No, not for her but _past _her, for someone else.

She's not really here. She feels insubstantial, like a shadow cast on hot rock. Yet she also knows she has to protect that someone the figure is reaching for, and so she steps between them, only to gasp as its hand goes deep into her chest. It doesn't know she's there. The hand passes _through_ her, and every cell that touches it comes alive with pain. The coppery tang of blood laps the back of her throat. She stares, wanting to yank down the black hood and expose the figure's identity, but her hands are heavy and everything is already beginning to fade.

_Wait, this is wrong. This isn't one of yours, it's one of mine!_

She blinks when light hits her eyes from a spinning crystal heart. But it's not her heart, she realises belatedly, slumped on her side like a discarded apple core and watching the figure pick up another, smaller person who struggles like a mouse in a trap. An equally small figure runs towards them, swinging what might be an oddly shaped sword, but freezes as the first little body goes limp. He cries out, and then everything fades away.

_No, no, no, this is wrong! I didn't mean to show you this…_

The scene changes, becoming angular and lit by tiny lights. The dark figure is still there, but the one whose heart he stole is prone and bathed in shadow. A blurry outline of a child dressed in red and yellow turns its weapon on itself and another crystal heart flies into the air.

She feels an inexplicable motherly affection for both dim bodies on the ground – the one already there, rising now, and the one that was standing but now tilts backwards and explodes into dust. But she can't cry out or reach them. This has happened before. She's failed, she knows, even though she's not sure what she failed at, or why she wants so much to go to the two figures, wrap her arms around them and tell that it'll all be okay in the end. She failed before and now she's failed again. She's failed both of these souls terribly, just like she failed … like she failed …

_I was trying to show you it's not your fault_._ I was trying to show you that things can be changed, that you can save -_

"Ponytail, wake up!"

Aerith sits bolt upright, her breath coming in short gasps. Her hands tremble and her eyes dart around, disorientated until the familiar shapes of her bedroom furniture remind her where she is. Her fists bunch reflexively in the bedclothes as she marshals herself to steady her breathing and slow her heartbeat to a mere gallop.

A hand rubs her back. "You look like shit," Yuffie murmurs, not unkindly. "Nightmare? You were all 'woooo' and thrashing about, and I totally thought you were having some really great dream until you started crying like a baby with a smacked ass."

Aerith feels her cheeks, which are indeed wet with tears. She rubs them onto her forearms, sniffing. "What are you doing in here?"

Yuffie moved out of this room ages ago, since she keeps such odd hours and often sleeps in the day instead of at night. Most mornings Aerith comes down to find her sprawled on the sofa, or slumped over the kitchen table with an empty plate that used to contain cake. She stopped feeling peeved after a while and started making two of everything Yuffie likes – one for her to eat with them, and one for her sneak when they've all gone to bed.

"I was on my way to the bathroom, but I heard you in here and thought you were having, like, a freaking seizure or something. Did Zack add another oh-so-clever ingredient to dinner again?"

In an effort to make Yuffie slow down in eating them out of house and home, and to get her back for some prank or other, Zack concocted a harebrained scheme involving fiery spices and knotweed. He'd found one of Aerith's gardening books and read that crushed knotweed has a laxative effect. They should really have realised something was up when he sat down at the table repressing _giggles_. Obviously, it ended badly for everyone concerned and Zack was banned from the kitchen for a week, forced to eat his meals outside on the step until it rained and Aerith took pity on him.

"N-no."

"Freaking hell, Ponytail, you're shaking like a … shaky thing. Hey, it's three in the morning; my descriptive skills are lacking right now. _Are _you sick?"

"No." Aerith keeps the tremor out of her voice this time, but when she moves her back is slick with cold sweat and her nightgown uncomfortably damp against her shoulders.

"Then what the hell were you dreaming about to put you in this state?"

"Nothing."

"Pfft. Like hell." Yuffie climbs onto the bed, making the mattress dip. She sits cross-legged, eyeballing Aerith like a fish. "The Healer in my clan always said dreams are your subconscious figuring out stuff the rest of your brain can't or won't deal with when you're awake. He also said it can be a major head-fuck."

"Yuffie!"

"Whatever. Head-freak sounds so lame. Anyhow, I'm gonna stay right here, right in _this very spot_, until you tell me what's got you so bothered you look like a half-drowned rabbit tossed in front of an oncoming stampede. Hey, cool, my descriptive skills are coming back. I rule!"

"I'm fine," Aerith replies, trying to get out of bed to change her outfit.

Yuffie grabs her hair and yanks her back down again. "No, you're not. You're jumpy and _frightened_. Just because I'm fearless doesn't mean I can't spot fear a mile away. You're the cool, calm and collected chick around this joint. Whatever's got _you_ riled has to be serious in a 'we-will-not-smile-for-a-month-for-we-have-lost-all-our-sheep-to-rustlers' kind of way."

Aerith holds onto the middle of her ponytail with both hands, trying to tug it free from Yuffie's fist without pulling it out by the roots. "Yuffie -"

"- I am going to tell you what's bugging me? C'mon say it. You know you want to."

"I'm _fine_."

"Wrong answer." Yuffie gives a sharp yank that impels the back of Aerith's head into the mattress. Kneeling, she places a hand on both of Aerith's shoulders and peers into her face upside-down, so close their noses are almost brushing. "I can be really persistent when I want. You're upset. Ergo, I'm gonna stay right here instead, right in _this_ very spot, until you fess up so I can fix whatever it is and go to sleep. And possibly I may drop spit bubbles on your face so you talk quicker. You're depriving me of my beauty rest, Ponytail. That makes me cranky and hungry, and I already finished all the apple pie."

Images from the dream reappear in Aerith's head, knocking against the inside of her skull like a demented cuckoo trying to head-butt its way out of a clock. She can still taste phantom blood and feel hands inside her chest so clearly that her stomach rolls. Yuffie's hands holding her down are like claws, and suddenly Aerith feels trapped.

"Get off me."

"Ponytail -"

"_I said get off me_!" It's a whispered hiss and the vehemence in it makes Yuffie let go.

Aerith struggles upright, but instead of getting up she sits on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands.

"Yo, Ponytail, you're beginning to freak me out. Seriously, what's the matter? Did something happen while I was out today?"

Aerith can't answer. She's trying too hard not to be sick as she pictures the red-and-yellow figure stabbing itself. It was too small to be anything but a child, the shape boyish, and the helplessness of not being able to stop him is like a physical wrench. She also remembers the voice that came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was high and fluty; nothing like the usual voices in her dreams. This was just a normal dream, that's all. It had to be just a normal dream – just a normal nightmare. But it was so _real_, like a memory she doesn't remember making. She's never felt this way before, not even after the nightmares following Black Annis, the bat-monsters, or even Angeal's death. At least then she could stop _shaking _-

A hand lands on her shoulder. "Aerith?"

Aerith swallows, wanting Zack or Cloud, but Yuffie's brown eyes don't morph into theirs and there's concern wriggling around like a trapped insect under the upturned glass of her usual precociousness. Yuffie never uses anything but nicknames.

"I had a dream," Aerith says softly.

"Uh, yeah, kinda guessed that. I'm all for big theatrical pauses and lengthy melodrama, but I'm more of a rip-it-off-like-a-band-aid-so-it-hurts-like-a-bitch-but-not-for-long fan, myself."

And so Aerith carefully explains about her dreams, about how sometimes they tell her things, and how sometimes she learns from the green fire that talks with the voices of those long dead. They don't come often, but when they do they always mean something. She recounts tonight's dream and her fear that it means something awful.

"Was there green fire in this one?" Yuffie asks like she's just been told it'll rain today, or that the hallway needs painting.

"…No," Aerith is forced to admit. "Lots of shadows, and people … people I don't know …"

"Do your dreams usually tell you the future?"

"No. They teach me things, but they usually talk about the past and how to learn from it."

"So maybe there's possibly a slight, outside, remote, slimmer-than-a-butcher's-pencil off-chance that this really was just an ordinary nightmare?"

"But it felt so _real…_" Aerith's hands clench into fists to stave off more trembling.

"The worst ones always do." An indecipherable expression flits across Yuffie's face in the gloom. There and gone, and then back to her regular smirk that can transform into a fierce grin at a moment's notice. "But hey, that's a good thing, right? If it was just some freaky nightmare then it means whatever was in it was just you playing your overprotective card again."

"Overprotective?" Aerith frowns.

"Of course. You mollycoddle us. Not that I'm complaining – I get double cake portions out of it." Without further ado Yuffie rears back, undoes her pouch-belt and tosses it into the floor. She kicks off her boots and unties her scarf and headband so neither chokes her.

"What are you doing?"

"Mollycoddling you back, of course. You think I'm gonna leave you alone with just your own thoughts for company when you're three heartbeats away from a nervous breakdown? Just don't get any ideas – I don't swing that way and you have two men on tap already."

Aerith flushes with indignation, but knows it's ridiculous to argue with Yuffie when she's decided to do something. "We're just friends," she protests instead.

"Move over." Yuffie grabs one of the pillows and wiggles under the covers at the bottom of the bed until just the top part of her face and fingertips show. "Get in, but keep your toes away from me if they're cold, and no kicking me off the end when I'm being so kind and generous as to give up the couch for a night. If any nightmares come back, lemme know and I'll stab 'em. Even dreams run in terror from the Great Ninja Yuffie."

-

"Do you ever think we're the only ones out there?" Aerith stares at the night sky.

"Hm?" Zack, lying next to her, opens his eyes. "What?"

"Were you falling asleep again?"

"Of course not. Your sparkling conversation is keeping me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed." He covers a yawn.

Aerith throws crumbs at him, but hears Cloud grumble instead. "Hey! I didn't do anything."

"Sorry." She settles back, hands linked on her stomach.

It's such a warm evening that she and Cloud decided to take their supper and wait for Zack on the front step, which somehow became laying down watching the sky darken and stars appear. When Zack arrived he wordlessly joined them, causing many squeaks and gripes as he wiggled his way in between their two bodies and linked his arms behind his head. The Buster Sword stands upright above their heads; tip jabbed into the ground like an ancient warrior's grave marker – or the world's smallest lightning rod.

"Where's Yuffie?" Zack asks abruptly.

"On 'night manoeuvres' with her fan club."

"Weren't we supposed to get a leash for her?"

"Do you really want to put ideas into her head?" Aerith breathes deeply, but not _too_ deeply. She doesn't want to fall asleep where bugs can crawl into her shoes and up her skirt. "So, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Either of you. Do you ever think we're the only ones out there?"

"Out where?" Zack looks at the sky. "Out there? I've never really thought about it before."

"I suppose there might be other places," Cloud muses. "Shelke says our planet's just a big ball of rock floating in space, so maybe there are other big rocks with other people on them."

"Staring up at the sky and wondering whether _our_ planet can sustain life," Zack finishes. He yawns again. "Oh man, I'm tired."

"I like the idea of other worlds," Aerith confesses. "It's nice to think that there could be other souls out there, not just the petty ones you find in our world."

"Well if there are other worlds out there, I wouldn't want to be on that one." Zack points at a star that flares brilliantly for a moment and then goes out.

"I've never seen one so that before," says Cloud. "They usually leave a trail when they're shooting stars."

"Do you think we could still make a wish on it?" Aerith asks. She stares at the stygian blackness for a long while, thinking about what wish she would make, until she becomes aware of Zack's chest moving in regular deep breaths. "Zack? Are you asleep?"

"He's asleep," Cloud confirms in a whisper.

Neither of them moves. Aerith can feel the warmth of Zack's skin through his vest against her bare arm. After a while she shifts sideways and tentatively presses herself against his side, listening to his heartbeat. It's a comforting noise, a rhythmic _thump-thump-thump_ that's almost an affirmation of being alive herself. She fell asleep listening to that noise when he used to get up and sit on the stairs, crying for Angeal. It's nice to listen to it now and know it beats with less sadness than it did then.

"What are you doing?" Cloud asks. Aerith jolts. She forgot he was there and is suffused with embarrassment.

"Uh, just … listening to his heartbeat," she replies truthfully.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." He sounds like he doesn't know what to say to that. There's a rustling noise and Aerith lifts her head enough to see Cloud's blond spikes getting closer. "Yep, he's still alive."

"Mm-hm."

"Hey, Aerith?" Cloud whispers after a moment.

"Yes?"

"Do you ever think about … y'know, girl things?"

"Do you really want me to answer that when you blush if you accidentally touch my bra on laundry days?"

"I mean _older _girl things. Like marriage and stuff."

She _has_ thought about it, but only in the context of not wanting to do it. Men in town look at her strangely because she already lives with two – even with Yuffie around they disapprove because they can't see any linear boundaries dividing them into two separate couples. Aerith used to get invitations to dinner parties where girls her age are presented (subtly, of course) to eligible bachelors. Those have dried up lately. More and more people think badly of them but Aerith can't even contemplate leaving. Living here with Zack, Cloud and Yuffie feels right in a bone-deep, irrefutable way that things rarely do.

"Not really."

"Oh." Cloud leaves it a while before speaking again. "Hey, Aerith?"

"Yes, Cloud?"

"You know Zack and I just want you to be happy, right? I mean, we haven't _talked_ about it in so many words, but I'm pretty sure he'd agree with me. It's not so bad to be an older bachelor. People don't talk as much, and especially since Zack's Hollow Bastion's hero they're more lenient about him not having time to go to marriage interviews and things. But you … it's different for girls. I know that. I – _we_ don't want you to resent us, or our friendship. We don't want you to think you have to stay here even if you're uncomfortable or if people are talking and making things unpleasant for you-"

"Cloud?"

"Yes?"

"Be quiet." Aerith snuggles against Zack's side and pretends his sigh is from happiness and not because she and Cloud are constricting his ribcage.

* * *

Ribbons of green fire twirl around her like veils in a dance. Aerith absorbs their warmth; not ordinary warmth but a deeper kind that rubs against her soul like a purring cat. She holds out her hands and lets green coils encircle her wrists and fingers, working their way up her arms and into her hair. They touch the pink ribbon, approval resonating though her as they snake down her spine and legs, sliding over her hips with the vague assessment that she's not a little girl anymore. Still a girl, but not a little one.

And then … someone touches her hands. She opens her eyes, not knowing until now that she'd closed them. Thin fingers wrap around her own, young and spindly, and indented on the right index finger where they've held a pencil too often. Their grip is soft but insistent and Aerith pulls the rest of the body they're attached to from the fire.

"Thank you," says a girl Aerith doesn't know. She can't be much older than Yuffie, but she's definitely not from Hollow Bastion. There is something familiar about her, though. Her hair is such dark mahogany it's almost red, but it's her blue eyes that hold Aerith's like someone twice her age. "For everything."

"Who -"

"I knew coming through this way would work this time. I knew if I sent myself instead of just memories I could do it." The girl grips her hands tighter. "I'm so sorry for everything."

"What?" The raw unhappiness in her voice doesn't sit right with the pleasant warmth still tingling down Aerith's arms. "What are you -?"

"The Heartless will come. Don't try to save me. If you want to hold on to what's most important to you, _please_, don't try to save me."

"The Heartless are gone," Aerith protests.

"They'll come back. They'll always come back until the key finds its master, and then they'll come back stronger than ever until they don't come back at all," the girl gabbles, cryptic in her haste to say as many things as she can in the shortest time possible. She clutches Aerith's hands so tight it starts to hurt. "The darkness will take one of us. It has to. If you want to be happy, let it take me instead. Don't save me – just leave me behind and run. I'll survive. I'll be sent away someplace safe anyway when the Heartless call the six of them back from the void. They'll come to take back the castle. I'm too important to kill, but if you try to save me now you'll only set events in motion that'll bring you heartache."

"I don't understand," Aerith starts, but the green fire roars up around them and she feels the girl's hands torn away.

"But I'm not finished yet! Wait, put me back! I didn't warn her about -" She's cut off abruptly.

"Wait!" Aerith steps forward, but the ground disappears and she falls.

* * *

"C'mon, sleepyheads. Up and at 'em." Yuffie pokes Cloud in the side with an umbrella. She will never explain why she took an umbrella on night manoeuvres, but they're used to that. "Man oh man, what did you three get up to last night?"

"Muh?" Cloud raises his head. "Whu?"

Yuffie grins suggestively. "Was it good?"

"Was what…?" Cloud realises that he's on the ground, outside, and his arm is slung over Zack's chest to loosely grasp Aerith's wrist. She's holding onto Zack's other side like he can protect her from the chill of morning dew. It's a very compromising position.

Cloud rolls away so fast he disturbs them both into wakefulness – or Aerith, at least. Zack's eyes are clear of sleep and watching him.

"You two looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you," he says, helping Aerith to sit upright but talking to Cloud. "Plus you were warm." It seems bizarre that, of the three of them, Zack used to be the least tactile but has grown to enjoy casual touch, and now he's the least bothered about waking up with both his best friends hugging him.

Yuffie's still grinning. "Outside as nature intended," she crows.

"Nothing happened, Yuffie," Zack says in the manner of one speaking to an elderly person who will have forgotten what he's said in five minutes.

"Uh-huh. Y'know, it's sad, but I actually believe you." She sticks out her tongue and then her hand to help Cloud up. "Are you okay, Ponytail?"

Aerith has a hand to her forehead. "I … I had a dream," she mumbles.

"A good one?"

"A Green Dream, but not like any I've had before. I … I think something's going to happen. Something bad. It wasn't … very clear. I can't remember …" She looks up. "I think the Heartless are going to come back."

Yuffie's hand tightens around Cloud's but her face doesn't change. "Really? Hell yeah! We get to kick some Heartless keister!"

Aerith shakes her head. "I have bad feeling about this."

"Do you have any idea of a timeframe?" Zack asks, being the practical one.

She shakes her head again and gets up, brushing her dress a little more vigorously than she needs to. She picks up the discarded dishes and they follow her inside.

After Aerith has explained the details of her dream in private they contemplate what it might mean.

"I don't know anyone in town of that age who fits that description," says Zack. "She told you _not_ to save her?"

"I don't understand it either. She seemed so familiar, but I know I've never seen her before."

When Aerith is uneasy she gets practical and domestic. She lifts the kettle off the hob and pours drinks for all of them, then brings the mugs to the kitchen table. Cloud reflects that this seems to be where they gather every time they need a serious discussion, but their kitchen is about as far from a war room as possible. Sprigs of dried herbs dangle from the walls, the scent of last night's dinner lingers, and there are picture frames of pressed flowers everywhere. A few months ago Aerith started selling them to traders who pass through and they've proven very popular. Nobody else can capture the colour flowers had in life, but when Aerith presses them they remain vibrant. They can brighten a gloomy room better than sunlight through a window.

"Maybe she's going to come in with one of the merchant caravans," Cloud suggests.

"And maybe she'll drop from the sky singing Polly Wolly Doodle All the Day." Yuffie throws up her hands. "If we don't know her, we don't know her. It doesn't matter when she turns up, just that we know her when the Heartless show their ugly faces."

"And do what?" Aerith hasn't sat down. "She said not to save her, but why? And how can we willingly leave her to the Heartless if there's a chance of doing something? Those things ... it's not right." Her head sways from side to side like a distressed animal.

"We'll just have to cross the bridge when it comes to it." Zack toys with the handle of his mug. Nobody except Yuffie has tasted their drink.

"She didn't say saving her would do anything except make me unhappy," Aerith murmurs. "If it comes down to an exchange, my happiness for an innocent life, then I'd still do everything I could to save her. Happiness would be a moot point. I don't know if I could live with myself if I knew someone had died because of my selfishness."

"If there's one thing you're _not_, Aerith, it's selfish." Zack's voice is so full of certainty nobody can argue.

"Right on." Yuffie claps a few times and punches the air. "Hey, look on the bright side. Maybe it was just a plan old bad dream brought on by sleeping in the dirt, and there _isn't_ any spooky dream girl. Of course, that'd mean I don't get to mangle any Heartless, but life's about exchange, right? Keeping the balance – no dream girl, no Heartless, but no need to make big decisions that could totally crap all over your day."

Aerith doesn't look remotely convinced.

For his part, Cloud's head snaps up at Yuffie's words. "What did you say?"

"Huh? You need to clean your ears or something? I said no dream girl, no Heartless -"

"No, before that." Something is tugging at Cloud's memory like a small child tugging a trouser leg to get a parent's attention.

"Keeping the balance?" Yuffie's expression is as close to puzzled as it ever gets. "Life's about exchange?"

_Everything in the universe is about exchange and balance. _

The memory rockets out of nowhere. Cloud can't understand where it came from, who said it or why it inspires a sudden stab of fear in him. The feeling is so strong his heart seems to skip a beat.

"Are you okay, Cloud?" Zack's face is painted with concern. "You've gone white."

_A life for a life, boy. An act of darkness for an act of darkness. _

"I … I …" Cloud swallows. "I agree with Aerith. If this girl does appear and needs saving, we have to save her. If we leave her to the Heartless it's like we've killed her ourselves." … _A life for a life …_ Would the universe pay them back by taking one of their lives to balance the scales? Cloud would die himself before he let any of his friends be hurt. Just the thought of losing them makes his insides twist like he's swallowed a razorblade cocktail. ... _An act of darkness for an act of darkness_ … "It'd be an act of darkness."

"That's a melodramatic way of putting it," Yuffie remarks, arching her eyebrows at him. "Crises bring out your poetic side, Cloudy. Forsooth and yea, for we are the heroes of this town and we are noble, so let the darkness try to bend us to its wicked, wicked ways by giving us nasty-ass decisions to make, for we shall not falter or fall. We are mighty! We are righteous! We are … the Great Ninja Yuffie and the Hero Fighting and Cooking Combo Squad!" She props her feet on the table and leans back in her chair. "Hey, just in case it's today, we need to keep our strength up. I was out all night and I'm so hungry I could eat a fried chocobo egg. What's for breakfast?"

"You were out _all_ night?" Zack squints at her. "Why do I get the feeling we're going to get a bill for damages?"

"Or an angry mob at the door," Cloud adds, marshalling himself to sound normal. He's made his decision already: if anything tries to harm his friends, he'll do whatever needs doing to keep them safe, even if it means risking his own life against the Heartless.

Yuffie just grins and taps the side of her nose.

"Oh hell," Zack mutters. "We'll have to move house."

* * *

_**To Be Continued …**_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

"_Freaking hell, Ponytail, you're shaking like a … shaky thing."_

-- A side-fling to the always-hilarious BBC comedy series _Blackadder_, which created this subverted style of simile.

_Aerith shakes her head. "I have bad feeling about this." _

-- A riff off the line that appears in every _Star Wars_ movie. As soon as this line is said, you _know_ the shit is about to hit the fan.

* * *


	13. Everything Changes

* * *

**12. Everything Changes**

* * *

_Life is its own journey, presupposes its own change and movement, and one tries to arrest them at one's eternal peril._ -- Laurens van der Post

* * *

"She's getting so _big_."

Anemone smiles. The expression has never really lost its tiredness since Kairi was born, but there's warmth and joy in it too. "Don't I know it? She eats like it's going out of fashion."

"Kind of like someone else I know." Aerith glances at Yuffie, who shrugs.

"What? I'm a growing girl." Yuffie pushes her face into Kairi's, brushing their noses from side to side. "We both are, aren't we, Small Fry?"

Kairi giggles and holds out her arms. She clearly wants to be picked up.

Yuffie, in a rare display of forethought, looks to Anemone first. "Is it okay if I hold her?"

Kairi makes a commanding noise. She wants to be picked up, and she wants it _now_.

"I suppose so." Anemone watches like a hawk as Yuffie grasps her daughter under the arms and hoists her from the floor onto her hip. There are pouches all over Yuffie's belt, some of which contain throwing stars and other sharp objects, plus goodness knows what else. Aerith often thinks they're bottomless, because they can't possible hold all Yuffie pulls out of them. "Be careful with her -"

"I know, I know. Wow, Small Fry, you're not really too small anymore."

"Fuh-rah-ee!" Kairi jabs a finger into Yuffie's eye. "Fry!"

"Please don't call her that," Anemone says tightly. She doesn't approve of a lot of what Yuffie does, but Aerith has vouched for her, and Anemone respects Aerith's opinion enough not to bar Yuffie from the house.

She didn't look too happy earlier, when she opened her front door to find not only Aerith, the guest she invited, but also the ninja girl she lives with. Yuffie was bored and looking for something to do because all her fan club is grounded or have fractured limbs (which she still claims aren't her fault because the kid should've _told_ her he's afraid of heights), so Aerith brought her along to make sure she didn't get into the kind of crazy trouble only a bored Yuffie can create.

Privately, Anemone considers Yuffie a savage who's being slowly civilised by her housemates, but she'd never tell Aerith this as it might hurt her feelings. Aerith seems inexplicably attached to the ninja, not seeing (or choosing not to see) her obvious faults. Perhaps Yuffie is a pet to her, or at least a pet project to make up for not having a husband and children of her own yet.

Aerith knows all this because Yuffie told her after hanging upside down in a tree outside the Caspians' window one night, listening in on their conversation. Yuffie doesn't much care for Anemone either. She calls her a 'stuck up old prude' and often does impressions of her that involve a lot of sniffing with her nose in the air and walking like she has an acorn clenched between her buttocks. She likes Kairi, though. Everybody likes Kairi. Even people who don't like children like her, and Yuffie is willing to overlook Anemone's attitude to play with the little girl.

That didn't stop her from talking about her eavesdropped conversation for three days after she heard it, though – the highlight of which was when she tried to construct Anemone's idea of her being a replacement 'child' for Aerith.

"So if I'm the kid, and Aerith's my 'mom', that'd make one of you two …" Yuffie broke off her impression to grin at Zack and Cloud. "Which one wants the job? The other one can be the boyfriend I bring home as an act of rebellion to make my parents mad at me."

They backed off, pointing at each other, unsure which was worse: being connected to Yuffie as her love interest or as her surrogate father figure.

Back in the present moment, Kairi giggles as Yuffie, eternally forgiving even of having fingers stuck in her eyes, dances around the living room. "More! More!"

"She knows a lot of words now," Aerith remarks.

"Yes. We're so proud." Anemone sits up a little straighter. "Her grandmother dotes on her. She says Caspian didn't know half the things Kairi does when he was her age. We think she's going to be an early developer. She already knows how to hold a crayon and make marks on a piece of paper. Nothing too clear yet, but it's just a matter of time before she can draw a proper circle."

"That's … good."

Aerith watches Yuffie perform an awkward tango, holding Kairi's arm out to the side and taking long strides to her own music. After a moment she twirls around and dips Kairi backwards, provoking an eruption of giggles and a frantic clutch at her yellow scarf.

"Hey, watch it! Wait until you know me better before you try to strangle me."

Anemone's fingers cramp a little around her mug as she strangles her own urge to comment.

Suddenly Kairi's giggles die in her throat. She clutches again, but this time not with delight. She looks frightened and buries her face in Yuffie's front, trying to hide.

"Hey, what's the matter? I didn't yell at you."

"Bah!" Kairi whimpers. "Bah!"

Yuffie looks at Aerith and Anemone, nonplussed. "Translation?"

Aerith is about to say something when the air in the centre of the room wobbles and darkens. Ice knifes into her lungs. She instantly recognises the glowing yellow eyes and small body pulling itself into the room.

_No…_She stands up so fast she knocks her chair over. "Anemone, run! Yuffie, get Kairi out of here."

"Will do." Yuffie grabs hold of the older woman on her way to the door. "C'mon, Mistress Stuck-Up, we gotta make tracks."

"But … but this my house."

"And it just became part of Stay Here and The Monsters'll Kill You City."

"What about Aerith? What's going on? What _is_ that thing?"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know. Ponytail, time to book it!"

But Aerith has grabbed a poker from the fireplace and whacks it down over the incoming Heartless's neck.

_It's not _human, she reminds herself, hands trembling at the unfamiliar violence. _It's not a person. It barely even looks like one, even if it does have hands and legs and fingers and eyes … never mind. Just hit it! Hit it or you know what it'll do!_

She shuts her eyes at the last moment, but still manages to sever its head. There's little substance to resist her – the Heartless really do seem made of shadows – and the momentum of her wild swing makes her stumble. The creature dissolves into dust without a sound, but already there's a new set of eyes peering at her, and the dark patch is _growing_. Aerith wheels to see more dark circles appearing around the room.

_Oh no_. _No!_

She decides a hasty retreat might indeed be the best option and runs for the door, only to find her way blocked by a freshly wobbling piece of air.

_Oh __**no**__! _

Heartless pouronto the carpet. She backs away, holding her poker the way she's seen Zack hold his sword. It doesn't deter them. They come at her from all sides. They're not like individual bodies; when they're together they take on the appearance of a single, roiling mass of fingers, feelers and baleful yellow eyes.

The front door bangs wide and a hail of tiny shuriken pepper the room. "Ponytail, I thought I told you to book it!"

Aerith dashes gratefully through the small gap Yuffie's weapons have made. "Thank you."

Outside, Anemone holds Kairi in her arms, one hand against the back of the little girl's head like it'll protect her. Kairi is crying softly, shaking her head and pointing at the Heartless.

"Bah!" she says, and then takes a deep breath, her little face scrunched up in concentration. "_Bad_!"

_She knew_, Aerith thinks distractedly. _She knew they were coming before they appeared. _

There's no time to ponder this, as Heartless emerge from the Caspians' house. Yuffie slams the door on them but they've smashed the window. There are so _many_, all writhing and shuffling towards them. Yuffie hurls shuriken, catches the tiny stars on the rebound, spins on her toes and hurls them again using their own momentum. Heartless explode everywhere. Some headless bodies taking a few more steps before they pop, and some are suddenly missing limbs but still drag themselves forward. The ground turns dark with dust, but it's not enough.

"We need to get away. We need help." Aerith turns and pushes Anemone along in front of her. "We need weapons."

"Weapons we've got," Yuffie replies, tossing a kunai through the centre of one Heartless so that it also hits the one behind it in the head. "Help we could use."

_Zack_, Aerith instantly thinks, envisioning the Buster Sword. Her emotional responses associate Zack with strength and protection. Where is he? She remembers him saying something about finding imp tracks by the tavern and manoeuvres Anemone in that direction. If they can't find Zack, at least there might be others around there who can help fight these creatures.

"What _are_ those things?" Anemone demands again.

"Bad!" Kairi sobs.

"You said it, Small Fry." Yuffie turns, a sai in either hand, and hacks at Heartless that have come too close.

They're appearing in the street, too, causing the women to dodge and zigzag to avoid them. These aren't like the creatures that attacked years ago. The Heartless then looked like sack-toys made of shadow, while these are dressed in clanking helmets and have metal feet shaped like opened pea-pods.

Yuffie's left sai clangs against one before she thrusts the right through its visor. She kicks and stomps and slashes, giving more credence than ever before to her self-given title. "Yaaaah! Eat Wutai fury, bastards! You'll be sorry you ever met the Great Ninja Yuffie!"

Aerith yanks Anemone back to stop her stepping into a portal on the ground. That's what those dark patches have to be – some sort of portal between here and wherever those things are coming from. She doesn't know what would happen if they did touch one and she doesn't want to find out. People are coming out of their houses to see what the ruckus is, but not one of them is armed and she wants to tell them to go back where it's safe, except she's entirely taken up with getting mother and baby away from the Heartless.

One leaps from above. Aerith, having little idea how to fight, holds out the poker and is grateful when it helpfully impales itself. Before exploding into dust the creature reaches, not for Aerith or Anemone, the easier targets, but for Kairi. Kairi cowers away and squeals when pieces of it land in her hair.

_They're after Kairi_, Aerith comprehends, thwacking away another Heartless trying to grab the child. _But why? Could it have something to do with her knowing they were going to be there before they appeared?_

Someone screams. Aerith sees a man who was running away without trying to help. He falls backwards, a shining crystal heart rising out of his chest. His body dissipates, but his heart spins faster and faster, turning a ghastly reddish colour before growing limbs and a head with a metal helmet. The new Heartless joins the throng and is quickly lost from view.

_The captured hearts … they become Heartless themselves?_ A memory surfaces of when they first met Yuffie and she told them of her travels to find information about the nature of Heartless. _'Heartless are hearts corrupted by darkness that no longer have a body to house them or a soul to temper them.' So … people with too much darkness in their hearts become Heartless if their hearts are removed._

An old man hobbles down the path from his house brandishing a carving knife. There's no way he can fight. He can barely stand up and wheezes with the effort of getting this far, but gallantly tries to rescue them anyway. When his heart is taken it vanishes and no Heartless takes its place.

_And people without enough darkness just have their hearts stolen_. It's a chilling realisation.

The tavern is in sight now. Aerith doesn't know what she expected, but seeing their destination and no sign of Zack makes her stomach flip. She didn't plan further than this, and the horde of Heartless at their backs leave little room for mistakes.

"Aaaah!"

Aerith whips around at the cry. Yuffie is down, submerged under a mass of writhing, clanking bodies. One hand breaks free and stabs blindly with a sai, but it's no use.

"_Yuffie_!" Aerith cries.

The tavern door flings wide. Tifa runs out with a long pole in hand, which she uses to vault over Aerith and Anemone and land between them and the Heartless. "Get inside," she commands, swinging around in a wide arc and taking out a cluster of Heartless with the pole's sweep. Close-to, Aerith can see it's meant for opening high windows. The blunt hook on the end, which should unbolt window catches, rips through the Heartless like they're made of tissue paper.

"Go!" Aerith shoves Anemone forward.

Tifa performs a series of impressive flips that take her right into the centre of the swarm. For a moment she's lost from view. Then Heartless fly in all directions, flung away by the combined cyclonic force of she and Yuffie.

Yuffie, breathing hard, puts her back to Tifa's and grins. Her face is scratched and bruised and her headband is reddening from a gash in her hairline, but it hasn't dimmed the light in her eyes. "Glad to see you don't hold a grudge."

Tifa bats Heartless out of the air. "Don't think this means I like you."

"Nope. I think this means you loooove me."

Tifa turns in a sharp kick, slicing a Heartless in two with her foot. "Oh, get over yourself."

-

Cloud knows with unsettling certainty that the Heartless are attacking. As soon as he hears the noises, some part of him _knows_ what they are and what they mean. He can't explain it, and tries to tell himself he's wrong. He stops sweeping the stable yard and goes to the gate, ears straining. It's probably a spooked horse or children playing.

The thin, unmistakable shriek of a terrified woman pierces the air.

_Do you want your friends to die?_

Cloud rocks backwards. The words are insidious, appearing in his mind fully formed but not summoned or produced by him. They feel like a memory, have a familiar edge, but slide away like soap when he tries to find out more. For a moment he swears he feels stone pressing against his back and tastes blood coating his teeth, but then the sensations are gone and it's just him, stalls full of panicking chocobos and the knowledge that somewhere the prediction Aerith made months ago has come true: the Heartless are back.

"Hey, what're you doing?" his employer yells as he crosses the yard and lets himself into one of the stalls. They have an advanced riders' class starting soon and several birds are all tacked up and ready. Cloud swings himself into a saddle with ease. "Where the hell do you think you're going? You put that chocobo back, mister, or you're looking at a suspension!"

"There are monsters attacking. I'm going to help."

"Not on one of our birds, you're not. Leave that friend of yours to deal with it. That's his job."

"I'm going," Cloud says in a tone that brooks no argument. He's a little surprised at how obstinate he sounds. Maybe Zack is already there, but he can't take the chance that he isn't. With the same unerring certainty as before, Cloud knows Aerith and Yuffie are mixed up in this. It's as though a thread is woven between them and it's pulling tight, drawing him to them when they need him.

"These birds are worth a fortune. You take one out to face monsters and you're not only looking at suspension, you're putting yourself up for dismissal!"

Cloud loves his job. He's good at it and people acknowledge his skills instead of writing him off as a wimp, a sexual deviant, or just the son of 'that woman', even though his mother hasn't been 'that woman' in a very long time. Stigma is more difficult to wash off than permanent ink. His job has helped him affirm his own identity in Hollow Bastion, independent of tittle-tattle and rumour.

_Do you want your friends to die?_

He squares his jaw. "No."

"No what?" his employer demands. "No you won't go, or no you don't want this job anymore?"

_Would you give up anything for them?_

"Yes."

_Good boy._

Shaking away his uneasiness, Cloud spurs the chocobo through the open gate and down the street.

-

Anemone stares at Aerith with wide, terrified eyes. As the centre of her chest begins to glow, she thrusts Kairi out and Aerith just has time to take her before Anemone falls back and her very own crystal heart spins in the air. There's a loaded pause in which it could sprout arms and legs, but instead it vanishes, leaving Aerith staring into the eyes of the Heartless that tore it out the back of Anemone's ribcage.

"No!" Aerith shrieks, finding her voice again. "No, we were almost there!" The tavern door is open to admit them, though everyone inside has either bolted or is hiding under a table. They're a matter of steps away and now …

"Mama," Kairi whimpers against Aerith's collarbone. "Mama."

The Heartless reaches for her.

Aerith backs away. She dropped the poker when she took Kairi. "You stay away!"

Needless to say, it doesn't listen. Aerith assesses her options and makes a dash for the tavern once more. It may not be much sanctuary, but walls are walls and she'd rather have something between her and the Heartless than nothing at all.

Yuffie and Tifa enact a dance so deadly and poised it looks like they've been rehearsing this performance all their lives. When Yuffie leaps into the air, Tifa drops to the same spot, snapping out a kick with enough force to separate a Heartless's head from its shoulders. When Tifa spins, Yuffie spins with her, ducking under her extended leg to gouge shorter Heartless with a kunai and her remaining sai. They're almost faster than the eye can follow. Between them they create a bristling whirlwind, hopping, stabbing, weaving and slicing, never staying still long enough for the Heartless to get a proper fix on them. Yet despite their efforts many creatures stream past. They're simply too numerous to be stopped by the two girls' attacks.

Aerith skids to a halt, her way barred by two Heartless.

"Wark!"

A flurry of yellow feathers, the scrape of claws against cobbles, and both headless bodies waver a moment before disintegrating.

"Need a lift?" Cloud leans out of the saddle towards her.

Aerith's never been so glad to see him in her life and takes his hand without hesitation.

The chocobo hops from foot to foot, trying to get Heartless residue off its feet. Keeping one hand on the reigns, Cloud leans forward to shush it and scoops something up off the floor. "Where to?"

"Anywhere but here. Cloud, they're after Kairi. I don't know why, but everyone else is incidental. It's her they want."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, but Cloud, they got Anemone." Aerith's voice is thick with emotion. Maybe she didn't always agree with Anemone's opinions, but she was a good person and didn't deserve this. Kairi shudders against her front, suddenly motherless and scared stiff. "And the Heartless, Cloud, the Heartless – they're not monsters, they're _people_. People with too much darkness in their hearts, that's what they are, and they've been turning people from Hollow Bastion into more Heartless, too, and stealing the hearts of anyone who can't be turned, and they took her heart right in front of me and I couldn't _do_ anything and -"

"Whoa!" Cloud pulls the chocobo up short when it tries to bolt. It stamps the ground, terrified and desperate to run away. Chocobos have no sense of smell but the air is thick with a fine mist of defeated Heartless that reeks like stinkweed and roses on a bonfire. "Is that Yuffie and … _Tifa_?"

"Ragh!" Tifa strikes out with the window pole, decapitating a ring of enemies.

"Yeehaw!" Yuffie yells, plunging into the line behind them with wild abandon. "That's for my dad, you yellow-eyed, saggy-headed bastards. Hah! And that's for the Wutai clan! Hrrraaah! And that's for _me_!" She goes on this way, a dervish of strikes and shouts of payback, each more fervent and reckless than the last.

"Yuffie, look out!" Tifa yells, throwing herself in front of her with a flying snap-kick. The move takes out the Heartless about to grab Yuffie, but with both feet off the ground Tifa is vulnerable against the one on its left. The creature cannons into her side, sending them both crashing to the floor with her on the bottom. While Tifa is still winded the Heartless plunges both hands into her ribcage like her skin is the surface of water.

Cloud thrusts Aerith's fire-poker into it, slicing it up the middle. Black dusts falls on either side of Tifa's body and she stares up at her unlikely saviour, shocked and breathless.

"Aerith! Cloud!" roars a voice, and suddenly Zack is also there. He cuts a path up the street, the Buster Sword shining with magical strength that allows it to whip around so fast it's practically cutting time into slivers. "Yuffie! I'm coming!"

"What am I, chopped liver?" Tifa flips upright and takes up a ready stance, fists bunched, elbows loose, and all her weight on the balls of her feet.

"Here." Yuffie scoops up the discarded pole and tosses it to her. "By the way, thanks for saving my ass."

Tifa catches the pole and spins it around like an overlarge baton. "I still don't like you." But she's smiling as she says it.

Some of the Heartless at the back of the crowd turn and run at Zack. They pile on top of him and he goes under with the sheer force of their numbers. Tifa and Yuffie ratchet through and off exploding bodies to reach him, using Heartless as stepping stones an instant before they burst. At one point Yuffie's actually pulling Heartless off Zack with just her bare hands, as tiny throwing stars and what looks like a razor-edged boomerang whiz around her.

_How the heck did she manage to hide that where nobody could see? _Aerith wonders in that strange detached way that sometimes strikes when a situation becomes so incompressible your brain just wants to switch off completely.

Zack comes up for air. His swings should be cutting both girls to ribbons, but each move is so precise not one even clips their hair. The trio wreak havoc on the Heartless, working their way towards Cloud's frantically stomping and pecking chocobo.

"WARK!"

Cloud raises his foot to kick a Heartless clambering over his stirrup to get to Kairi and Aerith. "They're pretty single-minded!"

"Yeah, well so am I!" Yuffie lands in front of them. "And right now my mind's all about getting rid of these things. Cloud, don't like this feather-butt peck the back of my head and cave it in. Tell it I'm trying to protect you."

"Bad!" Kairi screams. "Bad!"

The portals have finally stopped appearing. Those that were there shrink to pinpricks and blink out. The Heartless are no longer infinite, but there are still so many the street is a boiling sea of black bodies. Zack has taken Yuffie's place at Tifa's back and they score a path towards the little group around the chocobo, but when they reach them Aerith sees the state they're in. Zack is better, having sprinted to the battle later than everyone else, but Tifa's starting to flag. Her martial arts aren't meant for prolonged combat. Her style is to finish a fight quickly in a few strong moves, but against so many Heartless she's being worn down. Her left sleeve has been torn off and her knuckles are bloody under their film of black dust.

"They want Kairi!" Cloud yells.

"Well they can't have her," someone replies, Aerith's not sure who, because Zack and Tifa have formed a defensive line with Yuffie and all she can see are their backs.

The Heartless rush them. They maintain their position, backed up against the tavern wall and just hitting, hitting, hitting as the things throw themselves forward. There are Heartless on the ground, in the air, falling on sword and kunai and pole – and then some of them have scaled the building while nobody was looking and are dropping from the roof.

Aerith screams, fingers in her hair, scrabbling at her dress, pulling her arms to make her let go. "No, no, no!"

One of them is wedged between her and Cloud and thrusts its hands into his chest from behind. Cloud's eyes widen in pain and shock. The Heartless itself freezes, its eyes wide with something like shock.

The Buster Sword zings, spattered with Zack's own blood from where they've clawed his face and arms. Yuffie is lifted into the air. Tifa slams against the wall, pole broken but still fighting. The chocobo squeals as three Heartless grab it and turn it onto its side, dumping Aerith, Kairi and Cloud on the ground. The Heartless on Cloud is knocked free and he gasps, clutching his chest like he's having a cardiac arrest. Aerith screams again, curling around Kairi because she can't think what else to do as Heartless pile on top of them.

"Bad! Go 'way!"

Aerith has a brief impression of something like a sword with a crooked end sprouting from Kairi's hand. It sparkles and smells like lilies, which is totally inappropriate for a battle, especially one they're about to die in, that disconnected part of Aerith thinks.

Then the little girl erupts with light, the Heartless dissolve into dust like the shadows they are, and everything is swept away.

* * *

_**To Be Continued …**_

* * *


	14. Crash Landing

* * *

**13. Crash Landing **

* * *

_Well I was moving at the speed of sound.  
Head-spinning, couldn't find my way around, and  
Didn't know that I was going down.  
Yeah, yeah.  
Where I've been, well it's all a blur.  
What I was looking for, I'm not sure.  
Too late and didn't see it coming._

-- From **Crashed** by Daughtry.

* * *

"She'll take the castle."

"What?"

"You can't stop her. You couldn't know, but … he'll come back to claim his Heartless now they've broken free of their pens. Those things couldn't last forever. They were never designed to. He wanted to release them straight away, but he was stopped. It should've ended there, but everybody _forgot_, and the Heartless didn't that time and not one of them died of starvation, they just waited to find a way to escape. He'll use their calls and the call of the keyblade to find his way back from the Realm of Nothingness, and then he'll give the Heartless everything and everyone to feed on and multiply their numbers. He has plans. He's always had more plans than anyone knew about. He's been asleep in the nothingness, rekindling his powers, but you've woken him up. To him, it'll be like no time at all has passed, except to make people softer and less cautious. When he finally leaves, she'll come. She and the other evil ones will take the castle and make it their own when there's nobody left to stop them."

"Who will?"

"A witch. A sorceress. A being of pure evil. You don't know her, you'll never meet her, but she'll take your home, and when you go back you'll see her everywhere. You'll have to warn the key-bearer about her. You'll have to warn him about everything to do with Hollow Bastion."

"Him? What him? What's going on? Where am I? Am I dreaming?"

"You made your choice. Kairi thinks it's her fault, but _you_ made your own choice. Now you're going to have to live with the consequences."

"What choice? What are you talking about? Who _are_ you?"

"I am. I will be."

"I don't understand."

"It's difficult to explain. There's so much I'm not allowed to tell you."

"Where are the others? Zack! Cloud!"

"With you and not with you. They'll always be with you, even when you can't see them. It's important you remember that."

"You sound familiar. Do I know you?"

"The Heartless will do whatever he says. He's their master. They can be controlled if the will that bends them to it is strong enough. He'll use the town to increase their numbers and restart his plans. Everyone should leave, but they won't. They're too busy forgetting the castle's even there to notice the evil growing inside it, just like they forgot the people who used to live there. The cloaking was an accident, but it suits his purposes. They won't even see him coming."

"I don't understand."

"You're not meant to."

"I have to save my home!"

"You can't."

"I have to _try_. I can't leave my mom – Zack, Cloud, Yuffie, Tifa …"

"They're going to create armies. They both know a war is coming. They're counting on it. You can't stop them. You can't stop any of them now. You chose a different path, and so you have a different part to play in this fight."

"Fight? I don't want to fight anyone. I'm terrible at fighting. Wait – Kairi! Those things were after Kairi -"

"She's the most important chess piece on the board, though she's still far too young right now. The keyblade was an accident – she was desperate, but it's too soon for her. It'll always be too soon, until it isn't. She has to grow into herself, like you. You chose to protect. Now you have to carry on protecting her, from others and from herself. She's not yet ready for her powers, or the role she has to play. Keep her safe until she is."

"Why me?"

"Because you chose to save. Remember that. She'll blame herself. Maybe you'll have better luck convincing her that none of it was her fault when she eventually finds out the truth. Remember that you chose – that _everyone_ chose to run towards the battle instead of away from it. They made their own choices, too. You shouldn't blame yourself."

"Blame myself for what? I don't _understand_! I have to save my mom!"

"She's already lost."

"No!"

"You can't do anything."

"I don't believe that!"

"You -"

"I don't _believe _that!

"Belief … yes, that's what'll turn the battle. Belief in oneself. Belief that friends can be saved. Belief in the power of the Keyblade. Kairi believed she could change the past, but part of being connected to the ancestors the way _we_ are is learning that time tries to heal itself no matter what. She couldn't stop everyone from choosing to follow their own natures any more than I could. She unlocked the door to your dreams before I could stop her. I didn't even know she could do that until she did it. I used to be such a fan of false hope. It makes things easier when you have something to hope for. I can't promise anywhere would be far enough to run to, but I suppose this time … maybe … a message would be allowed?"

Green fire, warm arms, a voice not heard for years and a single name – _Ifalna, that's my name, know me and cherish me like I cherished you when I left you with the doctor's wife, like I cherish you every time you dream, like I will always cherish you no matter what happens. _Lips against her forehead, and then a streak of emerald as the message is transported into one who has walls around her mind. _She's not like us. We're Ancients, special people with special blood who remember the old magic. Magic is stronger in us than other people, but I'll try. For you, my precious one, I'll try to make her hear…_

Back along the dark tunnel, through the void between worlds and out into the light, across the sky like a falling star. A town. A house. A room. A body. The shape of a mind, lumpy and human. Elmyra.

_Tell her! Quickly, tell her before the shock of hearing you this way makes her mind snap!_

"Mom, you have to go! You have to leave Hollow Bastion! Take anyone who'll go with you and get as far away as you can. Go tonight. Just pick up what you need to get safely across Barren Region and _leave_. Take Cloud's mom. Take anyone else who wants to go. Take Tifa's dad! I know you don't like him but please, knock him out and drag him out of Hollow Bastion if you have to, just _leave. _Go to Zack's; take what weapons you can find to defend yourselves. Just get away and don't look back. Please. For me."

A mind startled. A dropped flowerpot. A body on its knees. Hands at a mouth bracketed by wrinkles, as the mind comprehends that someone precious is suddenly gone from her life. "Aerith…"

And then the link breaks and it's back, pulled back, yanked reluctantly into the void, through it, beyond it, out the other side as stars slide past. Different worlds, fading in and out, from bright to dim to bright again – the balance of light and dark, endless, eternal, stretching from the past, to the present, to a future where a woman wearing a pink and white dress smiles sadly.

"You'll understand your powers better, in time. It's part of being an Ancient – you only really see things properly when it's too late, or when you get old and die. Or just die, I guess. It'll be hard, but you'll understand when you get to me. It's easier to think about it all from here."

"Where's here?"

"Right … here."

And she lands with a splash.

* * *

Aerith opens her eyes and realises in the same moment that she's laying on her back, she's soaking wet, and a child is crying nearby. It takes a further moment for her scrambled brain to catch up and process these things properly. When she does she sits upright so fast her head spins.

"Kairi!"

Kairi's sitting beside her in the shallow, noxious smelling water. Their voices echo, which tells Aerith more than the faint flickering glow of a candle in a glass box hung on the wall. All she can tell from Kairi is what her outline and quiet sobbing reveal. "Mama … Mama …"

_Anemone … _

The battle with the Heartless comes back and Aerith hugs Kairi close. "Shh, shh, don't cry, it's all right, I'm here, you're okay." She doesn't think the lie is as bad if she slips it in the middle and covers it with soothing noises. Things are _not _all right. She doesn't have a clue where they are and it's too dark to see much. "Shh, Kairi, shh."

She hears splashing nearby and freezes up. More Heartless?

"Ponytail?"

"Yuffie!" Relief floods through Aerith. "You're all right!"

Yuffie's teeth shine in the gloom. "Sure I am. I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie. Nothing can keep me down for long. I am rubber, you are glue, yadda yadda yadda. You okay?"

"I'm not hurt."

"Yeah, I getcha. Here." She holds out her hand and helps Aerith to her feet. Aerith stumbles a little, readjusting Kairi in her arms.

"Where are we?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Yuffie, tell me."

"I think it's a sewer. I've seen things floating past you don't even want to _know _about – no crocodiles, though, which was kinda disappointing, but also kinda not, 'cause I'm tired as hell and I lost a shitload of weapons back there. Whoops, sorry, forgot about Small Fry. Um, I lost a buttload of stuff … ah, forget it. I've been wandering around in the dark for an age. I found a ladder that seems like it goes somewhere, but then I heard you two and skedaddled this way to do the whole huddle-together-for-warmth thing."

"Do you … have you see anyone else?"

Yuffie's tone is light and she's so good at it Aerith can't tell if it's forced or not. The fact she uses real names tells Aerith much more than her tone of voice. "Y'mean Zack or Cloud?"

"Or Tifa. We were all together when …" Aerith remembers and her eyes travel down to Kairi. She looks just like a normal little girl, but Aerith is beginning to comprehend that she's much, much more than that. Aerith's head feels fuggy, like after a Green Dream, but the details are still circling, waiting to land while her brain deals with the current crisis.

"Not a hair from any of them," Yuffie says. "C'mon, let's see if things look more familiar topside. Any idea what happened?"

"I don't know."

Aerith has a strange sense that they've shifted far more than location. The air is foetid, but when Yuffie pushes aside the covering at the top of the ladder and they emerge onto a street, even the cleaner air tastes strange. It's night, which it wasn't before, and when Aerith looks up she doesn't recognise any of the constellations.

"Wow, this place isn't exactly a bustling metropolis," Yuffie remarks.

It's true; the street is deserted, though the lamps are lit and everything is well cared for. There are cobbles here but they're shiny and new, like they've never seen a dusty chocobo's feet or been clanked over by horseshoes and hobnail boots. The buildings, too, are overly clean and prim. Lights shine out of windows but no silhouettes move in front of them. It all feels very simulated, like a child's play-set brought to life.

Aerith shivers. They need to get dry before Kairi catches a chill.

"Sure, but which way do we go?" Yuffie asks when she tells her this.

"Does it really matter? Let's try at one of those houses."

"Super duper." Yuffie starts to skip ahead but drops back to amble alongside Aerith. There's a kunai in her hand. "Can't be too careful when weird things happen."

Aerith is forced to agree.

The door is opened by a podgy man in formal clothes that include, bizarrely, a burgundy cravat and gold cufflinks. He's neat and trim, and when he sees them bedraggled on his step he slams the door in their faces.

"Asshole!" Yuffie shouts. "We've got a kid out here! Haven't you got any heart?"

"Yes, and I intend to keep it!" is the cryptic reply.

When nothing else comes of that house they move on, but not before Yuffie bangs the doorknocker so hard she hurts her already battered knuckles. "What an asshat. Oh shit, I forgot again. And that time too! Sorry." She reaches to wiggle a finger in Kairi's hand, but Kairi's too tired even to cry anymore and just stares blankly at her. "Poor kid. I know exactly how you feel. It happened to my dad, too, but it gets better with time and ass-kicking." It's the most consoling Yuffie can be but it does little good. Kairi just continues to stare.

"She's used up a lot of energy," Aerith murmurs.

"Say what?"

"I'm not certain, but I think Kairi may have been the one who brought us here."

"Seriously? But she's just a little kid."

"I was a little kid once. So were you. Besides, can you think of a better explanation?"

"Right now? No, but I never went to any fancy-pants school like you so I don't have as much reputation to lose if I'm wrong. What makes you think Kairi did it? Or that she even _could_ do it, 'cause last time I checked, she's not even at the whole-sentences stage, let alone the transport-people-through-time-and-space stage. Even you were able to cut up your own food before you starting healing things, and I at least learned to walk before I became fabulously ninja-tastic."

Aerith halts, stunned. "You think we've been moved through time as well as space?" It's not as ridiculous an idea as it sounds for a girl who can mend broken bones just by touch and talks to the dead in her dreams.

Fragments of what she dreamed when she was unconscious float back to her, especially the image of a woman with startlingly familiar brown hair and green eyes. Was that her mother? No, wait, she has a name for her now. Was that _Ifalna_? Aerith hasn't had any contact with her mother since she first discovered her powers, and has never actually seen her face. Still, something in Aerith says not, but she recalls with perfect clarity how Ifalna was able to briefly drag her back to Hollow Bastion to warm Elmyra of the coming danger.

_  
A witch. A sorceress. A being of pure evil. You don't know her, you'll never meet her, but she'll take your home and when you go back you'll see her everywhere._

Aerith feels sick.

"Hey, you," says a voice behind them.

They turn to face a man they've never seen before, who looks at them with stern eyes like they've broken some law just by existing. He stands with arms folded, but even this isn't enough to distract from the giant sword-thing dangling from one of his hands. Everything about him radiates tight control, the way Zack and Cloud radiate easy confidence and nervous wonder. A diagonal scar across his face warns Aerith that he's someone to be cautious of and makes Yuffie imperceptibly tighten her grip on her kunai.

"You're not from around here," he says.

"Right first time," Yuffie replies, moving slightly in front of Aerith and Kairi but grinning like this is all part of come colossal practical joke she and her fan club set up. "We just got into town. Y'might say we just dropped in. I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi. And you are?"

He grunts. "Yuffie. Does that mean you're Aerith?" He nods at her.

Aerith nods back, not allowing herself to show any weakness. She's responsible for Kairi's wellbeing now. She'd better get used to the responsibility. "That's me."

"And you have the kid with you. Both of you follow me."

"Hey, wait! What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Yuffie calls at his retreating back. "Hey, are you even listening to me? Hey, chumley, I'm talking to you! Ooh, I know he can hear me. C'mon, Ponytail."

Aerith doesn't move. "But we don't even know who he is. How do we know we can trust him?"

The man pauses long enough to throw over his shoulder, "Come with me or don't, I really don't care, but Tifa's waiting for you at my place."

Kairi sneezes. That and his words are enough to make Aerith move. The fact that he has a sword and hasn't used it on them helps, as does the strange feeling her power picks up from him; of brokenness even though he's clearly in the pique of health. Somehow her feet plod after him, Yuffie still babbling and Kairi heavy in her arms – until there are stairs, a door, and a wonderfully familiar face at the top of the first and behind the second.

"Teef!"

"Don't call me that," Tifa tells Yuffie before wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug. "I thought you guys were dead. When I woke up in the middle of the street and none of you were there…"

She tries the same with Aerith but Kairi sneezes again. The man motions them inside with a sharp hand movement that puts an end to any happy reunions. Tifa bustles them all into the welcome warmth.

"It's okay," she says, glancing at the man. "_He's_ okay."

Aerith stands foolishly, not knowing what to do next. The room is nicely furnished but, just like outside, it feels like someone's faked it. The wood's too polished and if she moves she'll leave depressions in the thick-pile carpet, which would ruin the effect by leaving evidence of human habitation.

"You can clean up in here." The man, whose name she still doesn't know, leads her through to a bathroom area with a pale blue motif. The faucets are gold and the windows frosted stained glass. Anything else would be too mundane. "Towels are in the cupboard."

"Thank you." _I think_.

He doesn't acknowledge the words.

"You never told us your name." She should at least find that out, if she doesn't know whether to trust him or not. Clearly he's already earned Tifa's trust, but Aerith feels so out of sorts she'd second-guess her own name right now.

The man pauses, but Aerith gets the feeling he's not actually _thinking_ about his answer. "It's Leon."

Yuffie dances in after he's gone, shining with delight "Tifa says that guy's gonna go out and look for Cloudy and Hero. How cool is that? If I clean up fast I'm going with him."

"Who _is_ he?" Aerith asks, which might be a foolish thing to not know when she's in his bathroom wrapping one of his towels around Kairi.

"Leon."

"But who _is_ he?" Aerith persists.

Yuffie shrugs. "Some guy who helped Tifa out. We can always bust his head if he's a pervert."

"With that sword … thing?" It had a trigger. Since when do _swords_ have _triggers_?

"Hey, remember who you're talking to. I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie, and the day I can't kick a pervert's nuts into his neck is the day I give up dessert!"

Aerith is less than convinced.

Yuffie yanks her top over her head, unwinding her scarf from around her throat afterwards. She's never been especially body-conscious, as is evidenced by her midriff-baring outfits and tendency to sleep in her underwear, then go for a drink of milk and scare Cloud while he's on his way to the bathroom. She spins both faucets on the big ceramic bathtub before wriggling out of her shorts. Soon the room is filling with steam.

Aerith goes slower, taking care of Kairi before herself. She checks the little girl for injuries as she peels off her wet clothes, but Kairi's remarkably unharmed except for the tired, flat look in her eyes.

The man – Leon's – towels are far more luxurious than Aerith might've expected. He doesn't strike her as someone too bothered with luxury. He's all hard edges. Aerith wonders what basis she has to make any assumptions about his character, but can't help the suspicion that someone else was behind the home comforts. She's lived in a house where she's the only female and recognises the signs. No man chooses powder blue or decorates his bathroom with a wing motif.

"You wanna put Small Fry in first?" Yuffie gestures at the full bath.

Aerith shakes her head, but dips another towel in the water and strokes it over Kairi, washing the dirt and sewer water off her. The black residue of the Heartless comes away, too. It turns into a thick paste when mixed with water and Aerith has to stop herself scrubbing too hard to rid Kairi of the horrible stuff and all it represents.

Yuffie sinks into the hot water with a happy sigh. It's actually a few moments before she begins busily scrubbing up and down her legs, leaning so far back in the tub that Aerith is sure her face will submerge. A few moments' relaxation for Yuffie is a few hours for anyone else. Aerith continues to stroke Kairi with the towel, rubbing life back into her like a mother cat licking its kitten.

_I'm responsible for you now_, she thinks, the full weight of that dawning on her. _Your father isn't here and your mother's gone. She gave you to me. She trusted me to get you to safety. We're all you've got. We have to keep you safe._ She remembers the way the Heartless reached for Kairi and shivers. _You're special, aren't you? What made them want __**your**__ heart so much?_

As if hearing her thoughts Kairi looks up. Her clear blue gaze is heart-stoppingly familiar, but before Aerith can grasp what it means Yuffie _does_ slip backwards. She comes up spitting bathwater in a long stream like a character in a marble fountain, hair slicked so close to her head that Aerith can see the shape of her skull. Yuffie has a lot of strange indentations – records of the ninja training from her childhood perhaps? Mementoes of battles she doesn't talk about, fought before she even came to Hollow Bastion and met her friends? That's the problem with everything sliding off Yuffie; even the small things that would tell you more about who she is don't stick.

"Blearrgh!" Yuffie chokes. "This thing's slippery as a fish's butt!"

"Be careful."

"No sh-" Yuffie glances at Kairi. "No kidding." She finishes washing and stands up, soaking wet. "Hey, Ponytail, a little help here?"

Aerith passes her a towel.

Yuffie steps out, rubbing herself dry and scooping hair into a towel-turban. She dunks her clothes in the bathwater and wrings out greenish residue from the sewer. "Eeew! Gross to the max!" She promptly squeezes out as much as she can, flips her things about and wriggles back into them.

Aerith's about to protest when she realises they've nothing else to wear. "You can't go out in wet things," she settles for instead. "You'll catch pneumonia."

"Hardened warriors like me don't get piddly things like pneumonia."

"My dad died of pneumonia." She still thinks of Mr. Gainsborough as her father, even though they aren't blood related and she never knew him. If anything, Angeal acted more of a father to her, but she still calls the stranger who was once married to her mom 'dad' like it means something. "He was a doctor. _Anyone_ can catch pneumonia."

"Yeah, well, I'm special." Yuffie doesn't do tactful retreats. With her it's all or nothing, eyes on the prize, tuck diplomacy under one arm, subtlety under the other, put your head down and run until you can't run anymore.

"Not that special. You can't go out if it'll make you sick."

"Yeah, and you'll be sick if I don't go and find your boys – sick with worry!"

"They're not just my boys."

"Yeah, uh-huh, whatever you say." Yuffie rolls her eyes and unspools her top down over her chest. She shakes her hair out of it turban like a wet dog, inadvertently sculpting it into crazy peaks and troughs. "Whoa, head rush." When it comes to her yellow scarf she spends a microsecond looking at it in her hands before replacing it around her neck. "There a hairbrush around this joint?"

"I haven't looked."

Yuffie's searching turns up nothing, so she runs a hand through her tangled mane and decides it'll do. "I'll try for windswept and interesting today. I think I have the experience to qualify."

Aerith hears voices when Yuffie skips out of the room; a bass rumble and Tifa's recognisable alto. They speak for several minutes, until a door shuts. Yuffie traipses back in, or at least skips a little slower.

"They said I can't go unless I change into something dry."

Aerith isn't entirely upset. She doesn't want Yuffie out of her sight now she's found her again, but the thought of Zack and Cloud out there alone, possibly injured and in pain, makes her lungs want to stop working. "I guess we'll have to trust that man to find Cloud and Zack -"

"Hey, no way! I'm still going; I just have to wait for a minute."

"For what?"

"For Mr. Tall, Dark and Monotone to get me some duds. Man, I hope they fit. Rolling up pants legs is so passé and, like, little-kid-ish. A total step backwards. Do I look like a little kid to you?" Yuffie turns around, trying to jiggle her non-existent chest. There isn't an ounce of fat on her despite all she eats.

Aerith is saved from answering by a knock at the door. It's Tifa, and for the first time Aerith notices that she, too, has changed her outfit. They're obviously man's clothes. The shirt hem has been tied into a bow beneath Tifa's chest, and the pants are tugged in at the waist by a studded belt on its last notch. However, on Tifa they still look feminine, maybe even a little sultry. She just generates an air of allure that means she could look sexy wearing a full garbage bag.

Yuffie stares with unashamed jealousy at Tifa's more ample bosom. "Razzin' frazzin' – some people get all the luck."

A short laugh crackles in Tifa's throat. "Luck? I don't feel very lucky right now."

"We're alive aren't we?" Yuffie snatches the pile from her hands. "And once we find Cloudy and Hero we'll be alive _and_ all together again. No worries."

"Except for the fact we're gods-knows-where and left all those Heartless back home."

"We took most of them out. There had to be, what, five or six left?" It's a ridiculous thing to say, but nobody can fault Yuffie for trying, in her own way, to halt the tears flooding into Tifa's eyes at the thought that they left Hollow Bastion and everyone in it to die.

"My dad …"

"He'll get away."

Both Yuffie and Tifa look at Aerith.

"I got a message through to my mom. I told her to leave Hollow Bastion." The memory is filling in from the edges even as Aerith speaks – not wholly, but enough that she can infuse her tone with conviction. "Something evil is going to go there and I wanted so much to tell her to get away that I … did. I told her to take Cloud's mom and your dad, too, Tifa, plus anyone else who'll go with her."

Tifa swallows. "But the Heartless ..." She doesn't even try to argue with the improbability of what's just been said. She's too eager to have some hope to cling to.

"The light that brought us here, didn't you see what it did to them? They vanished."

"Did you dream that, Ponytail?"

"No, I saw that part myself. I dreamed the message to my mom, but I know it was real."

"Won't hear me complaining." Yuffie hops about on one leg, trying to remove her shorts and stuff her foot into a pair of pants at the same time. They're far too big and look absurd even when she pulls _her_ studded belt so tight it creaks. Likewise when she slips a plain white vest over her head. She crams the bottom of the vest into the waist of the pants, but the effect is still that of a little girl trying on dressing-up clothes.

"They're too big," Tifa says, seizing upon this uninteresting thing to distract from whatever thoughts are running through her head. She's speaking to Yuffie but looking at Aerith, a mixture of gratefulness, confusion and curiosity in her eyes. "Wait here, I'll ask Leon if he has anything else."

"Wait, Tifa -" Aerith starts, but Tifa is already gone.

Yuffie looks down at the clothes. "I can fix this." As if from nowhere she produces a kunai and proceeds to hack off the pants at the knees. She spears a fresh hole in the tough leather belt, tightening it further, and stands proudly in front of the mirror. "I'm so good sometimes I even amaze myself. You okay here without me, Ponytail?"

Aerith ignores the question because she doesn't know what her answer should be. "Just find Cloud and Zack."

"Will do." Yuffie gives a hasty salute and dashes out.

Aerith turns her attention back to Kairi. Most of the gunk is off her now, but there's still black dust in her hair. Aerith decides a bath might be a good idea for the little girl after all. She swills out Yuffie's green residue before filling the tub with fresh water. She's just leaning over the side to push the plug in when the door knocks again and opens without waiting for a reply.

Leon pauses. "Where's the other one?"

"If you mean Yuffie, she was looking for you."

He grunts. "These might fit you better than my things." He holds out a neatly folded pile of clothes.

Aerith takes them gingerly. He walked in without waiting for permission. This is a bathroom and is obviously being used for bathing. Maybe he really is a pervert like Yuffie said.

And yet … something about him says the last thing he intended was to catch one of them naked. Rather, it probably didn't even occur to him that he would walk into his own bathroom to find a situation beyond his control, even if he does have strange women suddenly scattered all over the place. Which begs the question: what kind of person takes in strays like them off the street?

Then again, what kind of people take in a hungry, rude ninja girl and let her become a part of their family?

Leon's hands fold into fists and he holds his arms at his sides like he wants to snatch the clothes away from her again. "Anything else?"

"No, we're fine. Thank you for doing this."

He shrugs. It's nothing like a casual movement.

"I have to know, though," Aerith says carefully. "Why? Why are you helping us?"

"Your friend said you were fighting Heartless before you arrived here."

"You know about Heartless?"

His face darkens. "I know all about Heartless."

"Have you fought them too? Is that why you're being so kind?"

He looks at her, impassive. "Get changed. I'm going to find your friends." With that he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Aerith crouches beside Kairi. She's startled to realise the little girl was watching the exchange in silence. Her eyes followed Leon out the door and have fixed on the last spot she saw him. Aerith gently joggles her arm to breaks her gaze. Instantly she's back to bring vacant and tired.

Aerith decides to try something. She lays her hands against Kairi's head and a pinprick of light appears above her knuckles. It turns in ever-increasing circles, casting Aerith's hands and Kairi's red hair in shifting shadows. It turns for far longer than usual and eventually Aerith lets it sink into Kairi's scalp, but when she pulls away, panting, she knows she's only scratched the surface of Kairi's exhaustion. The little girl was running on empty and looks only a little better now, though Aerith feels exhausted herself.

Aerith bathes Kairi, making sure to get all the slime out of her hair and out from under her fingernails. She can't bring herself to get into the bath and leave Kairi on the floor, so she settles for a quick wash while standing up to get the worst of the dirt off herself, and then dunks her head over the side of the bathtub. The water runs black for a while but eventually streams from her hair with no trace of Heartless or sewer in it. She cleans and tidies the bathroom before changing her outfit. A faint pall of normalcy settles, like a barrier between her and everything that's happened. Picking hair from a plughole is far more grounding than reassuring words.

The clothes aren't at all what she's expecting. For one thing they're women's clothes, giving credence to her earlier idea that Leon doesn't live alone. Aerith wonders what his companion will say about him bringing home a harem he doesn't even know. She feels odd, putting on someone else's things when they haven't given permission, but the clothes fit well and feel much better than her own. For Kairi she takes the shirt meant for Yuffie, putting it on over a towel tied around her bottom as a makeshift diaper. On Kairi the shirt looks more like a dress, so Aerith tucks it under her little feet before finally leaving the bathroom.

Tifa's on the sofa. She springs up at the sight of Aerith and Kairi. "Do you feel better now?"

"Much. But I'll feel even better when Cloud and Zack are back. I wish I could've gone too, but I couldn't leave Kairi."

"I could watch her."

Aerith shakes her head. "No offence, it's just that I feel responsible for her. Anemone gave her to me right before …" Aerith breaks off.

Tifa just nods. "Yeah. I know. Listen, about what you said before, did you really mean it?"

"That I spoke to my mom? Yes."

"How?"

Aerith bites her lip. All these years and Tifa still doesn't know even half of what she can do. Aerith feels guilty that Tifa, whom she's known for so long, knows less about her than Yuffie, but somehow the situation with Tifa never felt right. Perhaps it was Tifa's overbearing parents, but something has always held Aerith back from revealing her secrets. Now she feels filthily guilty that Tifa has risked her life and been brought to this strange place on account of someone who's not been honest with her. "It's a long story."

"Like we're going anywhere?" Tifa sits down but leans forward. "Do you think we should? Go somewhere else, I mean. You're a good judge of people. What do you think of Leon?"

Aerith is surprised. She's never thought of herself that way. She sits beside Tifa, Kairi on her knee. The room is warm and the edges of Kairi's hair are already beginning to dry. Her own hair feels cool against her neck. "What did he say to make you trust him?"

"He found me before I woke up and didn't try to kill me. That helped," Tifa admits. "I must've been talking in my sleep – I do that sometimes – because as soon as my eyes opened he was asking me what I knew about fighting Heartless. I didn't even know who he was; the last thing I remember was Heartless _attacking_ us, and then he's in my face talking about them, and besides, he _startled_ me …" She looks embarrassed.

Aerith frowns, just a little. "What … happened?" she asks, though she has a suspicion.

"I tried to kick him in the head while I was still on the ground. I would've hit him, too, if he hadn't moved that sword in my way so fast. Nearly vibrated my leg right off with the impact. I was all ready to fight anyway, but he put down his weapon and asked me again what I knew about the Heartless."

Aerith nods. "Did he tell you where we are?"

"Traverse Town."

It's not a name Aerith recognises.

A knock sounds at the front door. Both girls freeze, unsure whether to open it or not, since this isn't their home but they _are_ the only ones here. As it is, the decision is taken away from them when a key rattles in the lock and an old man bustles in. He has the most preposterous hat and longest beard they've ever seen, and though he doesn't use it for walking he carries a knobbly cane in one hand. This stops half an inch above the floor when he spots them. His mouth drops open at the sight of Tifa.

"Rinoa?"

Tifa stands. "Uh, no. Hello there. My name's Tifa Lockheart. Who are you?"

The old man blinks at them over his glasses. "Oh my, oh dear, yes, I see. Sorry, my dear, you surprised me for a moment there. I thought … wait a moment, what are _you_ doing here? Leon?" he calls, turning in a half circle.

"He's gone out. He … went to look for some friends of ours. We're sort of new in town and he let us stay here because we didn't have anywhere else to go."

The old man's eyes widen. "The falling star! I thought something like this might've happened, but to be ejected from your world without its star actually _going out_ – well it's not happened since … dash it all, it hasn't happened since _we_ arrived!"

"You live here?"

"Goodness gracious, no. Three's a crowd – or it was. Two is pesky. I'm quite comfortable where I live."

"You have a key." Tifa points to it, still in his hand.

"Mm? Oh, so I do. Yes, Leon gave it to me a while ago, though why he thought I'd ever be locked _out_ of a place is beyond me. Me, barred from anywhere? Poppycock."

"Excuse me," Aerith interrupts. "You didn't answer our question: who _are_ you?"

"My sincerest apologies, my dear. This must look very suspect to the untrained eye, yes? I am Merlin; mage, magician and general sorcerer."

"You're a wizard?"

"In its crudest terms, yes. I am a practitioner of the arcane arts. I am also Leon's friend, inasmuch as he has friends. I merely came by to check upon his welfare and discuss the falling star – an inexact term, to be sure, but sometimes clichés get the better of even the brightest mind. It seems he has, ah, 'beaten me to the punch' as it were. Is that child all right?"

Aerith looks at Kairi but sees no change in her. "She's just tired."

Merlin's brows knit, but he shrugs. "Well, a mother knows best, I suppose. I'm certainly no expert with children. Give me a good spell book any day."

"I'm not her mother."

"You're not?" He looks at Tifa, who raises her hands palms outward. "Oh. I must admit, I'm confused. The child seems most attached to you and you have a very motherly look to you … ah, but I think I may be speaking out of turn. I may have spent too long in Leon's company and his rudeness is rubbing off on me. Perhaps this is the opportunity to suggest a sit down with a cup of tea and a thorough chat with some proper introductions. I'd be most interested to hear of how you got here, where you came from and suchlike, and I assume you have as many questions about where _here_ is."

Aerith doesn't feel intimidated by the old man the way she did with Leon. Leon's offhand manner grates, while Merlin comes across as merely a kind old gentleman; a bit scattered, perhaps, but there's an undercurrent of warmth to him that appeals and reassures her. "That sounds nice, but I'd rather wait for our friends to get back before we discuss anything."

"Quite, quite. But you won't mind if I indulge in a little tea in the interim?"

"No." Neither girl can see any harm in that.

"Splendid." Merlin taps his cane on the floor and a blue-spotted teapot poofs out of thin air, steam rising from its spout. "Goodness, I forgot the cups," Merlin exclaims. Three china teacups and matching saucers follow suit. They fly to the coffee table in front of the couch and come to rest ready for the pot to pour into them. "Sugar?" Merlin asks like it's nothing out of the ordinary.

Both Tifa and Aerith stare.

"Um…" Tifa mumbles. "Two please?"

"Very good. A girl after my own heart." Two sugarlumps materialise and plop into one cup, which slides towards Tifa on its own. "Miss … I do apologise, I don't know your name. I keep wanting to call you Rinoa in that outfit, too."

"I'm Aerith. Do these clothes belong to someone you know?"

"Ah, well, that's something of a sticky wicket."

"But she lives here?"

"An even stickier wicket, I'm afraid, and not really my place to go into it. I'm much more interested in hearing about your story. Sugar?"

"None for me, please."

He frowns slightly but her cup of unsweetened tea slides towards her. "You're not one of those dreadful people who take lemon in their tea, are you?" When Aerith shakes her head he goes on, "Pompous wretches, the lot of them. Spoiling a perfectly good cup of tea by throwing fruit juice into it. I've never been able to understand it myself. If you wish to drink lemon juice, then squeeze a lemon, but one drinks tea to taste _tea._"

"And sugar."

"Well yes, quite. Tea and sugar. And perhaps a biscuit. Excuse me." He waves one hand and a plate materialises in it. He sets it down and gestures. "Help yourself. My own special recipe. Tea is set off so well by a good custard cream."

"You seem quite the expert on, uh, tea." Tifa tries for light conversation.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Very soothing, tea, though _some_ people who drink it are anything _but_ soothing." His expression darkens for a moment and he huffs into his moustache. "_Some_ people who drink it are so coarse you could scrub dirty pots with them."

An image of Leon flashes into Aerith's mind, though she gets the feeling this isn't whom Merlin is referring to. Then Kairi pushes herself against her chest and the image dispels.

"Want," Kairi says, reaching flaccidly for the teacup.

"Does she drink tea?" Merlin asks.

Aerith doesn't know, but doesn't trust the chance of Kairi scalding herself. Merlin's eyes twinkle.

"Not a problem. If the child wishes to drink tea, then tea she shall have." He snaps his fingers and a lidded beaker appears. "Iced tea. Not quite the beverage of choice, but better than nothing. May I?"

"Uh … I suppose so."

The beaker levitates into Kairi's waiting grasp. She's sure-handed enough to drain it without spilling a drop, and then holds it out, a little brighter than before. "More." She's more alert than when they arrived, though her movements still lack energy and there remains a terrible flatness in her eyes.

They drink in silence for a while, each contemplating his or her own thoughts. Aerith presses a custard cream into Kairi's hands and she gnaws at it, making a mess of herself and her borrowed shirt, but Aerith is too pleased at her doing something other than staring blankly to care.

The thin layer of normalcy thickens. Biscuit crumbs and cups of tea – those things she can handle. Jumping between worlds? Not so much.

Aerith refuses to think that Leon and Yuffie won't bring Cloud and Zack home with them. Uncertainties lurk around the fringes of her thoughts, but she erects a wall of normalcy between her and them. It's not quite denial, but comes from the same colour palette. When she glances at Tifa she sees the same thing reflected in her face and takes comfort in that. If they all believe together, maybe that'll put the odds in their favour.

"_Belief … yes, that's what'll turn the battle. Belief in oneself. Belief that friends can be saved. Belief in the power of the Keyblade._

The memory comes suddenly, like a slap.

Merlin looks up. "What did you say?"

"I …" Aerith falters. Did she say something? Perhaps she said her thoughts out loud.

"You said 'keyblade'. What do you know of keyblades?"

"What's a keyblade?" Tifa asks, looking between the two of them.

"I don't know what a keyblade is," Aerith says. "It just … popped into my head for some reason." She's loath to tell this stranger about her dreams. Kairi squirms and Aerith realises she's holding her too tight.

There's a strange look in Merlin's eyes; a kind of hungry interest bordering on delight. Zack used to get the same look when telling her and Cloud about what Angeal had taught him in training that day, and Cloud himself would get a similar look after going to the chocobo stables. However, unlike her friends', Merlin's expression contains a degree of concern that instantly strengthens the panic Aerith has been sitting on. She remembers something shaped like a giant key appearing in Kairi's hand right before the Heartless took them.

"What world did you say you came from?" Merlin asks.

"It doesn't have a name," Aerith replies. "It was just … our world."

Tifa catches Aerith's troubled expression and waves her hand in front of Merlin's face. "Excuse me? What's a keyblade?"

He blinks myopically at her for several seconds. "Oh my. My apologies, it was just so unusual to hear it from the lips of someone who doesn't have a background in royalty or the arcane arts." He strokes his beard. "I suppose it will be all right to share the basic facts with you, if Leon trusts you enough to leave you alone in his home."

_Yes, and why __**is**__ that when he's barely spoken to any of us?_ Aerith wonders.

"Keyblades are magical weapons with the ability to open any door," Merlin explains. "They function somewhat like a sword, insofar as they chop and slice and whatnot, but they always retain their key shape. Nobody is entirely sure how they came to exist, but I have conducted some research into the matter and learned that they are somewhat sentient. They _choose _their wielders and can only be used by those characterised as 'pure of heart'."

Aerith immediately thinks of the Buster Sword. "My friend – one of those Leon went to find – he has a sword that does that. It chooses who can use it and helps them fight if it thinks they're worthy enough. It can't _stop_ unworthy people from using it, but it doesn't give them any magical help and can make fighting with it difficult."

Merlin seems very interested in this. "Ah, now there's where it differs from a keyblade. Keyblades absolutely cannot be used by anyone other than the pure of heart, and if anyone else tries they will instantly return to the hand of the master they've chosen. Even so, I have heard stories about other sentient weaponry, though I've never come across one before. I look forward to meeting your friend and inspecting this sword. Does it have the power to combat darkness?"

"I don't know. It has the power to cut down a tree in a single swipe."

"Marvellous! Perhaps it is some relation to the keyblades – a precursor or offshoot. Since nobody has seen a keyblade in decades, and these are trying times, it would certainly be helpful if this alternative could also free hearts from the Heartless and restore them to their bodies."

Both Tifa and Aerith stiffen.

"You mean hearts the Heartless steal aren't destroyed?" Aerith breathes. "People can be brought back?"

"In theory. Though, as I say, nobody has seen a keyblade for so long they've become somewhat of a legend. A myth. A flight of fancy, if you will. They _did_ exist, though; of that much I am certain. There are stories of a great war in which hundreds of keyblades were used to defeat an immense threat, but were all lost afterwards. It is my belief that they are simply stored somewhere, awaiting the right wielders to call them forth. Since they can travel between worlds and are sentient, however, they could literally be anywhere."

"Leon said … he knew all about the Heartless," Aerith says slowly. "Do you know about them as well?"

"I should do, my dear. I was one of those who challenged their creation – for all the good it did me, or the poor souls sacrificed in the name of research to create the frightful things. Oh dear." Merlin's face contorts into an expression of regret. "I believe I may have said too much. I do tend to wax lyrical when it comes to subjects close to my, ah, heart."

"No, please." Tifa leans forward. "We came here because Heartless were attacking us."

"They were?" Thoughts cross Merlin's face, each one casting a shadow as it passes. "Have they really travelled so far already? I thought I knew all the worlds whose shells have been broken. Could they have spread further than we realised?" He doesn't appear to be speaking to them, though what he says is still worthy of note. "How exactly did you leave your world?"

"We don't know," Tifa replies. "There was a bright flash of light and then we were here."

"Magical expulsion? Possible, I suppose, but who would be powerful enough to do it? Are there any witches or mages in your world? Anybody who has a connection to the arcane – by blood or learning or some other means?"

Tifa shakes her head. "Hollow Bastion hates magic unless it's absolutely necessary. It's almost pathological. Zack's Buster Sword is the only magical item in the whole place, and he's only allowed to keep that because he uses it to defend everyone from the monsters in Barren Region and Dark Forest."

Merlin's hand jerks and his teacup turns over, spilling tea all over the front of his robe. If it scalds him he either doesn't react or doesn't notice – though the sudden fervour in his face and gestures makes them think it's the second more than the first. "Barren Region, you say? Dark Forest? Tell me, do you also have a castle in this place you hail from?"

"Uh … yes. A big one." Tifa blinks as though this is an entirely new thought, though it's actually a memory. "It's … it's tall. And ugly. And horrible." Each statement brings a slight widening of her eyes, as the image becomes clearer in her mind. It's as if a veil is being drawn back.

Aerith knows this must be true because it's what's happening in her own mind too. Turrets knife out of her memory, dark and dreadful, and suddenly the building that has loomed over her all her life is thrown into sharp relief. How did she ignore its hideousness for so long? It was always just 'the castle', just the _words_ and a vague sense of something behind the doors at the top of the steps, but not this. Not this collection of dark spikes and repulsiveness.

She's aware of Merlin talking again. "…walled town…?"

"Excuse me?"

"Is there a walled town at the base of this castle?"

"Uh, yes. That's Hollow Bastion, where we live."

For the first time since spilling his tea he frowns. "Hollow _Bastion_?" He says the name like he just found a cockroach swimming in his teacup. "That's not … but I suppose … maybe my memories of the forbidden spells were accurate after all … the backlash might've … not self-deception if its identity tried to rewrite itself – can a building have a conscience? Certainly an interesting thought … sentience gained through acts of evil, might've reacted with the inherent … I had hypothesised that the magical recoil of a duel of that nature might have had repercussions on that end as well as our own, and ours were spectacular enough … oh my … but the _whole town_?"

Neither Tifa nor Aerith have any clue what he's babbling about, though his sweeping arms and frantic stroking of that long, long beard make it necessary to move the cups and for Tifa to plink the still-warm teapot into her lap.

Suddenly Kairi sits up, like a puppy that has heard the creak of boots it recognises. Moments later the door knocks and opens. Merlin stands, opening his arms as if to hug the person who opened it.

"Leon, my boy, they're … they're … you're not Leon."

Yuffie cants her hips to one side; fists thrust either side of her waist. "Nope, but hum a few bars and I'll wing it."

* * *

_**To Be Continued …**_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

"_Can you think of a better explanation?"_

"_Right now? No, but I never went to any fancy-pants school like you so I don't have as much reputation to lose if I'm wrong."_

-- Partially inspired by an exchange in Bill Bryson's novel _A Walk in the Woods_, which taught me more than I ever realised I wanted to know about coal mining, how to avoid bear attacks, and other interesting things about the American wilderness.

* * *


	15. Learning the Truth

* * *

**14. Learning the Truth**

* * *

_Ó lá go lá, mo thuras,  
An bealach fada romham.  
Ó oíche go hoíche, mo thuras,  
na scéalta nach mbeidh a choích'._

_From day to day, my journey,  
The long pilgrimage before me.  
From night to night, my journey,  
The stories that will never be again._

-- From **Book of Days** by Enya.

* * *

Zack has never really considered how useful it is to know about chocobos. Then again, _he's_ never had to restrain one that's trying to peck his best friend to death – a best friend who cannot even fight back because this is a _prize_ chocobo, a chocobo _stud_, and even if he just quit his job and took it without permission he still has to take it _back_, and he can't do that if it's been _beheaded_ by a sword.

Yes, he's babbling, and babbling inside his own head, which is worse, but the situation is all kinds of freaky, and _damn_ that bird has good aim.

"Cloud!"

"Hang on!" Cloud grapples on the chocobo's back, trying to bring it under control. He drags on the reins, but it isn't interested. It's frankly far _too_ interested in taking its panic out on Zack and tries again with a peck that could rip a man's hand off.

"Cloud, I'm not kidding!" Zack blocks it with the flat of the Buster Sword. "If you can't stop that thing-"

"I can do it, just let me …" Cloud does something with his heels and elbows and suddenly, as though turned off at the mains, the chocobo goes quiet. It drops its head and pecks the dirt like the big mutant chicken it is.

Zack carefully lowers his blade. "I've fought goblins who didn't want to kill me as much as that thing."

"He's fine. He's a rooster, so he's a little more aggressive than most chocobos."

"A _little_?"

Cloud looks embarrassed.

Zack doesn't replace the Buster Sword on his back. Instead he holds it ready to fend off any fresh chocobo attacks, as he looks down at the little town on the other side of a cliff and a very steep drop. He just missed a good grip on the top of that drop when he popped into this place. Completely disoriented, he had to work on complete instinct to stop himself becoming a splash of red and a sad little bundle at the bottom, before passing out from exhaustion at being hit with ... whatever that light was. He awoke later to find Cloud tearing strips off his own shirt to bandage his wounds.

They had no idea where they are – still don't, in fact. All they know is it's not Hollow Bastion. Not even close. Initially Zack tried to use the stars as a guide, the way Angeal taught him, but it's like somebody picked up the world and shook it, leaving everything to settle back in a different order. The wasteland isn't a wasteland, it's one giant rock with patches of grass that shine silver in the moonlight; and that town isn't a town, it's a collection of buildings and lights with no wall around them.

_How the heck do they keep the monsters out with no wall?_ Zack thought before Cloud heard the familiar 'WARK!' of the chocobo he stole (and Zack is still having problems reconciling that bit of news with what he knows about his friend) and they found a safer route back _up_ the cliff the retrieve the stupid thing, both hoping they'd find the others there too.

"So what do we do now?" Cloud asks.

"We find Aerith and the others." That's the most important thing. Zack can't shake the memory of her scream when she was covered in Heartless. It makes his vision blur with anger and worry. His mouth goes dry at just the _thought_ of what might've happened to her before they were plucked out of the fight by forces unknown.

And those forces could _stay_ unknown for now. First priority: find Aerith and the others, make sure they're safe, then find out what the hell's going on.

"Yes, but where do we start looking? Where the heck _are_ we, Zack?"

"We're here."

"Where's here?"

"Does it even matter? We're here and she's not."

There's a pause before Cloud says, "_They're_ not, Zack."

Zack pinches a spot between his eyes. "I _know_."

There's an even longer pause before Cloud speaks again. "I know how you feel. I had her with me. She was right behind me in the saddle, I could feel her right there, and then …"

Zack sighs. "It's Biggs, Wedge and Jessie all over again. Except this time I was _there_ and I _still_ couldn't do anything. I feel so worthless for not being able to get to her when she needed … She's always been there for us in the ways that count, but when those Heartless attacked I may as well not know anything about anything, for all the use I was. Yuffie and Tifa had to dig me out of them, Cloud. _Yuffie_ and _Tifa_. I mean, they're about the toughest women … girls … whatever. They're the toughest I've ever known, but I'm supposed to be this great hero everyone looks to in a crisis, and I had to be dragged out of there by my _hair_." He can still feel Yuffie's hands fisting in his scalp, yanking and clawing, sprinkling him with her own blood as she punched Heartless off his face so he could breathe.

"We'll find her, Zack," Cloud reassures him.

Zack just nods, unable to trust his voice not to give him away.

* * *

Leon crouches by a pile of rocks in a big old pile of rocks. They look no different than any other pile of rocks, but apparently this pile of rocks is special enough to make him crouch beside them and examine them like a pile of diamonds. He takes off one glove and touches them, just because they're that damn special. Then he looks up, narrows his eyes and makes what can only be described as an irritated noise in the back of his throat where his voice waits like a waiting thing between infrequent uses.

"Please stop doing that."

Yuffie, grinning, detaches herself from the shadows. "Am I getting to you yet? Are we going to see a smile soon?"

She doesn't understand why he chose to leave Traverse Town instead of search it, but beyond those reassuring lights this world is as peopled with shadows as her own, and she's a ninja. Shadows aren't just her domain, they were her childhood friends and playmates. The fact her greatest enemies are made from shadows is more than a little annoying.

Leon doesn't even flicker. Yuffie sees it as a challenge until he says, "Someone was bleeding here."

"Someone's bleeding everywhere. What's so special about this place?" _This had better not be Hero or Cloudy's blood. If they've gone and injured themselves more than they were when I last saw them, I'll kick their asses until they're both brand new shapes, then I'll fix 'em just to kick even more shit out of them for -_

"They were bleeding while they were lying down."

_Shit. Shitshitshitshit. _"And what does that tell you, oh great tracker?"

"I thought you were a ninja."

"Yeah, but I'm only ickle. I'm better at busting heads and spying on people than looking back into the past just by touching a spot on the ground."

"It's called psychometry."

"Say what with the what now?"

"The practise of reading the past through touch. Psychometry."

"You can do that?"

"No."

"But then why – oh, I get it, you're just trying to prove you're smarter than me. Ha ha, very funny, make fun of the teenager, because that's _such_ a laugh riot. Ooh, help me; I think I bust a rib. Or I'll bust _your_ ribs. Maybe I didn't go to school, but I learned a lot at the school of hard knocks, and lemme tell you, buddy, those lessons _stick_. Wanna test me? Be my teacher?" She throws a few fake jabs for emphasis. "C'mon, I'll bet you're just itching to pin me and roll around on the ground for a bit."

Leon doesn't roll his eyes, though something in his bearing says this would be an appropriate response if it didn't interfere with his Dark n' Broody image. Yuffie kind of likes Dark n' Broody – it makes a change from Cute n' Blushy or Heroic n' Cheerful, or even Diplomatic n' Motherly if it comes down to it. It's fun to mess with something new, even if she doesn't know the guy that well.

Still, when has that ever stopped her before? Yuffie is supremely confident in her own skills, especially when it comes to getting herself out of bother of her own making. She doesn't boast because she likes the sound of her own voice. She is as secure in her ability to defend herself as she is in her own skin (though some tits would still be nice, especially since Bodacious n' Kick-Ass has now joined the party, and _she_ even makes Aerith look like two pill on an ironing board).

"WARK!"

"The hell-?" Yuffie looks up just in time to see a big yellow something-or-other hurtle over the edge of the cliff – or not over so much as just plain _off_ it. It hangs in the air like it doesn't know what to do next. "Coooool…"

Gravity takes over. The thing plummets, but at such an angle that it hits right at the gradient where the cliff face starts to level off into a slope. Legs pumping, it keeps on running, throwing up a cloud that looks almost ethereal in the moonlight. The effect it totally ruined, however, by the faint yelling that increases in volume as the thing gets closer. There's even a point where it changes from yelling to a kind of manly _shrieking_.

"Cloooooooouuuuuuud!"

"We'reokaywe'reokaywe'reokay – IcanhandlethishonestIcan!"

"Cloudcloudcloudcloudcloudcloud-"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAARK!"

Yuffie steps sideways to let it blow past. Leon has already moved. Grit hits them both as the yellow bullet streaks between them. The back-draft almost pulls Yuffie right off her feet. Man, what she wouldn't give to go at _that_ kind of speed. That would be so much cooler than kicking heads or rearranging gropers' testicles, and that's pretty damn cool.

"Neverlisteningtoyouagainnonevernevernevernevernever-"

"Turnturnturnturnturn – aahbigrockdon'thitthebigrock!"

"WAAARK!"

A large boulder is avoided and the thing turns in a wide arc. By the time it's almost reached Yuffie and Leon again, this time from the opposite direction, it's jogging more than sprinting and draws to a halt that leaves it bandy-legged and, hey, who knew chocobos can actually pant?

"…_Never_listeningtoyouagain…"

"Me? It was _your_ idea to get down that fast!"

"You said it could handle it."

"Chocobos are _flightless_. What did you expect would happen?"

"Aw, look, they're like an old married couple," Yuffie grins, stepping from the mist of kicked-up dust and not even caring that her newly washed hair is now a mess of pebbles and sand. She cocks a jaunty salute. "Hey, guys."

"Yuffie!" Zack slides off the chocobo's back with an eagerness Yuffie finds appealing on several levels – one, because there's still no love lost between her and those feather-butts; two, because he's actually happy to see her, which never gets old; and three, because sliding makes his pants pull tight.

Man, sometimes it's so difficult being filled with hormones and surrounded by pretty she can't touch. Or rather, she _can_ touch, but the pretty won't touch back. She's firmly in Little Sister territory – emphasis on the Little – and that sucks _major_ ass, except that it's nice to be wanted in a way that's not 'we want you to take a hike' or 'we want your money' or even 'we want _you_, sweetheart, hur-dee-hur-hur-glurk' (glurk courtesy of a feisty uppercut or a kunai to the nads, whichever's easiest).

"You're all right!" Zack practically effervesces. Yuffie's about to treat him to another witty one-liner when he wraps her in the biggest bear hug she's ever had. For a second her vision is all black hair and sweaty shoulder and a little bit of pale, warm neck. "I thought … never mind what I thought. You're all right, and that's what matters." He pulls back to look her in the face. "Where's Aerith?"

Ah, yes, the important question. Yuffie isn't insulted, because he hugged her before he asked. Zack is one of the few people she wouldn't hit or shy away from for touching her, though she does wriggle out of his grasp pretty quick. She has limits, after all.

She jerks a thumb over her shoulder at the silent figure behind her. "At his place. We came looking for you. Hero, Cloudy, this is Leon – though you can call him Moody McMoodypants, and he also responds to 'hey, you with the poofy hair'!"

Zack notices Leon for the first time. Or maybe the second time, since he did just nearly run the guy down with a chocobo, but it's difficult to form a lasting impression of someone when the world is a smear of colour and you're trying not to fall off the stupid bird and get trampled by its big stupid feet. Zack's shoulders tense, eyes going to the blade in Leon's grasp, but he holds out a hand. Probably it's a macho thing – my sword is bigger than your sword, ug ug. Are they compensating? Hm, interesting thought. Or with these two maybe they're comparing scars. Yuffie knows how Zack got his, but Leon's is wicked-cool and she was too busy poking him with the verbal equivalent of a pointy stick to ask about it before.

"Hello. I'm Zack Fair."

Leon just looks at the proffered hand. "We were sent to fetch you."

"Don't lie." Yuffie jogs up to lightly punch his shoulder. He doesn't react except to sidestep her like a pro. "You offered to find them to make Tifa and Aerith happy. Go on, admit it, you don't like seeing pretty faces sad. Well, your luck's in, because my pretty face is hardly ever sad. I'm like a big grin with legs and teeth. And some hair. And some other parts I won't mention. Unless you want me to, of course. Do you want me to talk about my other parts?"

"You're injured." It's a statement and it's not directed at her. Leon indicates the makeshift bandages around Zack's arm, head and neck.

Zack is a mess of bruises, cuts and contusions. There's blood on his pants and a hole in one knee that might explain it – or maybe the huge freaking gash across his collarbone might be the cause. His left elbow has soaked through the fabric and the skin around it is red and scraped. One thin cut has gone right through his eyebrow, making him look so bizarre when he talks since he hasn't wiped all the blood away. Zack is one of those people with an expressive face that moves as he talks – not just the shapes needed to form words, but muscles that pull themselves into pictures like his dancing hands. Sometimes you can tune out his voice and get what he's saying just by the hue of his smile and slant of skin across his cheekbones.

"Jeez, Zack," Yuffie remarks. "What did you do, beat up the mountain with your _face_?"

He snorts like it's not too far from the truth. "Is Aerith okay? And Tifa and Kairi?"

"They're fine. Like, totally shell-shocked, but a-okay apart from that. Aerith even has a theory about how we got here."

Zack nods as though he's not surprised at this.

Leon steps forward, but it's to reach out and pat the chocobo's neck. He twitches his fingers just _so_ and it lifts its head to look at him. Then – and Yuffie's damned if she's making this up – it makes a noise a hell of a lot like _purring_.

"A chocobo. I never thought I'd see one of these again."

"You have chocobos here?" On the thing's back, Cloud looks down at Leon but reaches out a hand to awkwardly shake his. As with Zack, Leon declines without a word.

"No. You'll have to walk it back to town."

"That town?" Zack points at the distant lights.

"Traverse Town!" Yuffie chirps.

"Is that where Aerith, Tifa and Kairi are?"

"Yup." Yuffie bounces on the balls of her feet. Now they've found Zack and Cloud she's impatient to go. Shadows may be her province but Leon mentioned Heartless and she's in no mood to do battle again so soon. A few enemies she can handle, no problem. She could eat a few enemies for breakfast, but the Heartless have a nasty habit of turning up in numbers so great they _totally_ spoil the fun. If she ate that many, breakfast would last until after sunset and she'd be a complete lard-ass. "So are we going or what? I'm getting booooooored, and I do stupid stuff when I'm bored. And not stupid-unintelligent stuff, just stupid-random stuff, but it's still stupid and can we _go_ already?"

Leon shoots a look over his shoulder at Zack. "Is she always like this?"

"You have no idea." Zack focuses on Yuffie again. "So they're really okay?"

Yuffie has no qualms about rolling her eyes. "They're _fine_, Hero." Unlike the others, Zack's nickname didn't come easily for Yuffie, which is odd as she prefers using her own names than the ones people tell her. Names are things you give away to other people, so she's doing the world a service by giving some back. It's good manners. Still, Zack's always just so … so damn _Zack_ that nothing fits right. 'Hero' is the best she's come up with, since 'Spiky Head' doesn't fit with Cloud around and 'Mr. Your-Smile-Gives-Me-Tingles-in-My-Tummy' is too much of a mouthful.

"You're sure?"

"For crying out loud, will you wake up to yourself?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Yuffie throws up her hands. Clueless as ever. "I'm not taking that thing back with us." She points at the chocobo.

"I have to return it to the stables," Cloud says.

"Good luck with that, since the stables are in a whole different freaking _world_ than us right now."

"A different … world?"

Zack looks thoughtful. "I thought something was screwy about the stars."

Yuffie tips her head back. "Screwy? They look fine to me – all light and bright and sparkling. Ooh, look, that one's brighter than the … hey, where'd it go?" Her pointing finger drops to her side. "Pretty-pretty go bye-bye."

Leon's face turns all new kinds of grim. "Another world was just destroyed by the Heartless."

"What?" All three faces turn to look at him.

"Heartless can destroy entire worlds?" It's halfway between a statement and a question; as though Cloud doesn't want it confirmed but can't stop himself asking.

Leon grunts. "Follow me." He starts walking, long strides that eat up the ground and force them to hurry to catch up.

Yuffie darts in and out of shadows, checking for monsters, disappearing from sight and reappearing fully only when they reach the lights of Traverse Town. There she pops up from behind a potted shrub and sits waiting for them to arrive. She dips her fingers in the soil of the pot and grimaces. Who the heck wants a shrub in a _pot _when it should be growing free, cracking concrete with its roots? After a few minutes she falls to kicking her heels against the ground and trying to make all her fingers fold over her pinkie at the same time.

She's just about mastered it when Leon looms out of the darkness. He's good at looming. Maybe it's his hobby – finding things to loom over and practising on bigger and bigger targets, until he can loom over something twice his size using psychological height alone. He doesn't glance her way, even though he practically has to step over her.

"Hey, what am I, invisible?"

He grunts.

"Hooray! Acknowledgment."

He doesn't respond.

"Man, what a grouch." She scrabbles to her feet at Zack and Cloud's approach. Cloud's still on the chocobo with Zack walking beside him, limping but resolute about _not _getting back on. A little voice cheers in Yuffie's head. "So, do you two have any theories about what the hell happened back there, with the lights and the Heartless and the screaming?"

"I think I'd like to hear Aerith's theory first."

She sticks her tongue out at Zack and chooses a fresh shadow. One thing about ninja training is it spawns a good geographical memory – when you're used to picking your way through unfamiliar territory in the dark you learn pretty damn quick how to imprint terrain on your brain so you can pick your way out again when the job's done and there are heavies on your tail and you're half blind with fear and tears from holding down your gag reflex.

There are things in Yuffie's past she's never told Zack, Cloud or Aerith. She thinks they must've guessed, one by one; probably Zack first, although Aerith sometimes exhibits a disturbing ability to read people like books – and not books with lots of words, either, but flat cardboard books with big fat words and pictures of 'cat' and 'ball' and 'xylophone', though what a little kid needs to know about xylophones for, Yuffie has no idea. She was thirteen when she tried one of those books and she'd never used a xylophone, nor needed to know what one was, or how to freaking well spell it, and now it's years later of nearly dying, running away, nearly dying some more, living the soft life and nearly dying _even_ _more_,and it's _still_ never come up.

_But I digress. Again. I sure do that a lot. Meh._

Yuffie doesn't think Cloud cottoned on until after the other two. Maybe one of them told him, or maybe he suddenly stopped shovelling chocobo shit one day and thought, 'Hey, don't ninjas kill people?'

She's first to the stairs leading up to Leon's place. She spends a moment appreciating the building, since she spent the first go-around making kunai-handle-shaped impressions in her palm and being acutely aware of how much Aerith _can't_ fight even when she _doesn't_ have a kid in her arms. It's not a bad place; tall and no missing bricks or roof-slates. Leon's apartment is on the third of three floors, but by the looks of the darkened windows there's nobody in the others anyway. She wonders why he chose to be at the top. Not the best place to defend from – too easy to get cornered – and he'd know that as surely as she does.

She could tell instantly that Leon's a warrior – not even because of the sword, either, but because of the way he _moves_. Not like a ninja, who can fade into a shadow, but like smoke – smoke around a big fuck-off tank that's hurtling towards you and can swing its turret to blast you into an oily stain on the ground whenever it freaking well _wants_.

Yuffie checks to make sure the rest of their little posse is still there and sprints up the stairs. She treats the door to a shave-and-a-haircut and checks to make sure her hair's passably fabulous. It isn't, but sometimes you just have to pretend like hell and everybody else is too unnerved by your wild-eyed conviction to argue. Face in place, she punts the door open.

"Leon, my boy, they're … they're … you're not Leon."

Yuffie strikes her 'I-wasn't-expecting-that-but-damned-if-I'm-gonna-show-it' pose. It's in the same vein as her 'Of-course-I-meant-to-do-that' pose and reminiscent of her 'it-was-like-that-when-I-got-here' pose. "Nope, but hum a few bars and I'll wing it."

"Yuffie!" Tifa is plainly glad to see her, and Aerith smiles one of those smiles that makes Yuffie kind of wish her mom hadn't died before she knew her.

"In the flesh. Sorry, no autographs or locks of hair. Who's the old guy?"

"Yuffie, this is Merlin." Aerith's eyes are full of questions but only the important one makes it to her tongue. "Did you find Zack and Cloud?" There's an unspoken 'are they okay?' that's impossible to miss.

"Yup, yup, yup. Big heap o' man-flesh headed this way, ladies. Plus some feather-butt flesh, but we can eat that, right?"

The old man in the bathrobe looks confused. "You are … a friend of these young ladies?"

"Friend, confidante, lifesaver and general entertainer – no world-hopping trip is complete without the Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi. You just get out of bed, beardy?"

He splutters. "This is a mage's robe, young lady. It's a mark of great honour to wear one, and I'll have you know that I am -"

"Yeah, yeah, bored now." Yuffie sticks her head back out the door to bellow, "Hurry up, you guys! C'mon, get the lead ou-mmff!"

Leon glares at her. His glove smells of leather and dirt and little bit of blood, and suddenly Yuffie has a perfect image of him bending down to touch those rocks, all coiled muscles and calculating stare. "For a ninja, you can sure draw attention to yourself."

"Mmmffmffmfff-mffmff."

"Leon!" The old guy is back to being pleased, though Yuffie can feel disapproval arrowing between her shoulder-blades. "Leon, my boy, it's us! I mean, it's them! It's where they're from – it all makes sense and it _fits_. Oh, fiddlesticks." He flicks his fingers to retrieve his cane from the mirror he's just accidentally flung it into. The long jagged crack vanishes as the cane floats away, and Yuffie can't decide whether to wonder whether broken mirrors still give seven years' bad luck if they're suddenly unbroken again, or whether to plan how to steal that funky magical walking stick.

"Merlin," Leon says tonelessly. "You're here."

"And a good thing too, I should say. Leon, my dear boy, superb news! These refugees you nobly rescued, _they're from_ _Radiant Garden_!"

* * *

"I can't believe we just _ignored_ it for so long." Zack wears a taken aback expression that's fast becoming the norm for everyone except Merlin or Leon – Merlin because he's too happy and Leon because he's so _not_. "It's a castle. We talked about it. I must've looked at it every day of my life, but it never seemed real in my head until now. How is that even possible?"

"Quite possibly you've escaped the influence of its cloaking magic now you're no longer in its immediate vicinity," Merlin says knowledgably.

"Huh?" Yuffie blinked at him. "What?"

"It's not working on you now you're not near it."

"Oh. So why didn't you just say that in the first place?"

Zack interrupts. "So that thing's been messing with our minds?"

"Not intentionally, I think," Merlin replies. "It's more likely the magic is something of a surfeit – an overflow, if you will."

"From your duel," Cloud says with a frown, as though everything is getting a bit much and he'd like nothing better than to go downstairs and huddle up with the chocobo. It's nestling in a shed Merlin whipped up especially. Dusty feathers and straw are so much easier to handle than learning you've lived your life in the shadow of a madman's evil and bloody legacy. The hand Cloud has clamped firmly in Aerith's seems the only thing anchoring him in place.

"Indeed," says Merlin. "There are often spectacular side-effects from wizards' duels. I remember once, when I battled a truly obnoxious woman by the name of Mim, the backlash turned an entire village into frogs. It took me a fortnight to round them all up and turn them back, since the wretched troglodyte wouldn't stay to help. Do you know how many buckets of water it takes to hold an entire village of frogs? Or how many gnats one must gather t stop them dying of starvation while you round up their brethren?"

"I can't believe you guys are all from the same neighbourhood." Yuffie's elbows are balanced on her knees. She smiles like this is all some big joke and they're the punch line. "How weird is that? Skippety-doo-dah between worlds and you still meet tourists from home. Hollow Bastioners get around more than I thought – way more, since I thought you were all backwater chumps who never left your safe little town unless someone knocked you cold and dragged you out of there. Not like me. I'm a well-travelled explorer. I'm _cultured._"

"It wasn't called Hollow Bastion when we lived there," Merlin reminds her, a trifle bemused and a trifle impatient. Yuffie has that effect on people who aren't used to her.

Aerith remembers her own reactions when she first met Yuffie, before she learned that the scattershot rambling, childish pranks and rudeness conceal someone with more loyalty and love than sense. Yuffie is indomitable in everything she does, throwing herself at her emotions and rolling around in them until they're squashed into her pores, impossible to remove and obvious as the day but hiding too well in plain sight. She ducks and dives, avoiding genuine open affection, but Aerith would trust her with her life in a heartbeat. Heck, she already _has_.

"Yeah, but you said you're not exactly playing with a full deck," Yuffie shoots back at Merlin, kicking her heels against the chair that was dragged over for her since there weren't enough. Aerith, Zack, Cloud and Kairi have the sofa, and nobody's cruel enough to try and separate them. Tifa and Merlin have an armchair each and Leon leans against the wall doing his best to bore holes in the carpet with just his eyes.

Merlin sighs. "It's true that some of our memories were garbled as a result of the backlash, but frankly those were the least of our problems in the immediate aftermath of the duel."

"Ooh, I sense a story. Does it have juicy bits and gory parts and all the things in between?"

"We were frozen," Leon interrupts, making everyone look up.

"Like … in ice? How the heck are you guys still alive? Oh, I get it." Yuffie slaps her palms against her thighs and rubs them back and forth, ruckling the fabric of Leon's ruined pants. "It was _magical_ ice, right? The kind that doesn't, oh, _seize up your lungs and make it impossible for you to breathe_?"

Since Leon isn't inclined to elaborate, Merlin does. "From what I can remember of the duel, I attempted to cast an enchantment to shield us from the worst of the eruption. Magic is not totally unlike science – if you mix chemicals willy-nilly you soon find yourself with a rather large problem."

"And singed eyebrows. And no nose hair." Yuffie looks around. "What? So maybe one time I had to break into a scientist's house and he was really careless and left some stuff out. _What_?"

"As I was saying," Merlin goes on, "mixing different types of magic can be equally volatile. Mixing two is dangerous, but mixing three is downright harebrained. It can cause an explosion of arcane forces that can destroy everything for miles around."

"Or wipe out an entire town's memory and rewrite it," Zack says grimly.

"Indeed. When the backlash occurred it threw us out of the natural order of things. Quite literally it tried to erase us from the world. It didn't attempt to kill us, mind you; it simply modified reality so that we were never a part of it. Or tried to, at least. The effects would be limited and localised, which is why you all still saw the castle and could talk about it, but found yourselves easily distracted if you tried to think about it _too_ _much_. Nothing short of a wizarding war would rewrite the reality of an entire world."

"Did you hear that?" Yuffie leans across to elbow Cloud. "It _only_ tried to erase their very existence from the fabric of reality. Nothing too big. Yeesh, Beardy, where does your weirdness threshold even _start_?" The nickname already has a capital letter. Everyone hears it, and several know this means it's well on its way to becoming her default name for Merlin unless she picks something better.

"Yuffie," Tifa says warningly, with some of the old fire that used to have her frogmarching up to Zack's house, or chasing wannabe ninjas down the street for stealing beer.

"So the people you were fighting, they were also brought here?" Zack asks.

Merlin shakes his head. "No. In truth, I'm not sure what happened to them. They may have been thrown into another world, or the backlash may have punched a hole in the world and dropped them into it – like a, uh, pocket in the jacket of reality, if you will. A realm with just them in it."

"So they're still alive too?"

"I couldn't begin to say. It has been quite a few years, and a lot can happen in that space of time." Merlin shoots Leon an incomprehensible look, which he avoids

"Why didn't that happen to you?"

"The enchantment I cast formed a shell around us, so when we were catapulted out of our world we passed through the, ah …" He searches for the words to explain. "We went _through_ the ceiling of our world and into this one. Though the enchantment reacted with the backlash and solidified around us when we arrived, effectively freezing us, it did allow us safe passage. It really was quite remarkable. Usually an entire world has to be destroyed for anyone to pass from it into another world without a Gummi Ship. There are other denizens of Traverse Town who began their lives in other worlds that have, sadly, since met their end at the hands of the Heartless."

Aerith shivers. "Those poor people."

"The Heartless must be very powerful to destroy whole worlds," Cloud murmurs.

"You have no idea." This from Leon again, though he still studiously avoids looking at any of them. Several times in the conversation Aerith has felt eyes on the back of her neck, but every time she looks at him his gaze is elsewhere.

"What's a Gummi Ship?" Yuffie asks. "It sounds even cooler than magical ice."

"A Gummi Ship is a means of travelling between worlds," Merlin explains. "It can be manned by several individuals and functions much as a normal ship would on the high seas, albeit only between worlds that have had their protective shells shattered. The protective shells are made form a substance called 'gummi' and applying it to technology gives that technology the ability to travel between certain worlds. Each world is separate and unique, cut off from all others until something fractures the shell surrounding it and makes it porous."

"Something like the Heartless," Tifa finishes.

"Indeed."

Yuffie frowns. "Porous? What's that when it's at home?"

"It means permeable," says Merlin.

"Say what?"

He sighs. "Leaky. If something punctures the protective shell around a world it becomes leaky and things may pass through it. It also ceases their invisibility – no world is aware of another until they are connected, and for them to be connected their shells must become -"

"Porous!" Yuffie punches the air. "Permeable! Leaky like a leaky thing – like a sieve! Woo, go me, I'm not only a fantastic ninja, I'm also a walking word-bank. A walking word-_sponge_, absorbing words and getting smarter every second. Go on, Beardy, hit me with another one. What's another word for 'buttocks'?"

Merlin ignores her and looks at everyone else. "I must say, you are all attentive students and refreshingly quick on the uptake. I've explained this very same thing to other expatriates and they've been positively bamboozled by the very idea of other worlds, much less Gummi Ships, protective shells and magic. They've never had trouble believing in the Heartless, though," he adds almost as an afterthought, tugging his beard and frowning sadly.

"Oh, don't misunderstand us," Yuffie says. "We're all completely bamboozled, we're just better at hiding it. Putting on a brave face, a courageous front, a plucky phizog. Hey, isn't that another great word? Phizog. I never realised before what a great word that is. Phizog. Phiiiizog. Phiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-"

"_Yuffie_."

"Yeah, Teef?"

"Did you -" Aerith cuts herself off and nibbles her lip. "Did you have families? When you … were they affected by the …?"

"We had no families to forget us," Leon answers her stuttering attempt to ask a question without actually asking it and therefore dragging all its tangled and painful emotions out into the light.

"Oh." She nibbles her lip some more, tastes blood and stops.

Kairi is heavy against her front, asleep and dreaming things – or maybe not. Maybe it'd be better if she doesn't dream this time, so she can't remember. She's so exhausted they haven't even been whispering and she's stayed asleep. If she is dreaming then Aerith hopes they're good dreams, but suspects they're not. Or maybe she's not giving Kairi enough credit. Children are resilient. Everyone always says so. They bounce back faster and easier than you'd think.

She goes back to the other awkward question. "So what happens to us now? We don't have a Gummi Ship, so did we come here because our world was destroyed?"

"Traverse Town lies on the thinnest part of the veil between worlds. If your world -" Merlin pauses. "If _our_ world had been destroyed you would have arrived here in a meteor shower composed of its last fragments. There would have been pieces of gummi found with you. Since you did not arrive in this manner, I can safely assume that it is, in fact, still intact."

"So we can go home in one of those Gummi Ship things?" Cloud asks.

"Ah … it's a little more complicated than that. There aren't any _maps_ you see."

"Huh?"

"If we could find a way back home, don't you think we'd have gone by now?" Leon snaps.

Everyone processes this.

Yuffie articulates their collective thought. "Well, that sucks."

"Can't you follow the trail we made?" Zack enquires. "We made a pretty big splash when we got here. Maybe…" His voice peters out as Merlin shakes his head.

"In travelling between worlds you are not simply operating in the usual three dimensions. Finding a single world in the mass of potential destinations out there is akin to searching for a needle in a field of haystacks by locating the cotton with which it is threaded."

"Oh man, this _really_ sucks. This is, like, the most majorly sucky suckage that ever _sucked_." Yuffie swings one leg around to cross it over the other, examines the shape of her knee and decides she prefers them crossed the other way. This, however, also seems to displease her, so she settles for balancing on the edge of her seat with her knees pointing outwards and her soles pressed together, hands gripping her toes. "So you're telling us we're stuck here, drinking tea while the Heartless chow down on whoever we left behind?"

"I'm afraid so."

Tifa makes a tiny noise in the back of her throat that could just be a hiccup. Both Aerith and Cloud whiten. Aerith thinks desperately about the message Ifalna took to Elmyra and prays it was enough, and that there's somewhere to run _to_ where the Heartless won't be able to find them

Yuffie purses her lips. "I think I speak for everyone here when I say: SucksucksucksuckagesuckysuckysuckoramasuckSUCKsucksuckSUCK-"

"What are we supposed to do?" Zack leans forward, thigh still pressed against Aerith's but moving out the row he, she and Cloud set themselves up in when they sat down. "We can't just leave the Heartless to destroy our world while we're gone. Those things can die. We've killed them before."

"They'll make more to replace those you killed," Leon says, happiness and sunshine personified. "They always make more. Always."

"Thank you Captain Optimistic." Yuffie salutes him.

Leon raises his eyes to stare balefully at her for a second. His gaze shifts over to Aerith and she meets it, but she can't get anything from him except moody detachment. The bottoms of his eyelids twitch, as though considering narrowing, but then think better of it. "The Heartless are relentless and self-propagating," he says.

"Be kind, rewind." Yuffie holds up a hand. "Self-_what_?"

"They make more of themselves," Zack translates.

"Ooh, you're smart as a _button_, aren't you? Why does everybody know these words except me?"

"They steal hearts; some to help them reproduce, some to store. We're not sure for what purpose, yet." This is a very heavy 'yet'. Leon invests it with a lot of purpose. It promises future action, possibly involving gunblades and settling dust.

Tifa's spine straightens and Zack's fingers twitch.

Yuffie examines her nails and buffs them against her chest. "So, Smarty-pants and Smarty-pants Junior, if our world is okay – admittedly it has a Heartless problem, but it's still _there_, which makes it fixable, and anybody who argues with me or tries to interrupt me right now will have to talk to my favourite sai, Mr. Pointy -" She pauses to draw breath. "If our world isn't all destroyed and raining down on your heads in a shiny meteor shower, how the hell did we get from _there_ to _here_?"

"That I cannot tell you," Merlin admits. "Though I am also eager to find out how you conducted your remarkable journey."

Aerith covers a yawn, blushing. "Sorry."

"Don't be, my dear. You've had rather a busy day, if I do say so myself."

"Yeah, when I woke up this morning, I said to myself: Yuffie, I said, Yuffie today you're going to go visit Small Fry, fight some Heartless, get thrown into another world, land on your head in a stinky sewer – which was totally gross and icky and you guys need to eat more fibre or something 'cause _eeewwww _– then you're gonna nearly get flattened by a dumb chocobo, meet a wizard with memory-loss and a creepy-cool guy in leather pants who will, in fact, _give you_ a set of his pants (although he won't be in them at the time), learn that you've spent the last few years living in a town with an identity crisis and a giant fuck-off castle nobody talks about where, hey, Heartless were once-upon-a-time being researched by some guy called Ansem who may have battled the memory-loss wizard and caused reality to freaking well _rewrite itself_ to make it forget about them, hear about a bunch of wicked-cool stuff like Gummi Ships and 'porous' and 'self-propagating', and then find out you're stuck in a giant dumping ground for world-orphans and people whose worlds don't want them anymore." She grins at the group. "I plan ahead. I also plan to eat cookies and other sugary sweet things soon. Do you have cookies?"

"Merlin, please." Aerith can't lean forward because of Kairi, but she inclines her head towards him. "I have to know: Are _all_ our memories fake? Did we really live our lives the way we think we did, or did this 'magical backlash' give us false memories?" Her fingers curl around Cloud's hand, and though holding Kairi means she can't also hold Zack's, nobody misses how he leans towards her. The idea that their friendship could be invention makes her stomach twist like a burning piece of paper. They've shared too much and been through too many things together to then learn that none of it was real.

Zack becomes suddenly rigid. The Buster Sword is balanced beside him and she knows he's thinking of Angeal and wondering whether _he_ was real, too.

"When exactly did you battle Ansem?"

Merlin strokes his beard, casting his mind back. "The details of that time are sketchy to me. All our memories were damaged by the magical backlash and subsequent stasis. I'm not even sure Ansem was the one I fought, though I suppose he must have been if it was his castle and he was the one who created the Heartless who attacked you after we were gone." He squints to himself. "Cid arrived here not long after we did and guarded our bodies for … so that would mean with the time _since _our eventual thaw … oh dear. Has it really been that long?"

"Yes," Leon counters with a dose of deliberate blankness.

"How long has it been since you got here?" Cloud echoes Aerith's question, since she's looking at Leon and wondering what he's not talking about so loudly he'd be quieter if he poured out words like Yuffie does.

"Nearly twenty years. We spent most of those frozen, which is why we've retained our youthful good looks – ha ha." Nobody laughs. Merlin coughs into his fist. "Ah, yes, well, the enchantment wasn't my _best_ work, having being concocted in a crisis with little preparation time. Something of an emergency spell – not really meant for that sort of employ at all. Since it was broken we've been making lives for ourselves here, doing battle with Heartless as and when they appear."

"Heartless come here?" Cloud sounds dismayed.

"We _are_ on the thinnest point between worlds, and Heartless travel between them much more easily than we are able to. Their true nature is still mostly unknown, but they can and will find you, and take your heart if they can."

Leon stands up sharply. "It's late." He takes the words and snaps them of at the base before throwing them into the middle of the room. "There isn't much more to do now. Talking doesn't solve anything and I think you've heard enough. How old are all of you?"

"Nineteen," Aerith replies, "but Zack's a little older-"

"Then your memories of your lives are real. You don't need to worry whether the bonds between you are phoney or whether the people, places and events you remember are fake. Hollow Bastion is real to you, but you can't go back there again. None of us can. You can't return to the past so there's no point in complaining about it. Better to go to bed and figure out your next move in the morning."

Yuffie's mouth forms a little 'o'. "That's, like, a million times more than you've said in one go to _anybody_ since we arrived."

Leon grunts.

"Aaaaand we're back to the dot-dot-dot things. Well, at least you broke the monotony."

"Leon is right, though I can't say I agree with his brusqueness." Merlin rises to his feet. "What's needed now is rest. Sleep brings clearer thoughts, and clear heads are what you'll need in order to ascertain what you would like to do next. Plus, I'm sure you'd all like to engage in your own private discussions about your situation and the events preceding it. I shall return to my own home now and return at a more sociable hour."

"Aww," Yuffie pouts. "I wanted cookies."

* * *

There are two bedrooms. It's decided that the girls will take one and the boys will sleep in the other – or at least it is until Yuffie, declaring she's not staying in a room with a toddler who'll cry and stink up the place, invades next door. She bounces on the double bed, wraps herself up in a blanket and is fast asleep inside half a minute. It's a throwback from having to sleep outside and rest whenever and wherever she can while on clan missions, but it doesn't make her any easier to move.

While Tifa uses the bathroom, Aerith shuts the bedroom door and takes the opportunity to once again try replenishing Kairi's energy levels. She didn't mention her suspicions to Merlin or Leon because she's still not sure of them herself, and Kairi is so tiny that thoughts of keyblades and Heartless just make Aerith feel tired and protective.

Mostly what she feels is weary. There was too much news and too much explanation after too much _happening_, and the whole day has merged into one long succession of blows that leave her breathless and dizzy. Merlin was a godsend and Leon has, actually, been nothing but accommodating in his own way – especially considering he doesn't know them. They could've been a posse of thieves and murderers for all he knows. Still, everything they said sits like wet bread in the bottom of Aerith's mind; weighty and hard to digest.

When the door knocks Aerith lets the last gold specks fade into Kairi's scalp and calls, "Come in."

"Aerith?" It's Cloud, hovering like she might send him away.

Aerith instantly relaxes. If she has to be in this place, she's glad Cloud and Zack are with her.

Zack pushes Cloud into the room. "Are you okay?" he asks without overture. He asked it when he raced up the stairs behind Yuffie and Leon, and again after he and Cloud were done hugging her, but his expression is like he's never asked before and isn't sure what answer she might give.

"I'm fine. A little tired, but fine. Would you like me to see to those injuries?" She indicates to those they both sustained in the battle against the Heartless, as well as the cuts and gashes Zack got from rolling down a cliff.

A _cliff_. He could have been killed …

"Better not," Zack replies. "Leon and Merlin already saw them."

She's crouched next to the bed, Kairi lying on top of the blankets. Kairi gives a little snore and rubs her nose, but doesn't wake up. Aerith turns awkwardly and sinks into a sitting position, back pressed against the side of the mattress. "It's been a … day."

"Yeah." Zack sits down beside her, wincing, and squeezes her hand. "It's been a real _day_."

Cloud hesitates before taking up the spot on her other side. It's pretty much how they were sitting on the couch, Aerith flanked like some old world princess by her two knights. Zack still has the Buster Sword, which helps the image, but Cloud's in his work clothes and smells of chocobo and sweat. It's more comforting than it probably should be. She feels safe between them.

"Zack, when Angeal told you about the Buster Sword, did he ever mention something called a 'keyblade'?"

"No. Why?"

Carefully, Aerith explains about the legend of the keyblades and how the Buster Sword may be related to them.

"Angeal only ever said it was enchanted. He pulled it out of a stone in an old temple somewhere in the north. It'd been abandoned for years."

"I think Kairi brought us here." The statement's out before she can think any more about it.

Neither Zack nor Cloud move. Maybe it's because they're also full of soul-deep tiredness; maybe it's because of their injuries, or maybe it's because this doesn't seem as ridiculous as it would've before Merlin talked to them; before they found out their whole lives would be different but for one day almost twenty years ago.

"Why?" Zack asks.

"When the Heartless were attacking, she … glowed."

"Glowed?"

"Right before everything went dark and we woke up here. Something was in her hand, just for a second. I think it may have been a keyblade, but whatever it was, she wasn't ready to use it yet. It completely drained her of energy. I've tried a couple of times to heal her and I feel like I've barely scratched the surface of what's gone. And I had a dream."

"What did your dream say?" Cloud asks.

"That we have to protect her. She doesn't have anyone but us now. The Heartless took her mom, and her dad's still in Hollow Bastion. I-I got to talk to my mom – one last time … I told her to leave because something bad was coming. I told her to take your mom with her, Cloud, and Tifa's dad, and anyone else who'd go, but I forgot to mention Kairi's dad. My mom doesn't know Kairi's with us. She can't tell him she's okay, or what happened to Anemone. He might not leave if he can't find them, and if he doesn't, and the Heartless get him, it'll be my fault -"

"It will _not_." Zack squeezes her hand again. Her fingers feel limp and useless in his. "None of this is _our_ fault – _none_ of it."

"You told her to save my mom?" Cloud's voice is full of relief and at least one layer of tension leaves him. Aerith can practically see it fluttering away out of the window – made of beautiful stained glass again. It makes the room seem like a church, and whatever goes on in here kind of holy and righteous.

Aerith doesn't feel righteous. She feels sad, and drained, and confused, and so _tired_ it makes even her teeth hurt. Maybe it was a bad idea to try that last bit of healing on Kairi after all.

A huge sob rolls up from inside her before she can stop it. In the next moment she's weeping like a child – that kind of gasping, hysterical crying that feels like it'll never stop. She hasn't cried like this since Angeal died, and even then the hollowness of losing him and caring for Zack cushioned her against her own grief. Now she's perfectly in tune with reality. Everything feels sharp and real, like glass shards. If that window were to smash and slice them to pieces it wouldn't feel as jagged as the gaping wound inside her right now.

They've lost everything. They've lost all they had, plus all they _thought_ they had – their families and world and everything that's familiar. It's like Angeal dying and finding out about her mother and nearly being killed by monsters and all the other bad things that have ever happened to them happening over again, but worse.

Someone hugs her, but she's too blinded by tears to tell whether it's Zack or Cloud. Then someone else hugs her from the other side and identifying them doesn't matter, because she's surrounded by warm arms that can actually touch and give faltering comfort that won't disappear when she opens her eyes.

"I-I didn't … didn't tell … I'm never going to s-see her again, am I?"

"Shh," Zack soothes her like she soothed Kairi in the sewer. The urge to say any promise that'll make her feel better makes him tremble, but he can't set any of them up for yet another fall. His honesty makes her cry even more.

"I didn't s-say I love her …"

"She knows." Cloud is resolute about this. "Your mom knows, Aerith."

" … So scared …"

They rock together, softly, trying not to wake the toddler on the bed behind them. They rock and shush and cry until the last scrap of energy leaves them and they finally fall asleep, a tightly tangled ball of sorrow and reassurance on a bedroom floor that isn't their own, in a world that isn't theirs either.

* * *

_**To Be Continued …**_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

_Yuffie tips her head back. "Screwy? They look fine to me – all light and bright and sparkling."_

-- Jane Austen once decried _Pride and Prejudice_ as 'too light and bright and sparkling' for her own tastes, and somehow the phrase has stuck with me ever since.

"_Anybody who argues with me or tries to interrupt me right now will have to talk to my favourite sai, Mr. Pointy -"_

-- Side-fling to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Kendra had a stake she called Mr. Pointy, which she bequeathed to Buffy after her death.

* * *


	16. Mornings Are the Hardest Part of the Day

* * *

**15. Mornings Are the Hardest Part of the Day**

* * *

_My childhood days bring back sad reflections  
Of happy times spent so long ago;  
My childhood friends and my own relations  
Have all passed on now like melting snow._

-- From _**Carrickfergus**_ by Celtic Woman.

* * *

Cloud wakes first, used to rising with the dawn to go to work. He's still absolutely exhausted though, and at first doesn't know where he is. His senses are focussed entirely on the feel of warm skin, the sound of Zack's breathing and the smell of Aerith's hair until it goes up his nose and tries to choke him. Then reality clicks into place and he spends a moment just processing the enormity of what's happened so it doesn't just overwhelm him. The urge to just stay there and go back to sleep where he doesn't have to think about it is strong, but in the end he has to get up.

Disentangling himself is easier than expected. He leaves the other two holding onto each other like they're all they had left in the world. Zack's fingers flex, his arm curled around Aerith's shoulder but his hand looking for Cloud. There was no chance to clean off the dried blood, and he never took off his gloves last night. The leather creaks. Not knowing what else to do, Cloud pats it and the movement stills.

Cloud pushes himself to his feet but notices Kairi shivering slightly on the bed. She's in exactly the same position as when she was put down last night. Tentatively, because he isn't used to infants unless they're chicks, he flicks the edge of the blanket over her. He stares for a moment longer wondering whether he should try to tuck her in or something. Without knowing quite why, he brushes her cheek with the back of his index finger. Kairi's skin is soft and her face peaceful in sleep. She looks like nothing bad has ever happened to her, nor ever will.

The bathroom is free and easy to find, but when Cloud returns someone else is awake and on their feet.

Tifa turns from the sink, startled, a cup of water in her hands. It only takes a moment for her face to smooth. Tifa has the kind of face that smiles briskly and easily. "Good morning."

"Morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Not especially," Cloud replies truthfully, rolling his shoulders to ease the kinks in his neck. He pauses, realising where he spent the night and how it relates to her. "I'm sorry; we didn't mean to keep you out of your room all night."

She shakes her head. "It's okay. I bunked with Yuffie. She doesn't snore, but she does spread out a bit. I had to get up after the fifth time she kicked my kidneys."

Cloud glances left and right, but nobody else is around. "What about Leon? He was supposed to be sharing with me and Zack, but then Yuffie took the bed and we fell asleep in your room and …"

"I think he was up on the roof."

Cloud wonders if he heard that correctly. "The _roof_?"

Tifa nods. "All night. And it's not a flat roof, either, so goodness knows how he got any sleep."

Cloud adds this to the pile of Things He Doesn't Understand About This Situation. "Maybe he doesn't need to sleep."

"Maybe." Tifa sips her water. An uncomfortable silence descends. "Would you … like some breakfast?" she asks eventually.

Cloud's stomach feels too tense to accept food yet, but he thanks her for the offer. Tifa sighs and sets down her cup, half-pulling herself to sit on the sideboard and then remembering this isn't her house. It isn't polite to put your backside where other people prepare their food. She slides down again and settles for leaning back with her arms folded.

"This is awkward, isn't it?"

"That's one word for it. Personally, I prefer 'mind-boggling', but I'd be okay with 'unbelievable' too."

Tifa blinks, as though she didn't expect him to make a joke. Perhaps she doesn't think him capable of cracking jokes. Cloud goes over their shared history in his mind and cringes to remember some of it. Peering nervously over a fence into her garden and running away when she spotted him, watching her from a distance at school, going into the mountains together and that hideous incident with the bridge when he was trying to impress her – he can't ever remember a time when he's made a _good_ impression, except when he convinced Aerith and Zack to follow her into the wasteland after she lost her mom. His relationship with Tifa has always been strained. He put too much stock in it too early, getting his first crush on the girl next door but not having the wherewithal to act on – or even properly deal with – his emotions. The worst part is that Tifa's always been so _nice_ about it. Like right now – she can kick his ass six ways from Sunday without breaking a sweat, but she's smiling at him in a way that makes the bags lessen under her eyes.

"I guess we'd better start believing it."

Cloud lowers his gaze. "I guess."

"That's not actually what I meant, though."

"It isn't?"

She shakes her head. She has bed hair so everything swings as one mass of knots and tangles. It half-covers her left eye. She doesn't push it aside. "I mean having me here. You and Zack and Aerith and Yuffie – you live together. You have your own routines and habits. You've coped with life as a unit, and now suddenly you have me along for the ride, too."

"And Kairi."

"Yes," she concedes, "and Kairi."

"You shouldn't worry about feeling like a spare part, Tifa, or that you don't fit in."

She blinks again, once more taken aback at his words – though this time at their perceptiveness. Cloud has cut right to the core of the matter inside a sentence.

"What good are routines when you've moved worlds the way we have? We're all in this together. We're a sort of … we're sort of a team now, I guess. If we're going to survive in this new world we have to be able to rely on each other. We each have our own part to play and our own talents to add to the mix, so you shouldn't feel that you're not needed or that you shouldn't be here. None of us _should _be here, but … uh …" Cloud fumbles for the right words under her gaze. "Anyway, I don't think some of Yuffie's routines and habits _should_ be allowed to go on as they are."

"You know, sometimes I wonder how we managed to grow up so near to each other and not know each other better," Tifa muses. "You have your own habit of constantly surprising me, Cloud Strife."

Cloud blushes. "So what do you think we should do next?"

Tifa sighs, finally pushing her hair behind her ear. "I don't know. I was awake thinking about it for a long time last night. We can't stay here. Leon's already done so much for us and we can't impose on him any more than we already have. I think he's used to having his own space. It might account for why he escaped to the roof last night. I guess going from living alone to living with four other adults plus a child is a pretty big shock."

"You think he lives alone? But what about the clothes he gave Aerith?"

Tifa plucks at her own tied-up shirt, which she put on before leaving her room. Cloud fell asleep in his own clothes and realises in that instant that he must smell terrible. Blood rushes into his cheeks, but Tifa doesn't appear to have noticed – or if she has she's not saying anything.

"I don't know," she admits, "but I haven't seen much evidence of anyone else living here recently. The clothes I can't explain, but if someone else _was_ living here don't you think there'd be more clues?"

"Clues like what?"

"Well, like a toothbrush, or personal stuff around the place, or maybe Leon _mentioning_ that he lives with someone."

"He doesn't seem like a very talkative guy."

"I suppose." Tifa looks thoughtful for a moment. "Merlin called me a woman's name when he first saw me last night. He called me 'Rinoa', but he sounded surprised to see her. Me. Whatever. Maybe she's Leon's significant other and stores some of her clothes over here for when she stays over. Or maybe she _was _and they've recently broken up, which is why some of her things are still here but she isn't."

"Maybe." Cloud find himself uncomfortable discussing Leon's love life and living arrangements, like they're prying into his privacy when they only know his _surname_ because someone _else_ used it. "We'll find out if we're meant to know."

"Mm." Tifa picks up her water again and sips it. "How's Kairi?"

"Sleeping."

"Aerith and Zack?"

"They're asleep too."

Tifa taps each finger up and down along the edge of the cup, like she's playing the clarinet. "Aerith's … not like other people, is she?" she says suddenly. Then she blushes. "Not that it's a _bad_ thing, but she's different, right?"

"You mean the healing?"

"Not just that. I appreciate that I was trusted to keep that secret back in Hollow Bastion, but that's not the only one, is it?" Tifa looks at Cloud, right _at_ him, making his toes squirm. "Last night she said she spoke to her mom – _after_ we were brought here. She warned her to get away from Hollow Bastion because something evil was coming, and she wasn't talking about just the Heartless. How would she know something like that? And she talked about the keyblades before Merlin brought it up. Even he was shocked to hear her say it. Aerith knows things she's not supposed to know, and she does things even her healing can't explain away. This isn't the first time I've noticed it, but back home I wasn't relying on you guys being honest with me so we'd all stay alive. Everybody has secrets, even me, but now things are different and I deserve to be brought into the loop. Don't you agree?"

Cloud wets his lips. "It's not my secret to tell," he says eventually.

Tifa stares hard at him. When she nods it's not reallyasdisapproving as it first appears. "I guess I should ask Aerith myself, then."

"She's worried you'll hate her for not telling you," Cloud blurts, regretting it instantly. Aerith hasn't told him so but it's obvious to read a thing like that if you know someone well enough. "She thinks you'll be offended that she didn't tell you sooner. It's not that she doesn't _trust _you, but -" He stops as one of the bedroom doors opens.

Yuffie emerges, yawning and scrubbing at her hair. She brightens when she sees them. "Howdy-hey-hey, posse. What's for breakfast?" She spots Tifa's cup. "Just water? Nuts to that. Just lemme use the john and I'll go snooping for proper food. Your tits will deflate if you don't eat enough, Teef." She scuttles off to the bathroom and slams the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

Moments later Zack appears. He glances at the bathroom door. "Yuffie?"

Tifa and Cloud both nod.

"I figured as much." He yawns and runs his hands through his hair. His gloves are off. If possible he looks even worse now than he did last night. "So it was all real?"

"Looks that way," Tifa says.

"Damn. I was kind of hoping I'd dreamed everything." Zack sighs and retreats back into the bedroom. Moments later he re-emerges, still yawning, and still not wearing gloves or the Buster Sword. He catches Cloud looking and gives a half-shrug. "I figured I'd better not break things just by turning around too fast. This place is smaller than we're used to."

It's true; Leon's apartment is narrower than most houses in Hollow Bastion. The ceilings are lower too, giving everyone a vague sense of claustrophobia. Three people in the kitchen and already it's crowded. Tifa drains her glass and excuses herself, closing the bedroom door that Yuffie left wide.

"Are you okay?" Zack asks when she's gone.

Cloud just looks at him.

"Fine, fine, stupid question." More hands-through-hair. Zack's black spikes lay flat along his skull, though that stubborn wisp _still_ refuses to stay down. Even that is greasy from him touching it too much, though. There's a dark stain around his neck where his collar has rubbed dirt onto his skin, even though Aerith set out those clothes fresh for him yesterday morning.

Was it really only yesterday they were thinking about clean laundry? It all seems so far away now. Yesterday Zack didn't have Heartless dust all over him, clogging his scabby cuts and mixing with dried blood to form maroon stains on his clothes, and Cloud couldn't feel the same powdery residue itching in his own hair.

"Is Aerith awake?" he asks to distract himself.

"She's with Kairi."

"How is she?"

"Aerith? Better than last night." Zack glances at the door he's just come through. "This has hit her hard."

"It's hit us all pretty hard," Cloud points out.

"Yeah, but it's … I don't know. I guess it's a natural impulse to want to protect her. I've been watching out for Aerith for so long now it's become second nature."

Cloud knows exactly what Zack means. Maybe he doesn't have a super-duper sword or years of training with Angeal under his belt, but that day in Zack's room, when Aerith came in pale and shaking after learning about her real mother, Cloud made him own promise to protect his friends from anything that threatened to hurt or take them away from him.

Zack looks around. "Where's Leon?"

"On the roof, I think."

"The _roof_?"

"Apparently he slept up there."

Zack looks bemused, but quickly wipes away the expression. "He seems a pretty decent guy, all things considered. I don't know how _I'd_ cope losing almost twenty years of my life like that. At least he didn't age while he was frozen. That would've been rough, to pass out when you're in your prime and wake up middle-aged. He doesn't look too bad for it, though. I'd like to look like I'm in my early-twenties when I'm in my forties."

"I wonder if he got that scar in that battle Merlin was talking about," Cloud muses.

"_I _wonder where he got that 'gunblade' thingy. I've never seen anything like it in Hollow Bastion before."

"Do you think it really did used to be called Radiant Garden?"

"Who knows? Merlin admitted their memories are pretty scrambled, but you can't deny that whole thing about the castle." Zack shakes his head like he still can't quite believe it. "I'm going to keep calling it Hollow Bastion, though."

"Me too. There aren't enough plants there for it to be any kind of garden, Radiant or otherwise."

Zack's face takes on a contemplative frame. "I wonder…" he murmurs, but shakes his head before finishing the thought. "First things first: breakfast, chocobo, washing. Not necessarily in that order."

"Chocobo?"

"You have to check on the one downstairs, don't you?"

"Right." Cloud lifts the hem of his shirt, inspecting the encrusted dirt, and lets it drop with a snort. Any extra dirt wouldn't make any difference. "I'll do that now. You can shower first, but make sure someone's ready to let me back in, okay?"

"Fine, fine, but it'll probably be little old unwashed me. You know how Yuffie hogs the bathroom in the morning. She'll probably be in there for hours."

It's such a normal thing to say that for a second both their hearts lift. This is one of those times when the best thing in the universe would be some normality.

* * *

Yuffie is examining her feet when the bathroom window opens. She decided a long time ago that she has pretty feet. They're a bit calloused from a childhood of going barefoot, or in those stupid soft sandals that were supposed to teach her how to walk silently, but they're petite feet and her toes are all the correct length.

She totally does _not_ squeak, though she does withdraw her pretty tootsies to crouch on the toilet lid and gropes for a shuriken, or a kunai, or whatever else she can use to repel invaders. Since she left her belt and pouches in the bedroom she's brandishing a toilet brush when Leon's boots slide in, followed by the rest of him.

He arches an eyebrow.

Yuffie looks at the brush and holds it out a little further. "It's got poo-juice on it!" she threatens. "You'd be surprised how many enemies would take on a ninja but run like hell from poo-juice."

"Am I supposed to be intimidated by this?"

Yuffie blinks. "If you were _normal_, yes. You're telling me you _like _poo-juice?"

Leon says nothing, but goes to the door to let himself out.

"Hey, I could've been naked in here!"

"You aren't."

"Yeah, but I _could've_ been, and you just barged right on in here like you _own_ the place, with no regard for privacy or good manners or any of that junk."

He pauses, but just to say, "I do own the place."

"An excellent point, and as host it's up to you to make sure we maintain a proper level of decency around here."

His eyes fix on her. In daylight they're a much lighter shade of blue than she thought. Yuffie suddenly feels like that time as a kid when she swallowed a bug for a dare. She didn't chew and spent the night worried in a highly deniable way that it'd burrow a hole out through her intestines. Blessed with an overabundant imagination, she envisioned her perfectly arranged body discovered in the morning; how her dad would fall to his knees, beat his breast and proclaim he'd never realised how precious she was until she was gone, even though her dad was as given to displays of emotion like he was given to stabbing pins into his own eyeballs. Unfortunately that same imagination also envisioned what her guts would look like as the bug and all its buggy offspring jerked free of her splattered entrails, trailing blood and digestive fluids as they skittered away. She envisioned it so hard she swore she could _feel_ the dead bug moving around inside her, which is exactly the same feeling she has now. Dead-bug-tummy-flutters.

_Uh-oh._

"I used your toothbrush," she blurts. "You didn't have any spares and my mouth tasted like old socks. You ever get that old-sock taste in the mornings? Hey, why'd you sleep on the roof? I heard you climb up there last night. You're a good climber; almost as good as a ninja, although not as good as me 'cause I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie and nobody's as kick-ass as a Great Ninja. Except maybe a wizard, but not one who drinks tea and gets all fuddy-duddy over stupid stuff. Am I boring you?"

Leon just stares at her. "You used my toothbrush?" he says when she's just about to launch into another silence-filling diatribe. He doesn't sound angry, just curious and a little preoccupied. His gaze flicks to the cup on the sink that used to hold a toothbrush and a comb, but now just holds a damp toothbrush. "Where's my comb?"

"Dagnabbit, you caught me." Yuffie tosses it high into the air. It clatters back into the cup. Perfect shot, as always. Gods, she's good.

"Do I even want to know where you were hiding that?"

"Probably not." She grins at him. That was _almost_ a kind-of-sort-of-not-funny-except-in-a-sad-dad-way joke thing. He doesn't smile back. She tosses the toilet brush back into its holder. Still no smile. "Am I annoying you?"

Another slight pause, just enough for him to breathe in and out once. "No."

"Really?" Yuffie's surprised. "But I used your toothbrush. It's all covered in my germs and spit. It's got _girl-germs _and _cooties_ all over it, and they'll crawl all over you and _infect_ you if you touch it. They'll get inside your head and eat your brain until it's a gooey mush that only thinks about boys and dresses and soppy romance novels, and you'll think nothing of sitting down to breakfast wearing a ribbon in your hair and sparkly shoes. Fear the girl germs! Wooooo!" She wiggles her fingers and makes a passable eerie noise.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Hm."

"Is that a good 'hm' or a bad 'hm'? Or is it a 'how did this goddess with beauty beyond her years come to be sitting on my toilet seat engaging me in witty banter this fine morning' hm?" She leans forward, peering owlishly at him.

"I don't believe you're sixteen."

"Okay, fifteen." She meets his gaze squarely.

He doesn't blink. Not even once.

She pouts. "Thirteen, but I'm _nearly _fourteen. And that _is_ the truth."

Having known him all of one night, Yuffie's decided Leon is many things, but cute is not one of them. Puppies are cute. Baby booties are cute. Leon isn't cute. He could look at water and make it boil. Cute is too mild an adjective to use and she might just be developing a little crush on him, which is totally Not a Good Thing right now. Damn it. It's easy to flirt shamelessly with Zack or Cloud because they really _are _cute, which makes the whole process much easier. Really hot men in leather pants are confusing in a 'we just switched _worlds_ and you're thinking about his _butt_? Hel-lo, priorities?' kind of way. Plus Leon seems to have the sociability of a wet dishcloth. If she's going to get a proper crush on anyone, she'd prefer it to be someone who knows how to smile.

She's looking at the wall and thinking it might be good to run full tilt and bash her head against it when Leon speaks again.

"You seem older."

"I do? So why were you all eyeball-y and getting me to admit I'm younger than I said?" She grins and carries on without waiting for his answer. "Check me out, Yuffie the _mature_ Great Ninja."

"I didn't say you were mature, I just said you seemed older. You are possibly the most _immature_ person I've ever … spoken with." Yuffie doesn't miss the gap. For a moment Leon's eyes lose concentration and he looks again at the cup with its single toothbrush.

"Well thank you very freaking much," she replies, not so much breaking his moment as smashing it up and handing him the pieces on a silver-leaf platter – not solid silver, of course, because she's already stolen that and hoarded it away in the lockbox of her mind. "Insulting me won't make me forget, though. You, roof, why? Do we smell? Was someone snoring too loud? Talking in their sleep? Farting? C'mon, throw me a bone. It was Teef, right? She has to have some kind of glaring flaw to make up for that bombshell figure and great personality."

"It was too crowded," Leon replies. "I'm used to privacy."

"Which begs the question, why did you invade the bathroom and negate the privacy of whoever was in here – namely, me?" She taps her chin. "Did you sleep at _all_ up there? 'Cause you look like shit." He doesn't, actually, or if he does then Leon's Look Like Shit face is tons better than most people's Spent All Day Getting Ready faces. She's trying to push his buttons, to see how far she can go and how far he'll _let_ her go.

"You slept?" he counters.

"Like a baby. A really cool _ninja_ baby, who can poke your eyes out with her rattle if you get too close and think she's not still aware of what's going on around her."

"You're from the Wutai Clan."

Yuffie blinks. "Hey, yeah! Right first time. How'd you guess?"

"You say 'ninja' a lot."

"Pfft, whatever. There are more ninja clans than raindrops on a stormy day (I heard that from a travelling storyteller and thought it was such a cool way of putting it, even though he got it _completely wrong_ about how the Gongaga Clan whupped our butts in the Hundred Years War, because it _didn't_ last a hundred years, and even if it had, _we _won for ninety-nine of them, they just tripped us up and sat on our legs at the last minute so it only _looked_ like they beat us). Anyway, how'd you know I'm Wutai and not from some other clan?"

Leon doesn't even hesitate. "You have Godo's eyes."

"You knew my _dad_?" Totally _not_ a wild screech. Not even. Nu-uh. But if it was then it was _totally_ justified. "When? How?"

"I travelled with Lord Ansem when he visited other nations. He parleyed with various ninja clans, brokering peace and employing them for information gathering, but he seemed to favour Wutai. They were less bloodthirsty than most."

"Not completely. Fancy ideals and moral codes are great, but a ninja's still gotta eat." Yuffie pushes away memories of being laughed at when she offered her ninja skills as an independent agent before Hollow Bastion, and flatly refuses to acknowledge memories of earlier than that – darkness and blood and guilt – notgoingtherenotgointhere! Nobody takes a clan-less ninja seriously, especially a skinny teenage girl with grazed knees, scabbed knuckles and a tendency to throw rotten fruit if you make cracks about her 'development'. "Ansem? That's guy you fought with, who chucked you into this world, right?"

Leon frowns – or frowns _deeper_, as Yuffie realises his natural expression seems to be squinty-eyed-slanty-browed-downy-turny-mouth. Huh, funny, she's almost stopped seeing it the longer they talk. "He wrote a report about the Heartless. He was conducting research into them."

"Any goober sick enough to keep those things around without flaying 'em is a Grade A nutjob, research or not. Heartless are _evil_." Yuffie sits back on the toilet lid, clasping her feet sole-to-sole, elbows on her knees. "They killed my dad. Killed the whole clan, actually. No more Wutai."

Leon's eye widen just a little. If Yuffie had blinked she would've missed it, but for a second he definitely looks surprised. "I'm sorry. Godo was a good man."

Yuffie shrugs. "It made being chucked into this world after you easier. It's not like there was a whole lot left for me in ours. All the important people I would've missed are here with me – even Teef, though I'm going to get a _complex _about my body from living with her too. I lived with Hero, Cloudy and Ponytail in Hollow Bastion. They took me in; kind of adopted me, I guess." She taps her chin again, holding onto both feet with one splayed hand. "My dad would hate them. They're too liberal. He wasn't exactly King of the Open-Minded. Did you find that? He was always really 'Rar!' with me, and all in my face about the proper way to be a female ninja, like I was supposed to learn more about tea ceremonies and flower-arranging and less about ass-kicking and face-mashing. As _if_! Then when he finally figured out I'd been training on the sly he went _totally_ nutso and all 'Rar! You must abide by our time-honoured ninja ways if you insist on pursuing this life!' even when the time-honoured ways totally _stunk_."

"It's good to have family," Leon says quietly.

"Hell yeah. Don't get me wrong, I miss him, but that was a long time ago now. I try not to think about it too much." Yuffie pushes away that final night, running home with lungs burning to find Heartless squirming over everything, and watching one prise apart her father's ribs to rip out the precious thing inside. "Actually, he might've liked Ponytail. She's really into flowers and junk, and she likes wearing skirts, but I'm pretty sure he'd _hate _her flexible living arrangements. I wasn't even allowed to _look_ at boys unless he'd vetted them as marriage material, and there were always one or two of his 'friends' around to make sure nobody slipped into my quarters for a bit of hanky-panky."

A memory surges to the surface from the time between the death of her clan and getting to Hollow Bastion. It makes Yuffie shiver and her stomach knot with old fear, but she pushes it away without giving it time to take proper root in her mind.

Leon's confused, though he barely shows it. His eyebrows tilt a little less aggressively and that changes the whole shape of his face. Woo, momma. That's much nicer to concentrate on, and drives away the last of the shadows from her mind. "Ponytail? Hero? Cloudy?"

"Aerith Gainsborough, Zack Fair, Cloud Strife (a.k.a. Those Who Need to Get a Clue). Then there's Tifa Lockhart and the little kid is Kairi Caspian. Together we form … the elite Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi's Fighting, Cooking and Learning-to-Speak Squad!" She stands up on the toilet lid to strike a heroic pose. Her head nearly reaches the ceiling and she grins down at Leon. "Death from above!" She leaps and forces him to catch her.

Mm, strong arms. The gloves are leather like Zack's, but Leon's feel like they've never ever come off. _Ever_. He sets her down again almost immediately, and doesn't _recoil _butdoes a fair approximation of it without looking horrified.

"You're good at catching fair damsels." Yuffie rocks back and forth on her heels, studying his face up close. "Where'd you get that wicked-cool scar? Fighting monsters? Fighting _Heartless_? Or was it something really dull and boring like you slipped while shaving your monobrow?"

"Get dressed." Leon's tone of voice hasn't changed but there's a heavy, dead quality to the words. There's also something different about his bearing. Yuffie never figured he'd stay for a conversation, but he did and throughout he's been pretty polite; not friendly, but at least human. In an instant that has disappeared. She thinks of a toilet chain being pulled. The human part of him has just been flushed away.

"Spoilsport," she pouts.

Leon makes no reply except to shut the door decisively behind him.

* * *

_**To Be Continued …**_

* * *


	17. Making Decisions and Making Confessions

**A/N****:** Second chapter this week, since I missed last week. I hope everyone is still enjoying this.

* * *

**16. Making Decisions and Making Confessions**

* * *

"Did Leon just come out of the bathroom?"

"Yes."

"But didn't Yuffie go in?"

"Yes."

"… Was Leon in there before?"

"No."

The confusion in Tifa's face could power a light bulb. "Gods, I hope he's not a pervert."

Zack watches Leon fetch something from the behind the armchair with an expression that says, 'Me too, but mainly because if he _is_ that means I'll have to clobber him, and I don't really want to'.

Yuffie bounces out of the bathroom milliseconds later, apparently none the worse for sharing it. "Hey, guys. So what've you made me to eat?"

"There's water in the faucet." Tifa sips another cupful, her hair freshly brushed and tied behind her into a bristly pigtail on the back of her head. It's nowhere near as elegant as her old ponytail. Coupled with her slightly pink skin and tired eyes, this one makes her look like a fishwife.

Yuffie is aghast. "Are you kidding? I was in there for _ages_! You could've cooked a three-course meal in that time!"

"I thought you said you were going to find and cook your own food when you came back."

She stares at Tifa and then spins on her heel, pointing but not looking at her. "Zack, explain to her how this works!"

Zack sighs. "Aerith's busy this morning, Yuffie."

"You could cook."

"I could burn things. And besides, this isn't our house. We can't just go ransacking cupboards and taking stuff that isn't ours."

"Help yourselves," Leon interjects. Somehow he's got his gunblade in his hands again. Zack, Tifa and Yuffie stare and simultaneously wonder where he pulled _that _from. It's definitely too big to have come from the back of the armchair. He also has a cloth and is wiping the blade with quick, rhythmic movements, like someone might repeat a calming mantra if it mantras were touchable, longer than your arm and had a razor edge. "There's bread in the breadbin, fruit and other dried things in the top left cupboard."

Yuffie's already on tippy-toes pulling it all down onto the counter for inspection. "Meat?"

"Soy. It's difficult to pattern the soy to taste like meat, but you get used to the flavour after a while."

She just looks at him. "_Soy_?"

"Protein substitute made from bean curd."

"What the hell is curd and since when do beans have it?" Yuffie screws up her mouth. "It sounds disgusting, whatever it is. Why don't you have proper meat, or eggs, or _something_?"

"Not everyone who lives in Traverse Town is human. You'll understand why I stick to soy when you meet them."

"You're going to introduce us?" Zack asks.

"You'll have to go through town to get to Cid's. That's assuming you want transportation to leave here. He's the man to see about Gummi Ships, travelling gear, and whatever else you might need for a long trip – inter-world or just in this one."

"We haven't really decided what we'd like to do yet," Zack admits.

Leon just shrugs, not looking up or pausing. He's gentle with his gunblade, as though holding a newborn. He's actually far gentler than Zack would have thought him capable of being. Leon draws severity out of the air to linger around him the way a naked flame draws moths. His scarred face suggests the risks and dangers he's faced; the easy way he handles his weapon telling of a life hard-lived. All of it has made him stern and unfriendly – though it hasn't totally stamped out his integrity. Leon is a good man, Zack can tell. It took a lot of kindness to take them in the way he did last night. Zack wonders about Leon's story and how being ejected from his own world has affected him. It makes him gladder than ever that his own friends are here with him.

"Do Heartless really come to Traverse Town?" Tifa asks abruptly.

Leon's reply is curt. "Yes."

"How often?"

"More in recent times. I wasn't conscious when they first started appearing. Traverse Town is a hub. When worlds are totally destroyed the survivors' meteor showers throw them here first. People either stay in town or go their own way. Cid collects fallen gummi or synthesises it, then sells them Gummi Ship parts if they want to start looking for a new world to live in."

"But you've never looked for a new one?"

"Heartless are drawn to this place. Someone has to fight them off. People who land here are confused and disorganised. They're easy targets."

"And you protect those who can't defend themselves." Tifa's voice holds a note of admiration.

Leon cracks open the gunblade barrel to extract, inspect and replace each giant bullet. Each one is as big as Zack's fist. "I fight Heartless."

Tifa's estimation of him has obviously risen a notch. Zack can feel his creeping upwards as well. "You mentioned this 'Cid' before," he says.

"I didn't. That was Merlin. He and Cid have an ongoing friendship that borders on hostility. Or maybe it's the other way around."

Yuffie pauses and swallows a mouthful of dry bread, gagging slightly and grabbing Tifa's cup from her hands to wash it down. "Was that a _joke_?"

"No."

Tifa takes the water back, but reconsiders when she sees the seeds and crumbs floating around in it. Tutting, she pushes it back at Yuffie and also takes the loaf from her. With the same deft precision she used to punch and kick Heartless into dust, she finds some plates, turns on the hob, locates cooking utensils and cutlery, and goes about making breakfast. The clatter of food preparation is a welcome one – homey and restful.

"Cid found us when he first arrived in Traverse Town," Leon goes on after some prompting. "We were the only other humans around at that point who weren't indigenous to Traverse Town, so he tried to revive us but couldn't break the spell. He guarded our bodies until we woke up."

"Sounds a decent kind of guy."

Leon doesn't say anything, or even acknowledge Zack's comment.

"_Is_ he a decent kind of guy?"

"He's decent. And he hates Heartless as much as I do." That seems an important factor in Leon's measurements of trustworthiness.

"As much as _we_ do," Yuffie puts in, bouncing from foot to foot.

Leon does look up then, and nods at them. It's not approving but it does acknowledge them as more than just other presences in the room. He gives the gunblade a few more swipes and then tucks the cloth into his jacket pocket. Standing, he hefts the giant weapon onto one shoulder and heads for the door without coming close to knocking it into things. "I'll be back in a little while. Don't go anywhere."

"Like we know our way around this joint?" Yuffie blows a raspberry after him, dancing away from Zack's lackadaisical cuff.

"Don't be so rude," Tifa says without turning around. "You little beast."

"I'm a wee beastie with a big beastie's appetite."

"Humph."

"Well, isn't this turning out to be a grand adventure?" Yuffie asks when the door clicks shut.

"How do you like your soy?" Tifa deadpans. "And why was Leon in the bathroom with you?"

"Because he's a pervert." Yuffie laughs at their expressions. "He used the _window_ to get back inside. It was all really macho and manly and acrobatic. I suspect he's asexual, since he doesn't understand that men _aren't supposed to wear leather_ unless they're trying to catch someone's eye, and they _definitely shouldn't pair it with fur collars_. So clueless. I don't think he'd know how to be a pervert if he tried."

"You don't know anything about him."

"Neither do you, but you seem pretty comfortable frying his soy."

Tifa concedes the point. The smell of cooking wafts around the room, and even if they've never eaten soy before they realise they're hungry enough to try.

Tifa's cooking is different than Aerith's. Aerith is more of a cake, soup and pie kind of girl – comforting, nourishing meals. Tifa likes to fry things so they pop and skitter around the pan. She also leaves dirty utensils in the empty sink.

"I'm trying to remember what Master Zangan taught me," she says when Zack comments that she seems a lot more positive this morning. "'Life throws many unfavourable things at you, but it's how you cope with them that determines the fibre of your being. A weak will is the key to defeating yourself from the inside so that enemies may easily defeat you from the outside'. That's one of the tenets of the Zangan-Ryu creed."

"He sounds like a smart guy." Zack spoke to Zangan only a handful of times, and those were mainly conversations about guarding Hollow Bastion against monsters. The man spoke highly of his prize pupil, and in recent months Tifa had taken to sometimes patrolling the wall with him, keeping a lookout for monsters.

"He is." There's a brief flash of regret in Tifa's eyes, but she shakes it off and goes on serving breakfast.

Aerith surfaces with Kairi in her arms. They all sit at the small kitchen table, bunched in together with elbows hitting elbows. Kairi is still sleep-addled and has clearly been woken so she can eat something. She sits on Aerith's lap but only manages a few bites of fried bread before cushioning her head on her arms, smearing grease into her hair and the fold of her cheek.

Yuffie shamelessly steals the only-slightly-squashed bread. "What?" she demands of everyone's disapproving looks. "She's not going to eat it, and I'm a growing girl too." She gazes enviously at Tifa's chest, chewing and swallowing like the grease will go straight to her breasts if she eats enough of it.

Aerith nibbles a piece of dry, unfried bread. "Here," she says at last, sliding Kairi over to Zack, who accepts her with the bemusement of one who's not sure which end is up. Aerith rises and fills the sink to let the frying pan soak. Her hands flutter, looking for useful tasks to occupy them.

Tifa doesn't say a word.

The door knocks. It's Cloud, dirty and with freshly bleeding claw marks on his arm. He's brought into the apartment amidst a chorus of 'oh no', 'let me see that' and 'I knew that stupid feather-butt was trouble! Can we eat it instead of soy?'

"He was agitated," Cloud explains of the chocobo. "It's understandable when you think about it. Merlin left some seed and I got in the way while I was putting it down. It was an accident."

"Sure it was. Here." Aerith takes his arm and screws up her face. The healing glow is a little slower than usual but still removes the cuts like a wet cloth wiping grease off a plate. Afterwards she's breathing heavily and there's a faint sheen of sweat on her brow.

"Aerith?" Cloud has to hold her arm to steady her.

Zack looks down at Kairi, still slumped against his chest. "Aerith, did you try healing Kairi again before you joined us for breakfast?"

"… Maybe."

"And Small Fry's _still_ totally dead beat even though you practically knocked yourself out?" Yuffie whistles. "How much energy did she _spend_? I'm beginning to agree with you about her bringing us here, Ponytail. _Something's_ up with Small Fry, and it smells worse than fried soy and Cloudy's shirt put together."

A loaded pause fills the room. The squeak of Yuffie's plate as she mops up grease with plain bread is the only noise, and it's inordinately loud. One by one, they exchange looks between each other and glances at Kairi.

"Aerith, do you want to fill everybody in on your theories while Leon's not here?" Zack prompts.

Hesitantly, she does so, re-explaining about the legend of the keyblades for Yuffie's benefit, telling them about Kairi's iridescence the moment before they were transported to Traverse Town, and the strange glowing thing in her hand that didn't become significant until Merlin' story.

"It's a big leap of logic, but it seemed the most … logical …" Aerith finished lamely. She stifles a yawn.

"So what's the big deal?" Yuffie demands. "Okay, we have another girl with special powers amongst us. We all like Small Fry, right? So wouldn't we already be protecting her anyway? This is just, like, a full stop at the end of a sentence we already started."

"Heartless are drawn to keyblades," Tifa murmurs. "That means they might come after Kairi again. And us."

"We can take care of ourselves. We whupped their butts before, didn't we?"

"Just barely, Yuffie." Zack is grim. A grim Zack is a sure-fire indication that a situation is bad. "We were done-foe until we were rescued by a _toddler_, and we couldn't expect another miracle like that. We _shouldn't_ expect Kairi to do it again if it's affected her so badly. Key word: _toddler._"

"Pfft, minor detail. The point is, if more Heartless _do_ come after her, we're ready for them this time."

"How many shuriken do you have left?"

"Um…"

"Kunai?"

"Now you're just being fussy."

"Didn't you lose a sai in that battle?"

"Ponytail, he's picking on me!"

"He has a point." Tifa's arms are folded and her eyebrows knit in thought. "I'm more inclined to be sceptical, but the idea does answer a lot of questions – like how we got here without a meteor shower or a … Gummed Ship?"

"Gummi Ship," Cloud corrects softly, still staring at Aerith with concern. His hand never left her arm. During her talk his thumb started stroking in circles, a tiny sign of the comfort he so obviously wants to give. Aerith doesn't break down easily. She's not a warrior, but she's strong in her own way, and seeing the naked fatigue on her face troubles him, just as seeing that expression on _his_ face troubles Zack.

Tifa spends slightly longer than a second looking at Cloud before carrying on. "But we can't disregard the fact that we don't _know_ that's what happened. It could've been something else – something we're not even aware of yet, like we weren't aware of the keyblades until last night. There are forces at work here that we know nothing about, so we can't assume the few scraps of information we _do_ have are all there is."

"Kairi used a keyblade," Aerith says. "It may have been an accident because she was so frightened and in so much danger from the Heartless. Keyblades are connected to darkness and Heartless are _made_ of darkness. She wasn't ready to use one yet, but she _did_ use it and she _did_ save us."

"You're the only one who saw it," Tifa points out, not unkindly, but not as accepting as she was last night when grief and confusion made her thinking woolly.

"I did see it, but not all that clearly. I know she used a keyblade because…" Aerith looks up, treating Tifa to a pleading look she obviously isn't expecting. Aerith doesn't plead. She doesn't demand, either, but rather appeals to people's better sides, exerting no influence but that of her own personality. "Because I dreamed it."

"This is the part where I'm brought into the loop, isn't it?" Tifa doesn't look at Cloud directly, but Zack notes that his thumb has stopped circling.

Everyone else around the table stiffens slightly. They like Tifa, trust her and are grateful to her, even owe their lives to her, but Kairi isn't the only one they're protective of.

Falteringly, her tone suggesting that Kairi isn't the only reason behind her weariness, Aerith explains what everyone else already knows: about her real mother, about the Green Dreams, about voices that sometimes guide her and confuse her in equal measure, and everything in between. Words stream from her lips, half-gabbled, half-paused, but full of apology and _need_.

"I didn't mean to keep it from you," she says at last. "You're my friend, Tifa. I wasn't trying to insult you, or say I didn't trust you. I do!"

Tifa sits silently. "I don't understand why you didn't tell me before," she eventually says. "When _my_ mom died, you could've told me then. Or when we left school. Or even when those bat-monsters attacked and you healed me. That's why they were after you, isn't it? They could sense your magic. I never guessed you had other tricks up your sleeve than just healing. I never said a word about that, did I? I never told a soul about what you can do. So what did it achieve, not telling me the full story?"

"It's not that I didn't trust you -"

"Actually it _is_, otherwise you _would've_ told me before now." Tifa's hurt. They can hear it in her tone and see it in the raising of her shoulders. For all that Cloud tried to warn her beforehand, she's upset by this – enough to forget that she pulled away from them following her mother's death and didn't give them many opportunities for sharing intimate secrets. "What did you expect I'd do? I wouldn't have raised a lynch mob against you for witchcraft, or turned you in to my father so he could do it. What do you take me for?"

"I'm sorry."

Tifa's lips purse. "So you dreamed that Kairi used a keyblade," she says, changing the subject.

Aerith sighs. "Yes."

"Did those voices tell you?"

This draws a frown. "No, it wasn't like that. It was a woman, but … there was something odd about her. At first I thought it was my mother, but the voice was wrong. I remember most of what she said now. She told me Kairi's keyblade was an accident and that she has to grow up more before she can use it again."

"She actually said that?"

"She said Kairi has to 'grow into herself'. She also said it's up to us to protect her and keep her safe until that time."

"And we're supposed to trust this phantom woman?"

"The voices have never steered me wrong." The firmness in Aerith's voice belies her exhaustion.

Tifa looks like she'd like to argue the point more, but stops. She gives a slight shake of the head, more to herself than to what Aerith is saying, and lays both palms flat on the tabletop. "So what happens when she finally _does_ 'grow into herself'?"

They process the question with differing amounts of forward thinking.

"Does it even matter?" Yuffie is attempting to balance a spoon on her nose, craning her neck back to prop the thin silver handle vertically. "Who knows what tomorrow will bring anyhow? Like any of us predicted _today_ when we were bright-eyed and bushytailed _yesterday_? Planning ahead is for chumps – ack!" The spoon topples, jabbing her in the eye in a display of supreme irony about the merits of forward thinking. "Owieowieowie!"

"I'm not sure I agree," Zack says, "but you have a point."

"Hey, get that; I have a _point_. You should all make me leader of our team."

"We're not a team," Tifa says, a trifle too quickly. "Not the kind you're talking about, anyway."

"We can't plan for the future until we figure out what we're going to do in the present," Zack goes on. "Firstly, what are we going to do _now_? Do we plan to stay in Traverse Town, or go somewhere else? We're stuck in this world for the time being, unless we get one of those Gummi Ships from that Cid guy, and I'm not willing to factor him into our decisions until I've met him and _seen_ one for myself."

Zack isn't willing to admit it, but the name 'Gummi Ship' doesn't inspire hope in him. He never met one while defending Hollow Bastion, but he remembers Angeal quizzing him on small colourful bears also called 'Gummi', who live like Brownies and are so shy of humans that some people day they actually died out hundreds of years ago and nobody noticed. Nothing about their legend says they're master builders or inventors, just that they're mischievous and intelligent in their own way, dedicating themselves to subterfuge. Even if they're completely unconnected with Gummi Ships the mental connection remains. Zack doesn't handle artifice well. His ingrained honesty means he prefers everything out in the open.

Cloud tries, "We haven't really seen that much of Traverse Town. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to live here."

"Leon's made a pretty good home for himself," Yuffie points out.

"And he looks really happy about it," Tifa replies, to which there's no answer.

"He stays to fight the Heartless." Aerith looks at Kairi, her expression indecipherable. "He knows a lot about them. So does Merlin. If we leave, the Heartless might still come after us and we're not equipped to deal with them."

"So you're suggesting we stay here and use those two as bodyguards?" Yuffie doesn't seem displeased with the idea.

"That seems very mercenary," Cloud says, but she cuts him off.

"I'll bet Beardy has all sorts of cool stuff stashed away if he's a wizard. Yeah, brilliant magical things that'd turn your hair green or make your toes grow twelve inches long."

"We're not staying so you can bother him and possibly blow yourself up."

Yuffie flings her spoon at Zack. He snatches it out of the air and puts it back on her plate. "You're no fun," she pouts, spinning it in place and supporting her chin on her fist, the image of a moody teenager.

"So we're staying?"

"It looks that way. For the time being, at least," Zack adds.

"We should vote," Cloud says suddenly. "It'd be fairer that way."

"All right. All those in favour of staying in Traverse Town for now, raise your hands." Zack raises his own hand and looks around. "It's unanimous, then."

"Fine, but I have another question." Tifa drops her arm to her side. "_Where_ are we going to stay? We can't keep infringing on Leon's privacy."

Yuffie is indignant. "Why not?"

"He spent last night on the _roof_ because it was too crowded with all of us here. This place has two bedrooms to hold four people, maximum. There are six of us, plus Leon. The numbers just don't work out. Added to that, it's not fair for us to just assume he's okay with us staying with him for more than one night. We _are _kind of overwhelming if he's used to living alone, plus there's the fact that us being from Hollow Bastion might be uncomfortable for him."

They have to admit she's right.

"There might be some kind of provision, if people land here first when they leave their own worlds." Cloud runs a hand through his hair, spiking up his bangs as he thinks. His hand freezes in place when the front door opens and Leon himself strides in, gunblade in hand, looking every inch the imposing warrior.

Leon stops, glancing at the table and its breakfast debris. "Cid wants to meet you."

"Would you like something to eat?" Tifa scrambles to fetch the plate she's kept by for him. It was a job and a half saving it from Yuffie's appetite, but it's still intact and she holds it out to him.

Leon looks blankly at it. "I'm not hungry. Get ready."

"We're leaving _now_?" Cloud looks down at his dirty clothes.

Zack glances at his own, mottled with blood and Heartless dust. There are several large and smaller slashes, giving the impression he recently wandered into a group of irate wildcats with raw meat strapped to his body. These won't make a good impression on anyone. Neither will the bloodstains on his skin, or the dirt under his fingernails. "Can we have time to clean up first?"

"Trust me, Cid won't care about a few stains."

"It's unhygienic to leave those wounds untended any longer," Aerith says, staring at Zack.

"Plus Hero's shirt is a wreck and there's a big freaking hole in his pant-leg," Yuffie adds. "This Cid may not care what they look like, but other people might, and first impressions are important. Think about _your_ first impressions of us." She waggles her eyebrows at Leon.

Leon looks at Zack and Cloud and his lower eyelids twitch as though he's studying them. "Fine. They can borrow some of my clothes." He has a very commanding voice. It reminds Zack a little of Angeal when he used the voice he perfected while drilling soldiers during his time in the military. Cadets were sent running from that voice, though Angeal would no more have made good on his threats than he would've jumped over the moon.

Thinking about Angeal sends a pang through Zack, as it always does, but it also makes him look at Leon anew; taking in the formal way he holds himself and the assessing quality in his eyes, as though looking at their little group for what they can offer in a battle. Leon carries himself like a warrior - which anybody could've deduced just from his gunblade - but more than that, he carries himself like he's been formally _trained_. He's also obviously used to having his orders obeyed, as he eyeballs the group until they scurry back into the bedrooms.

It's something to keep in mind, Zack thinks – or at least he does until he's handed a set of leather pants and expected to put them on without complaining or feeling like an idiot.

"Leather?" he says as he jumps up and down to pull them up. "_Leather_? Who the hell wears _leather _on a day to day basis?" He hops on one foot as only one side goes over his knees, staggers, and falls on his face. "Ow. This had better be worth it. At this rate I'm considering just wearing the ruined pants."

"They're not so bad," Cloud says, buckling the belt Leon has lent him. He has to pull it to its tightest setting and it still hands a little loose. The trousers, too, aren't tight.

Zack grumbles. "Says you."

* * *

_**To Be Continued …**_

* * *


	18. Cid

**A/N****:** Anything and everything that isn't English is courtesy of Babelfish. Please don't hurt me if the grammar is incorrect.

* * *

**17. Cid**

* * *

Cid's is just a short walk from Leon's apartment. They go on foot and see no evidence that there's any other way to travel in Traverse Town. There's some irony to the name, but nobody comments on it. Some buildings have alcoves for carriages, or alleyways that would lead to stables in Hollow Bastion, yet everything seems too clean for animals to live here. They pass Cloud's chocobo and the familiar musty smell and spilled straw is incongruous bordering on inappropriate, like running up to a beautiful painting and scribbling over it.

Aerith carries Kairi at first, until Zack takes her.

"It's all right -" she protests.

"You're tired. Don't argue. Hey!"

Cloud swings the little girl onto his back. "And you're carrying a giant sword."

Kairi murmurs, halfway between awake and asleep, but links her arms under his chin and he walks bent forward so she won't slide off.

"Papa …"

A fresh stab of remorse blossoms in Aerith's stomach. She's noticed how Tifa has kept Cloud and Yuffie between them, and though Aerith tries to tell herself this is accidental, in her heart she knows Tifa's still smarting.

She feels awful about it. She _should've_ told Tifa the full story much, much earlier than this. Tifa saved her life against the bat-monsters and was nearly killed for her trouble. She's cheerful and forthright, never keeping anything of herself hidden. Aerith has returned her friendship by only letting Tifa see half of who she is; implying Tifa isn't honourable enough to be trusted. For someone like Tifa, who prises honesty like diamonds, this must be like a kick in the teeth. It wasn't meant that way, but that's obviously how she sees it and the sting is fresh enough to make her act younger than she is.

When they finally reach Cid's place Aerith is staring at the ground and couldn't find the way back if asked. She only realises they've arrived because Yuffie tugs her arm

"Hey, Ponytail, less of the space-case look, okay? First impressions and all that jazz."

"Hm?"

"Freaking hell, just – c'mon, this way." She propels Aerith through the door, both hands flat against her back like she needs all her strength to move her. This is proved a lie when Aerith shoots forward, stumbles, and crashes into a broad but slightly podgy chest.

"Y'didn't tell me I'd have women falling at my feet, kid."

Leon steps through, expression so frozen he might as well have rigor-mortise. "These are the new arrivals I told you about."

Strong hands grip Aerith shoulders, pushing her back a little. The owner of the chest is blond with a few flecks of grey, and for a moment Aerith is struck by only that and a mass of stubble from which juts a chewed-up cigarette. Old smoke tickles her nose along with oil and something else she's never smelled before – something musty and not quite sweet, not quite sour, which makes her want to sneeze and breathe in more at the same time. Later she'll learn this is the distinctive scent of muscle liniment.

"She's even making cow eyes at me." The cigarette moves around, indicating a mouth.

Aerith focuses slightly higher up on the crooked nose, which has been broken and reset several times, and above that on intelligent blue eyes that seem far too young for the face they inhabit. It's a face of contrasts and visual reminders of the life it's lived. It might have been pretty once, but now it's littered with thin scars and jowls just beginning to sag.

"Shit, girlie, I ain't had nobody study me that hard in years. You're young enough to be my _daughter_. Quit it, huh?"

She blinks and snaps to attention. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Hey, can I bum a smoke?" Yuffie interrupts, suddenly hanging off Aerith's shoulder and leering up at the man.

He blinks in surprise. "Shit, kid, you never told me you had minors in this bunch. How old are you, midget?"

"Old enough to know swearing's a filthy habit and the penalty is one cigarette." Yuffie holds out her hand. "Pay up."

"Yuffie!" Zack drags her backwards and shoves her behind him. "Sorry, sir, we're working on a leash for her. Possibly a muzzle, too."

"Ooh, kinky."

"Shut up, Yuffie."

The cigarette moves from one side of the man's mouth to the other. Then he throws back his head and laughs; a deep booming laugh that starts in his feet and rolls upwards like a geyser. "Hot _damn_, they're a lot more fun than you, kid."

Leon just grunts.

"The name's Cid Highwind. _Captain _Cid Highwind. And you would be?"

Zack returns the handshake as forcefully as he can. "Zack Fair." He introduces everyone else in turn.

By the end Cid has taken out his cigarette and twisted the end to straighten it. Aerith notices it's not lit. "You're all just kids." Zack's jaw tightens and Aerith can tell he's about to protest when Cid points at Kairi. "And that one's more kid than the rest of you. I don't do kids."

"Yeah, 'cause that's icky and pervy and sick," Yuffie chimes in.

Cid levels a look just shy of a glare at her. "What are you, some kind of cheap lawn ornament?"

Yuffie raises her index finger to argue, but pauses. "That … didn't make any sense. What?"

He just grunts. "So you're the bunch of newcomers I've heard tell about. You're certainly a scruffy crowd. I also hear you're in the market for Gummi Ship parts. You ever fly a – hey, get down from there!"

Tifa yanks Yuffie off a stepladder, where she's peering at something on a shelf. "You've got a shitload of cool stuff here, Grandpa." Yuffie's eyes are round as soup plates.

"You shouldn't cuss. You're too young. Now, there's a couple of rules y'all should know before we go any further. Number one: keep your fucking hands off my gear unless I say you can touch it. Number two: it's just Cid. Any other nicknames and I'll make an ashtray outta your ass. That includes 'Grandpa' most of all. Number three: you break it, you bought it. Number four…"

And so it continues for a full five minutes. By the time Cid finishes it's clear that all they're supposed to do is stand there and bark out answers to questions.

Leon folds his arms and raises his eyes to the ceiling. "Give it a rest, Cid. They're okay." High praise indeed.

Cid sniffs. "Even the scrawny one with the big mouth?"

"Hey!"

"Even her," Leon replies, shooting Yuffie an unfathomable look.

Cid chews thoughtfully and then turns, gesturing for them to follow, "This way, boys and girls. Hold onto your vitals, 'cause you're about to enter Captain Cid's Cave of Wonders. Be warned, if you piss me off I _will_ snap off your hands and use 'em as toilet roll holders."

Yuffie beams. "Ooh, I _like_ him."

* * *

Beyond its meagre front, Cid's shop is labyrinthine and crammed to bursting. It stretches back quite far, with side-rooms they don't get to see into. Several hide curious whirring and clunking noises behind their closed doors, and at least one smells like burnt rubber. These, they're curtly told, are the Gummi launch bay and the workshops where Cid does things of a mechanical nature that he doesn't fucking want to go into right now, okay? And will Yuffie please get the hell down from there!

Cid is surprised when, after introducing them to his wares and explaining the nature of Gummi Blocks with a relish just a shade off total obsession, he learns that they're not, actually, planning to leave Traverse Town. He raises both eyebrows and his cigarette tips up as his lower jaw works.

"But I thought y'all wanted to get out of this 'burg ASAP."

Aerith glances at Leon, but he gives nothing away.

"We're going to stay and fight the Heartless," Zack says.

Instantly, Cid's expression darkens. "Fucking Heartless," he spits – literally, making Yuffie recoil with one foot theatrically raised.

"Eeew! That is so totally _gross_!" She shuffles backwards and tries to hide behind Tifa. "Tell him, Teef."

"It is unhygienic," Tifa adds helpfully.

Cid spits again. It makes a disgusting wet 'plap' noise on the floorboard. "What I do in my own place is my own damn business."

"I can see that." Tifa looks pointedly at the piles of junk.

The shop is messier and messier the further they go, running from scattered sheaves of paper and random screwdrivers to heaps of metal that, upon closer inspection, resemble the guts of monsters Zack has slain. When they enter the very back rooms pipe-intestines, nut-and-bolt-brains and colourful wires spill across the floor, over work surfaces, off shelves and dangle in nets from the ceiling like a central nervous system ripped right out of its body. What isn't taken up with this is dominated by unmarked cardboard boxes brimming with even more scrap, and everything is covered in a film of dust so thick it's changing from grey to black.

Cid catches her look and glowers. "What the hell are _you_ staring at?"

"I could clean this, if you want."

"What?"

"You could employ me as a cleaner."

"The hell? I don't need no damn cleaning woman. Things are fine just the way they are."

"Uh-huh." Tifa doesn't invest her tone with much conviction. She scrapes up fluffy grey dust and grinds it between her thumb and index finger. "Do you have a cough?"

"They hell you mean, coming in her and -"

"Do. You have. A cough?" Her tone brooks no argument.

"Sometimes," Cid grudgingly replies, clearly wondering how selling stuff to this bunch of unwary teenagers has turned into a discussion about his health.

"I'll bet this place is crawling with mice, too." Tifa kicks at half a sandwich, left on the floor with neither plate nor concern. It's blue around the edges and furry as the dust in her hand. "And rats, probably. And it'll have germs galore. It's a wonder you haven't come down with something worse than a cough before now. Do you actually _live_ here?"

"I don't see that it's any business of yours where I live. What's with all the fucking questions?"

"You seem a reasonable enough man. How about this: I clean up around here, organise your stock and make sure you aren't sitting on a plague nest, and you pay me an hourly rate. Traverse Town does use money, right? It's not a trading place?"

"Fucking right, it's not. We use munny." He pronounces it like a foreign word, enunciating the vowel as hard as rock and clicking the consonants against the backs of his teeth. "M-U-N-N-Y."

Tifa blinks. "M-U-N-N-Y?"

"Damn skippy."

She exchanges glances with the rest of the group, but then is immediately back in the conversation while everyone else looks on with a mixture of surprise and admiration. "All right. So we work out a reasonable hourly rate and I work for you until this place is less of a death trap and more a legitimate business."

"I'm perfectly legitimate!" Cid growls. "There ain't no funny stuff going on here, princess. Fuck! Do you think I'd be the premier machine accessory merchant in the whole fucking town if I wasn't legit?"

"Okay, so maybe legitimate wasn't the right word. You're obviously doing quite well for yourself as you are, but that doesn't stop this being any less of a risk to your health and the health of your customers. It wouldn't do you any good if, bustling business or not, a pile of debris fell on you and squashed you flat while you were fetching something from a high shelf, would it?"

"It ain't never happened yet."

"And until your world disappeared I'll bet that'd never happened before, either."

There's a hollow silence, in which the air itself seems to inhale sharply. Nobody was expecting something so brutal to come out of Tifa's mouth. Aerith stares at her, at the firm way she's crossed her arms, her unyielding posture and eyes that still stare straight at Cid. This isn't the usual Tifa; it's more like the one who can face down an ogre when it breaches the town wall and there's nobody between it and Hollow Bastion but her. _That_ Tifa is streamlined in her thinking, completely focussed on her target and picking out its weak points to bring it down in the fewest possible strikes. That was the Tifa whom Zack arrived to find organising tavern patrons to cart away the dead ogre so she could get back to work.

"No," Cid says eventually. "It hadn't."

"So what do you say?"

"I say … I'll think about it."

"But -"

"That's the best you're gonna get out of me today, so back off. Fuck. The hell do you people think you are?"

"Far from home and slightly desperate," Yuffie obliges him. "Teef makes a good point. If we're going to be sticking around this ol' homestead then we gotta find a way of making a living. Do you have any call for a world-class (or should that be worlds-class now?) ninja around here?"

"_You're_ a ninja?" Cid is incredulous.

"I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie, and don't you forget it." She strikes a pose. "Respect the one with the shuriken, buddy."

Wordlessly, Cid reaches out and, without looking, empties out one of the unmarked boxes. It's full of shuriken of various quality – some are rusted to practically nothing while others gleam with the promise of violence. There are a couple of medium sized kunai mixed in with them too, as well as a few shards of indefinable metal that might once have been weapons but have been warped and bent beyond recognition.

"Right back atcha, kid."

"Ooh, can I have those?"

"Only if you got the cash to pay for 'em."

"I could work for you too!"

"How about no?"

"Aw, nuts." Yuffie pouts. "How am I supposed to fight Heartless with half my weapons stash gone?"

Cid strokes his chin. "I could possibly run to a discount, if'n it's Heartless you're thinking of using these beauties on." He dons a thick leather glove and scoops shuriken back into their box. "Are _all_ of you warriors?"

"We all have our own parts to play in the fight against the Heartless." Aerith bows her head a little at Cid's penetrating gaze, but then thinks of how Tifa handled him. She raises her eyes again reminding herself that _she's_ the girl who used to crawl along three-inch window-ledges to rescue her friends. _She's_ the one who has dragged Yuffie out of more scrapes than she can count, placated angry men and women and then lugged her home by her ear. She's _not_ gong to leave Cid's first impression of her as a weak-willed and timid thing. "You don't have to be a warrior to fight them."

"Sounds like something that someone who feels guilty that they aren't doing their part would say."

"And that sounds like a very narrow-minded view of the world."

Cid's eyes darken. "Fucking emancipation," he mutters, or at least that's what she thinks he mutters as he turns away from her and finishes cleaning up his mess. "Don't you fellahs have anything to say for yourselves, or do you let your women do _all_ your talking for you?"

Zack accommodates him, but not in the way Cid probably intended. "How long have you been in Traverse Town?"

"Is this supposed to make me chummy 'cause we're all humans together in this poxy little fuck-horn of a ghost town?"

"Um -"

"Going on two years now," he says, not giving Zack time to answer. "Piloted the very first successfully designed Gummi Ship to get myself here when those _fucking_ Heartless ate my _fucking_ world. I was designing it as a regular aircraft to make the first trip to the moon, and when I found some gummi I experimented with it and found it helped, but that trip proved difficult when those creepy little fucktards _destroyed_ the moon. The night the moon went out everything went to shit, and by the next morning the sun wasn't about to come up anytime soon, so I piled everything I could save into my baby and scrammed fuck-knew-where. Wasn't much left to run to, so I just picked the last remaining direction – straight up – and fucked off on literally a wing and a prayer. I ended up here 'cause apparently it's where everyone ends up when that happens, only I didn't know that at the time. Thought I was the only survivor. Tried to make the best of things, but it all seemed pretty pointless to have saved myself when I found him," Cid jerks a thumb at Leon, "and his pals. I thought they might be from my world, so I hung onto 'em and kept on making the best of things until they woke up. Of course, since he told me you're from the same place he is, I don't need to tell you I really am the last guy standing from my world. If there was a meteor shower then I didn't see it, and nobody I knew ever came running to find me."

His story is followed by a stunned silence.

Cid chuckles. "Yeah, that usually shuts a body up. What, you expected me to bottle everything up and let you know my life story at a dramatic moment? Fuck that. Get it all out in the open first thing, that's my motto."

"Damn straight!"

"Shut up, pipsqueak."

"Still damn straight." Yuffie punches the air.

"I figure the sooner you know my story, the sooner y'all will figure out I ain't one of those cuddly gruff pushover types with a heart of gold under my cranky exterior. I hate kids. I hate cute. I hate fluffy animals. About the only things I don't hate are machines and my workshop, plus beating the living crap out of anyone stupid enough to mess with either of 'em. And I _especially_ hate Heartless for taking away everything I had and leaving me in this shithole."

"You haven't moved away if it's so bad," Zack points out.

"The hell would I go? The only world I want is the one that's gone. No point in me discovering new ones anymore. This town is as good as any other. I got me a good business here and some fringe benefits. I provide weapons and technology and Squall uses 'em to blow every bastard Heartless he can find off the fucking map."

"It's Leon." The sudden anger in Leon's voice shocks them. It's raw and heated, wrapping around his words and shooting them like arrows into Cid's chest.

For a moment Cid is quiet. Embarrassment flickers at the periphery of his face. It's obviously unfamiliar and can't find a way of settling properly on his features, so hooks itself at the edges like an ill-fitting mask. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Squall?" Yuffie ponders this. "Is that like a nickname or something?"

"No."

"So it's your real name, and Leon is a nickname?"

"No."

"So your name really is Leon Leonhart?" She pulls a face. "Boy, you had cruel parents. Then again … Cloud, what exactly was your mom _thinking_?"

Leon will say nothing more. They fall to relating their own story to Cid, somewhat embarrassed to admit their world still stands and they don't want to use a Gummi Ship to try and find it again.

"It's too dangerous unless we know where we're going," Cloud says. "We have responsibilities we can't take risks with." He shifts Kairi on his back. She opens her eyes, blinks, and raises her head to look around.

"Smelly," she announces sleepily. "Don't like."

"How adorable." Cid's tone drips sarcasm. "She yours? You got the same eyes."

"So do you," Cloud counters, flustered that anyone could mistake him for father material. "Does that automatically make you her grandf- um, relation??"

Cid blusters, which makes him drop his cigarette. He catches it before it can hit the floor and replaces it between his teeth with more grumbling than they can understand. Aerith catches the tail-ends of a lot of cussing, some of it quite creative. So does Tifa. She's heard worse from the tavern back home, though.

Nonetheless, she marches up to Cid and pushes her face into his. She's not threatening. In fact she's perfectly polite, as though just sniffing his aftershave, but there's a rigidity to her tone that disallows argument. "Please don't swear where she can hear you. She's still learning to talk properly and if she picks up any bad language it'll be either you or Yuffie behind it. I doubt you'd be half as disturbed by the removal of dessert privileges or a swear jar, which means we'd have to come up with another means of punishment, and since I genuinely do want to work for you that might create a bad impression."

"You got a lot of mouth."

"Actually I have a normal sized mouth; I just use it to say the truth. Would you rather I lied to you?"

"You should learn how to respect your elders."

"Prove you can curb your own mouth. I'd respect that."

Cid opens the mouth in question … and then closes it again. He shakes his head and scrubs ruefully at the back of his hair. Flecks of dirt and other things Aerith doesn't even want to _think _about spray outward under the application of his fingernails. "What the hell have you got me into by bringing me this bunch, Leon?"

Tifa narrows her eyes.

"What? _What_? 'Hell' ain't cussing."

So much for making ashtrays out of their asses.

They stay at Cid's for quite some time, investigating what else he sells and just talking. It's strangely comforting. Aerith has always kept their home neat and pretty, neither of which can be applied to Cid's workshop, but despite the clutter Cid knows exactly where everything is and his peculiar cosiness n his surroundings rubs off. Leon's apartment is beautifully furnished but it doesn't feel like a home. Cid's shop is nothing like a home either, but for the first time since arriving in Traverse Town Aerith feels some tension leeching out of her. Even the gravelly rasp of Cid's voice is reassuring.

"Aerith?"

She startles, realising she's been wool-gathering. "Mm?"

Cloud peers at her. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, but I'm going to start charging money for every time you or Zack ask me that." She fiddles with the tip of her ponytail. It feels like every free-floating dust particle has made a beeline for it. She shakes it, but that sends up even more dust and both she and Cloud cough. "Sorry. Where's Kairi?"

"With Tifa."

Aerith looks past Cloud to where Tifa, with Kairi balanced on one hip, is deep in conversation with Cid. Kairi is asleep again, having given her opinion on Cid's shop and made a precursory scan to ascertain her 'Mama' isn't here. In her sleep she nuzzles against Tifa's neck.

Beside them and yet totally independent of their conversation, Zack has hold of Yuffie's shoulder and is giving her the kind of talking-to that became commonplace within a week of her moving in with them in Hollow Bastion. Yuffie is clearly not listening though, straining against his grip like an overexcited puppy in a field of buried bones. She's holding a bronze sai behind her back and shakes her head when Zack holds his hand out for it, leading to a grappling match when he tries to take it anyway and return it to the box she stole it from.

Just beyond them Leon leans against the wall, but rather than relaxed his pose is an efficient method of sustaining himself as a straight line of taut muscle. He stares straight ahead, ostensibly at Aerith and Cloud, but Aerith knows without needing to ask that he's acutely aware of _everything_ around him. She wonders whether Leon's ever _not_ meticulously aware of his environment.

She coughs again. Her throat feels clogged and her eyes are watering.

"Do you want to step outside for some fresh air?" Cloud asks.

She doesn't want to leave everyone, but tears from holding in another coughing fit well in her eyes.

Cloud excuses them, refusing to let her go outside alone, but instead of going back to the shop front, Cid lets them out through a back door concealed behind a mass of metal parts that include at least one disengaged tank cannon barrel. Seeing it sends Aerith back to the day Genesis Rhapsodos arrived in Hollow Bastion and she hurries past.

What greets them outside makes both Cloud and Aerith halt in their tracks.

"You see that, right?" Cloud whispers.

"I think so."

"So I'm not hallucinating?"

"Not unless I am too."

"Since when do parrots get that _big_? Or wear hats? Or jackets?"

"Or smoke cigars," Aerith murmurs, watching as the green bird-like creature ambles down the street twirling a walking cane.

When it gets closer it spots them and raises its hat in a congenial greeting. "Bom dia. Good morning, menina bonita. And to you, sir."

"Uh … good morning," Aerith replies, since Cloud has apparently been struck dumb by the way the parrot pulls solid beak into an impossible smile – a smile with _teeth_, little round molars and flat front, just like a human.

"The better for seeing you, my dear." The voice characterises it as male and he puffs away at his cigar as he carries on as though nothing's wrong or out of the ordinary. "Good day to you both."

"Parrots can talk," Aerith says after a while. "Miss Trepe taught us that at school. They learn to repeat phrases and mimic speech."

"She didn't say anything about them using their wings like hands or wearing clothes."

"Leon did say we'd find out the reason why he doesn't eat meat when we met others who live in Traverse Town."

They process this thought for a moment.

"Wow. We really _are_ a long way from home," Cloud mutters.

Aerith's chest constricts with a hot stab of homesickness and longing for her mother. She smothers it, reminding herself who she's with. Cloud probably misses his mother just as much, but he's not crumpling into a feeble heap because of it. She pushes back her shoulders and shakes her hair out behind her. "Let's go for a walk," she says decisively.

"What?"

"If we're going to stay here for a while, we'll need a place to stay. Let's go and see what we can find."

"Since they use munny and we don't have any, I'd say there won't be much. It was a good idea of Tifa's to convince Cid to let her work for him, but the rest of us have to think about getting jobs too, or we won't survive for long. Zack's only ever been Hollow Bastion's hero, and that doesn't pay much outside Hollow Bastion. Leon said they don't have chocobos in this world, so that's me out of work unless I figure out an alternative. I hope they at least have horses, otherwise I really am out of luck."

"And me?" Aerith says softly. "I've worked in my mom's flower shop all my life. Maybe they have a flower shop here, too. Maybe it'll be better stocked in this world. Everything was so sickly in ours …" She'd still rather have her own droopy daffodils than any beautiful blossoms from this world. _Stop that_, she reprimands herself. _Don't be so maudlin. You need to be more positive. Look at the others; they're not letting this get them down. So maybe you were flung across the universe and landed in a strange land. Does that mean you have to give up and face the wall for the rest of your life, however long that might be?_

Okay, maybe this pep talk isn't quite as peppy as she planned, but it's a start. Cloud's right; it's all very well being mopey, but what they need right now is to be practical. They need a place to live and a way to feed themselves, plus basic amenities and comforts. While they may be able to do without, Kairi can't and Aerith will be damned it she lets Kairi starve just because she was busy holding a pity party for herself.

"We'll get home someday." The words slip out unannounced.

Cloud looks at her. He stumbles over a cobblestone but his eyes never leave her face. "You really think so?"

She nods. "Someday. I don't know when, and I don't know how, but we _will_ get home."

"I believe you."

That helps. It's nice to be believed in. Aerith reaches for his hand and holds it tight.

Carefully, and not without tenderness, she pushes thoughts of her mother, her home and the questions still surrounding it to the back of her mind and into a box. She doesn't lock it, but closes the lid and resolves not to let these things out to muddle her thinking until a time when she can properly process them without them getting in the way of her new responsibilities. She won't forget. She'd _never_ forget, but she needs to think of something else for a little while and she's sure her mother would understand. After all, Elmyra worked through her own grief over her husband's death by caring for her new baby daughter. There's something to be said for the composure that being practical can bring.

Traverse Town isn't quite as deserted as it first appears. Cloud and Aerith spot several other residents as they walk, three of whom aren't human. The pig walking on its hind trotters is less intimidating than the huge green dragon with orange hair, who smiles inanely at them and flutters ridiculously tiny wings in delight when Aerith waves back. It's nothing like the dragons from their world. It's faintly ridiculous and more than a little goofy. By the time they spot a grey rabbit in frayed pants and shirt, Aerith doesn't even feel faint shock. The rabbit engages them in polite conversation for a few minutes, then hop-walks away into a café bearing the placard 'grits and taters sold here – house specialty'.

"This is a very strange place," she remarks.

"Look on the bright side – if they're so used to magic and weirdness, maybe they wouldn't bat an eyelid at a Healer."

The thought resolves itself in Aerith's mind, sending ripples of delight through her. She smiles, brightly and honestly. How wonderful it would be to be accepted by everyone? How fantastic not to have to live in fear of being found out by the wrong people, or go cold at the word 'witchcraft'? Hollow Bastion may be home, but perhaps Traverse Town is the place where she can finally be truly open about who and what she is.

Tifa pops into her head and Aerith's mood immediately nosedives. Thinking of her healing ability reminds her of the bad feeling that keeping it secret has already caused between them.

Traverse Town is a mishmash of architectural designs jostling for space. Some is familiar, but some so wildly different that Cloud and Aerith have to stop and stare. Glistening billboards studded with light bulbs knife up from the street as though rearing like nervous stallions away from triangular roofs, squat buildings and tall cylindrical things like windmills without sails. They pass shops and houses, restaurants and faceless edifices of varying shape. Everything is shiny and new, so when they descend a stone staircase onto a lower level of the town the shabby thing that dominates the square is unexpected.

Whoever designed it at least knew his or her way around a decent cornice, and also knew when to stop. However, this was mainly to create as many corners as possible and fit at least two cherubs into each one. Above the columns is also a high-minded frieze involving men in long robes and maidens with even longer hair. Nobody could wear their hair like that without getting their hands constantly tangled in it, Aerith thinks with the certainly of experience. The stonework is chipped and there are holes in the roof. Most of the maidens and a few of the men have birds nesting in them. It's the first sign of normal animal life they've seen apart from Cloud's chocobo, and even a pigeon's angry stare from a stony bosom is a welcome sight.

"What is it?"

"I think it's some sort of temple."

"I don't think there are many worshippers around here if the state of this place is anything to go by."

Hollow Bastion revolves mostly around the idea of 'gods' embracing everything from planetary spirits to inexplicable chemical reactions. Swearing by the gods holds no real religious significance, at least in a formal sense, but is more a vague acknowledgement that everything is somehow connected and are effects of the world around them. Some people believe in a single higher power, but having experienced her Green Dreams, Aerith is more inclined to believe that anything that powerful is a benign presence, not given to skipping mortals around like pieces on a chessboard. She is, however, aware that other parts of their world play host to a more prescriptive and ceremonial take on the whole thing. Though its design was unusual, the temple where Angeal found the Buster Sword is not the only temple in the world, so she looks up at this incompatibly scruffy building and wonders what else it _could_ be.

"It's all boarded up."

"That is because it is a death-trap," says a voice behind them

They turn to see the green parrot from earlier. He's still puffing merrily on his cigar and leans on his cane, watching them watching the temple. Inasmuch as they can read his expression, he seems curious and a little amused.

"Boa manhã outra vez, senhora bonita. I return from my daily constitutional to find you admiring this monstrosity. You are new to Traverse Town, yes?"

"We are," Cloud replies, holding out his hand. The parrot shakes it but kisses the back of Aerith's when she offers hers.

"Ah, we are not usually graced with such beauty as yours. Certainly this building cannot match you."

Aerith, pink-cheeked but pleased, withdraws her hand and holds it in a loose fist at her chest. "Uh, what exactly is it?"

"A church, Senhorita."

"Is that like a temple?"

He doesn't have eyebrows, but the feathers above his left eye fluff up in the approximation of an arch. "If you like. What world do you hail from?"

"It doesn't have a name," Cloud cuts in, a little sharply, Aerith thinks. "But our town was called Hollow Bastion."

"Hollow Bastion?" The parrot sounds out the name like it's a foreign delicacy to be sampled and savoured in tiny bites. "I have not heard of this place. But then again, I am not long here myself. I like Traverse Town, but I do not think I will stay. The people here are somewhat … sedate." He twirls a hand-wing-thing at a point where Aerith is used to seeing a wrist. "One might even go so far as to say _dull_. This world is a twilight world – things are not fixed here and there is no zest for life. People who live here do so because they always have, or simply out of a wish to be close to where they last saw their own worlds. It is not a place one can make a home in otherwise."

Aerith reflects on this and sees the truth in it. There _is _an odd sense of longing, like the memory of a taste or a pervasive smell. It clings to buildings and lines the cobbles. For all its shiny newness and colourful residents, Traverse Town seems a sad place.

And yet they've chosen to stay. Aerith thinks of Leon and his furnished apartment compared to the tenacious hatred in his eyes when he talks about the Heartless. Yes, they've chosen to stay, but that doesn't mean they've chosen to propagate that pervasive sadness.

She suddenly feels a sense of fellowship with this 'church', which sits in the very heart of Traverse Town but remains independent of its atmosphere. The church is battered but hopeful – it hasn't fallen down yet and is in no hurry to change this despite having gone though obvious hardship. Its untidiness is bizarrely comforting. It may not be _attractive,_ but it's individual, as though it's been waiting here specifically to give them the message that things aren't completely hopeless.

"Can we go inside?" Aerith hears herself ask.

Another feathery eyebrow raises. "It is unsafe, Senhorita. The roof, she is collapsing, and the doors are boarded up."

"I'd just … like to see inside." It's an inadequate response and Aerith knows it, but it's the best she can come up with.

Cloud looks at her askance, but turns back to the bird-man. "Would anybody be angry if we went in?"

"Eu não penso que os povos estariam irritados. I think not. Nobody owns this building. In truth, most stay away from it. They fear it will fall on them, plus it is ugly. When people arrive here they desire beauty. Beauty is uplifting."

"Do you want to go inside?" Cloud asks Aerith.

She nods. "Just for a peek."

"I would not advise it."

Cloud shoots the parrot a look. "All right, but I'll go first. Thank you Mr…"

"I am José Carioca, but my friends call me simply José. You may also call me by this."

"Thank you, José." Aerith blushes as he once again takes her hand and kisses the back. His beak is rough but pliable, and nothing at all like being nuzzled by Grimoire.

A clock tower chimes on the other side of town. "Ah, brunch! Not as early as breakfast, not as late as lunch, but you get orange juice and a good meal all the same. I must bid you farewell, Senhor and Senhorita, but before I depart might I ask _your_ names?"

They tell him and he treats the words like he did 'Hollow Bastion', elongating the vowels and clicking each consonant as though flipped it over to examine the other side. "Aeris and Cloud. What strange names these are. Very floaty, I feel. You would do well in my world, where flight and the air are prised beyond measure. Or was," he adds forlornly.

"Actually it's Aerith," she tries to correct, but José has already excused himself and is climbing the stone steps away from them.

"Well that's got to be one of the oddest conversations I've ever had," Cloud remarks.

"I thought he was nice."

"Oh he's _nice,_ but he's still a parrot with a walking cane and a cigar." Cloud waves away the faint pall José has left behind. "Do you really want to see inside this church thing?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Cloud looks at her again for a long moment, sighs, and then takes her hand to lead her forward. "Come on. The others will be wondering where we are soon, so let's make this quick."

Aerith doesn't want to go back Cid's stuffy shop just yet, so she allows herself to be led and waits patiently as Cloud worries at one of the boards over the main entrance. It's stuck tight and they scout around the perimeter, searching for an easier way in. They find it in the rear of the building, a shadowy little doorway the size of a child with no more than a perfunctory plank across it. Cloud easily pulls this off and they half-crouch to get through the unlocked door.

Inside is a riot of grey statues, dark wooden benches and shafts of brilliant sunlight. The light seems even brighter this way than it did outside, dust motes drifting lazily in the wake of their footsteps. Clearly, nobody has been here in a long time. They leave imprints where they walk and the air is as dry as it was at Cid's, but Aerith doesn't notice either of these things. She's far too taken up with the centre of the room.

The floorboards have all been smashed and amongst the jutting, broken planks are dozens and dozens of pink and blue flowers. They're tiny, but so many that they resemble a patchwork carpet thrown haphazardly into the middle of a room. They form an oasis in the sea of destruction and are the most absurdly beautiful thing Aerith has ever seen.

"Beautiful …" she breathes.

"How the heck are they growing here?" Cloud wonders. "Even with the floor gone, there should be foundations."

Aerith crouches beside them. "There's soil here."

"That can't be right."

"Well there is." She touches it. Unlike everything else in the church, it's moist and obviously rich with nutrients and the promise of life. Hollow Bastion soil used to be like that when she was a little girl, but as she grew up it became thinner and thinner, lightening to a pale brown with fewer nutrients than if she'd just spat on her plants. "This place is special. Can't you feel it?"

She can. Aerith's skin tingles with something extraordinary and rare. She can't put her finger on what it is, but she knows without question that this is an exceptional place. She feels _lighter_ here, less burdened, and not just by the events of the last twenty-four hours.

Cloud doesn't answer.

Aerith looks up at him. "Cloud?"

He's scratching his chest through his shirt and staring at the shadier parts of the ceiling that are tucked away from the light. His eyes travel around the room, searching, and he frowns the longer he searches.

"Cloud, are you okay?"

Startled, he blinks at her. "Huh?"

"Are you all right?"

It takes a moment for him to process the question and answer. "Oh, yeah, sure. I just got a funny feeling we were being watched. Are you cold?"

Actually she's pleasantly warm, but when she tells him he frowns and shivers.

"Is there something wrong with your shirt?"

He stops rubbing and stares down like he didn't even realise what he was doing. "It's … itchy," he says lamely. "Or maybe it's just this place giving me the heebie-jeebies. It's creepy in here."

"You think so?" Aerith is surprised. How can he not feel its charm?

"Heebie-jeebies. In spades." Cloud shifts from foot to foot. "I think we should head back to Cid's. Zack and the others will be worried about us."

"Correct. He's climbing the walls as we speak. The only reason I'm here instead of him is because he'd probably carve up the whole town looking for you and Kairi won't let go of his neck after I passed her to him so I could deal with Yuffie."

They both whirl. "Tifa!"

Tifa stands in front of the little door, arms folded but expression generous. "That's my name, don't wear it out. Where the heck have you two _been_? I had to ask a monkey and a parrot if they'd seen you. A _parrot_."

"Was he green? It was probably José," Aerith says.

Tifa declines to comment on this. Instead she moves aside so she's no longer blocking the door. "Cloud, could you give us a minute? Aerith and I need to talk."

Even in the newly discovered lightness of the church, the bottom of Aerith's stomach drops.

"What about?" Cloud asks, not getting it at all.

"Girl stuff. Don't worry, we won't be long. I'm under strict instructions to escort you both back to Cid's shop and not let you out of my sight in case you wander off again. We thought you'd just stepped outside for some air, but when we went to call you back inside you were nowhere to be seen. Zack was all for scaling a full search and rescue until Yuffie told him to take it down a notch. He thought the Heartless had kidnapped you. Then Leon pointed out that the Heartless don't bother with kidnappings and that made him even _worse_."

A stab of guilt goes through Aerith.

"Oh. Okay, I'll give you two a couple of minutes, but don't be too long if Zack's that worried, okay?" Cloud slips out, leaving Tifa and Aerith alone in the wide open space.

It doesn't feel nearly wide enough.

Aerith suspected what this is about as soon as Tifa appeared. "Tifa, I'm sorry," she begins, but Tifa cuts her off by marching up to the flowers and surveying them.

"They're pretty. I'm no expert on flowers, but I know what I like, and I like these."

"They're called Forget-Me-Nots."

She nods like this actually means anything. "I'm sorry," she suddenly blurts.

Aerith is shocked. "Excuse me?"

"For ignoring you all morning. It was petty and childish, and I'm sorry. Master Zangan would be so _mad_ at me right now for acting so immature."

Aerith is too surprised to speak.

"I guess," Tifa goes on, filling in the silence by herself, "it's because I was mad at you, but mostly it's because I was mad at myself. I didn't like what you keeping such an important, personal secret from me said _about_ me."

"I don't understand."

"You were my first real friend after Master Zangan. It was so long before I joined school, and I intimidated the other kids enough that I was so grateful when you came up and talked to me that I couldn't think what to say. It was like 'poof' and all my elocution lessons flew away. I never set out to be a loner. I like company, but with my parents being the way they were, I thought I was fine just having Master Zangan. They didn't approve of anybody _interesting_ as my friends so I didn't know how to _not _overwhelm everyone at first. I just wanted to be liked. I guess I came off as kind of desperate. Then you approached me and you didn't push things. You let me go at my own pace and I appreciated that. I'd kind of hoped you valued our friendship the same way I always have."

Aerith swallows. "You barely talked to us for years," she points out softly.

Tifa sweeps a hand through her hair. They've skipped worlds and learned so many awful and staggering things, and yet she still manages to look absolutely gorgeous. Despite herself, Aerith feels a pang of jealously. "I know. I thought that as I was looking for you and Cloud. Maybe I'm not totally blameless in making you think I'd betray you if my father clicked his fingers. I love my dad to pieces, but …" Tifa gestures expansively.

"I still should've told you. You're right; I should've believed in you more."

"I think maybe _I_ should've believed in me more," Tifa exhales. "I was lonely, you know. I hated not talking to you guys, but I felt like I had to do what my dad wanted. He was so _broken_ after my mom died. Some days I'd wake up and go down for breakfast, and I'd just stare at him because I genuinely didn't recognise who he was anymore. It was like … like a piece of him died with her. He transferred all his attention onto me, trying to keep me safe from real and imaginary dangers. I know he was dealing with losing her by using me as a distraction, but you didn't see him late at night, all huddled up in his chair next to the cold hearth. He wouldn't go to bed before me in case I died in my sleep, or monsters crept into town and stole me out of my bed, or I needed to be taken to the doctor. He wanted to be ready this time. The slightest sniffle and he whisked me down to Doctor Rui's. It was completely irrational but I couldn't criticise him for it. I felt like if I stood up to him I'd just hurt him more. It was kinder to just let things slide so he'd at least eat and sleep and function fairly normally. I still had my training with Master Zangan. I convinced myself that was enough."

"Tifa…"

"I had to keep away from you three because he associated you with everything he was scared would happen to me. That doesn't mean I didn't miss you. I missed you, Cloud and Zack every day. I was upset when Cloud moved in with you and Zack because then there wasn't even the chance I'd accidentally run into him and get to explain everything while my dad wasn't looking. You must have thought I hated you too. You must have thought I was a real … bitch." The word sounds alien in her mouth. Cussing suits Tifa like altruism suits cats.

"You saved my life!" Aerith exclaims. "You saved Zack's life too!"

"Yeah, when we were _kids_."

Aerith's voice drops. "We still _are_ kids."

"Are we?"

"Mostly."

"I don't feel much like a kid anymore." Tifa's voice is heavy.

Aerith looks hard at her: Tifa, who has always radiated a sense of freedom, confined in her own home, caring for her father and missing her mother with nobody to talk to except Master Zangan. "You saved us and nearly got yourself killed, and we never tried to reach you – not really – when you broke ties with us."

"You had a lot on your plate after Angeal died."

"That's no excuse." Things are becoming clearer in Aerith's mind and she doesn't like how they slot together.

"You all risked your lives for me when you followed me into the mountains," Tifa points out. "Cloud nearly died that day, and how did I repay you? By stonewalling you. You can't reach out to someone who hasn't given you any reason to think she's interested in talking, especially not when you're in the middle of your own grief. I ignored you in public, or don't you remember that part?"

A memory of Tifa walking past the flower shop, glancing in without smiling and then walking on, rises in Aerith's mind. She recalls going to market once or twice, seeing Tifa perusing stalls and calling out to her, only for Tifa to turn her back when she'd obviously heard. She recalls the approving nod from Mr. Lockhart, so intent on keeping his daughter safe that he missed the more mundane dangers loneliness and isolation.

_I've been such a bad friend, and I never even realised it, _Aerith thinks in alarm.

"And all the time my dad was trying to spread poison about you three living together to make sure I never associated with you again. No wonder you felt like you couldn't tell me your secrets."

"Secret," Aerith corrects. "Just one."

"A doozy of a one."

"…Yes. Tifa, I'm sorry."

"Please don't say that."

"But I am! I've not been a very good friend to you."

"I could say the same back. I _have_, come to think of it."

They've stopped looking at each other, instead glancing around at the church's decorations, at the flowers, at the grain of the floorboards – anywhere but across the short distance between them. Now Aerith concentrates she can see there are chunks gouged out of the walls and small piles of rubble scattered hither and thither as if from small explosions. She's examining the roof beams, wondering if those are scorch marks and how they got there, when Tifa speaks again.

"She must've really loved you. Your mother, I mean."

Aerith doesn't mistake which mother she means by this. "I wish I'd had the chance to know her, but I love my mom too. The mom I grew up with, I mean. My mom isn't my mother, but my mother isn't my mom. It's … messy. For a long time I felt like I couldn't discuss it in case my mom got offended or thought it meant I didn't love her as much anymore. Eventually she saw sense, but I still wished I had more answers. The dreams help me understand more about what I can do, but not where I came from. I mean, who am I, when you get right down to it? Who am I _really_?"

"You're Aerith Gainsborough," Tifa says firmly. "And I'm Tifa Lockhart. And we're friends." She slides her gaze sideways. "Right?" It's an apology and an explanation and everything else that needs to be said, all captured in that last upward inflection.

"Right," Aerith replies, equally firmly.

It doesn't matter, not having all the answers. She knows enough, and part of that is knowing Tifa's friendship never really went away. Aerith also knows now that she should never take that friendship for granted again, or rest on her laurels about how friendship is more than only reaching out to those who reach back.

"C'mon," Tifa says. "Before Zack has apoplexy."

"All right." Casting one last look around the church, Aerith allows Tifa to lead her away.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_Old smoke tickles her nose along with oil and something else she's never smelled before – something musty and not quite sweet, not quite sour, which makes her want to sneeze and breathe in more at the same time._

-- I'll admit I was thinking about Deep Heat when I wrote this. For anyone who hasn't heard of it, Deep Heat is a muscle-rub cream meant to relieve things like rheumatic pain, backache, lumbago and sprains. It pongs a bit, since its ingredients include (among other things) menthol, eucalyptus and _turpentine_.

"_Be warned, if you piss me off I will snap off your hands and use 'em as toilet roll holders."_

-- Based on a similar line in an old episode of _Farscape_.

"_Yes, but I'm going to start charging money for every time you or Zack ask me that."_

-- Based on a line from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.

… _the huge green dragon with orange hair, who smiles inanely at them and flutters ridiculously tiny wings in delight when Aerith waves back._

-- Side-fling to Elliot from _Pete's Dragon_.

_By the time they spot a grey rabbit in frayed pants and shirt, Aerith doesn't even feel faint shock. _

-- Brer Rabbit from _Song of the South_.

"_Boa manhã outra vez, senhora bonita."_

-- Babelfish!Portuguese for "Good morning again, pretty lady."

"_Eu não penso que os povos estariam irritados._"

-- "I do not think people would be angry."

"_I am __José Carioca__, but my friends call me simply José. You may also call me by this."_

-- José was originally created as a friend of Donald Duck in 1942, but is more famous as being the Brazilian representative and third part of the Three Caballeros in 1945, alongside Donald and the Mexican rooster Panchito Pistoles (en. wikipedia. org/wiki/The_Three_Caballeros).

"_Ah, brunch! Not as early as breakfast, not as late as lunch, but you get orange juice and a good meal all the same."_

-- Side-fling to a line in an early episode of _The Simpsons_.

"_Aeris and Cloud. What strange names these are."_

-- Reference to the fact that Aerith was originally called Aeris in the text of the English translation of Final Fantasy VII.

* * *


	19. The Art of Finding Your Feet

* * *

**18. The Art of Finding Your Feet**

* * *

Tifa does end up working for Cid. He makes out he's doing her a huge favour, grumbling about her forthrightness to Leon with invectives nobody even thought possible, until he realises Leon isn't listening anymore – if, in fact, he was listening in the first place. Leon has a habit of listening to everything with mind-numbing intensity and then just … not; as if someone just switched off his attention at the mains and redirected it somewhere internal they can't hope to access.

On Tifa's first day Cid grumbles from the moment she arrives to the second she leaves, and punctuates every step with a fresh curse or question about why the hell he agreed to this until he leaves to man the front of the shop. Gritting her teeth, Tifa ties back her hair, rolls up her sleeves and gets stuck into cleaning. She comes home filthy, sweaty and complaining about the state of the workshop – none of which stops her exercising or going through her _kata_ next to the chocobo shack. In fact, her emotions spur her on, and she doesn't calm down until she's been out there for nearly half an hour.

She seems to draw inner calm from the precise movements Master Zangan built into her long ago. The chocobo rests its chin on the open lower door to watch her with big liquid eyes, which follow her as she kicks, punches, slaps aside invisible hands and manipulates the kinks out of her body through a series of rapid-fire strikes and turns. It, too, seems calmed, but that might be because it's used to living in a stable with dozens of other chocobos and craves company. It's easy for everyone to forget that this world is as much a change for the giant bird as it is for them.

"I'm not sure I've ever met a more infuriating man," she says breathlessly. "Well, maybe Leon. But Leon doesn't make me mad the way Cid does. I've worked there for one day – _one _– and I already wanted to wring his neck a hundred times over. Cid Highwind is just … he's such a pig! And I'm not sure he's ever done anything for anyone his entire life if there wasn't something in it for him. He obviously doesn't want me there, but does he have to be so horrible about it? I mean, it's a business transaction, and he doesn't come off too badly from it – unlike me. I ruined my top today, and did he care? No, he did not."

The next day she finds that Cid has procured some 'work clothes' for her – baggy old things she can get dirty without worrying about washing them afterwards. She changes in the 'staff bathroom' (which she immediately decides to make her cleaning focus of the day) and changes back before leaving. Cid takes the stinky shirt and pants with him when he leaves and brings them back the next morning for her to wear, having cleaned them in a bizarre display of domesticity nobody would have expected from him – especially if they've seen the back rooms of his shop.

"Not bad," he says when he looks at her work at the end of the day. Then, "I didn't know the floor was this colour."

"Admit it," she says after a few days of this. "It was a good idea for me to do this."

"Maybe."

"And I'm not so bad to have around the place for company, either."

"Don't push it."

She approaches the chocobo that evening and stops before beginning her kata. "Okay, so maybe he's not so bad. He's still a pig, though."

At first Cid stays out of her way completely, as though worried she'll sweep him up along with everything else as she thunders around with a broom. Gradually he begins leaning on doorframes to watch her work, and then ventures away from the shop front where customers insist on taking up his time.

He curses up a blue storm when he finds she's catalogued his spanners and wrenches into drawers. When he discovers the neatly arranged boxes of spare parts she couldn't identify, he hefts them away to sort through on his own. Being around Tifa inspires a grudging tidiness in him, though it's probably more because he wants to imprint a bit more of himself onto what is fast becoming her domain.

Tifa is a whirlwind, dealing with her thoughts and emotions by doing a simple job well. She becomes so wrapped up in her work that it ceases to even cross her mind whether Cid actually appreciates her efforts or just felt sorry for her and gave her something to keep her occupied. She sometimes catches him looking at her, when she's dirty but smiling and her hair has come loose to hang about her shoulders, and his expression is as close to regretful as it can come without spontaneously combusting.

He complains that he won't know where everything is and chews up cigarette after unlit cigarette. He also brings her sandwiches and insists she 'slow the fuck down' and 'goddamn eat something' before she keels over from exhaustion. Maybe he suspects that she's getting more than wages out of the task, but Tifa learns quickly that Cid can keep his own counsel when he wants to. He's crotchety and offensive, with a mouth that could scour chrome from steel just by talking at it, but he's also fair-minded, practical, crushingly realistic and not nearly as old as he appears.

"Why do you keep staring at me like that?" she finally asks.

He snaps from the regretful look, reverting to his favourite gruff and grumpy expression. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Now quit bellyaching at me for damn fool stuff and drink your tea." He bites down on an unlit cigarette, his own cup already drunk.

He never shows any sign of lighting his cigarettes, but considering the strong smell of petrol when she first starts, Tifa isn't surprised. Zack comments on it when she comes home, the acrid scent clinging to her, but Aerith scolds him and Cloud just has a towel ready by the bathroom door, letting Tifa go first even though he's filthy as well.

Cid's an expert in saying things without saying them, and they patter along for quite some time before one day he reclines on an upturned wooden crate and asks, "Your Aerith's pal, right? What's up with her?" Tifa replies that it's not for her to say, and that he'll have to ask Aerith herself, but Cid snaps back, "But I ain't asking her now, am I? I'm asking you because I can be reasonably fucking sure of a straight answer."

"You shouldn't cuss so much."

"I'll cuss all I fucking well want to. I'm old. It's my prerogative."

"You're not old, you only act that way."

"Just answer the question."

"I already did."

"She a witch?"

Tifa bristles but tries hard not to show it. His tone irks her. "Why do you even want to know? You haven't spoken to her since the first day we spent in Traverse Town."

Cid taps the side of his nose. "People talk. Better to cut them off with your own talk first. Best line of defence is a good strong attack, or didn't your pansy-ass Master Zangan ever teach you that?"

"He taught me that it's best to deal with problems as and when they happen. If you go looking for them, you may inspire them _to_ happen when before that they were just possibilities with no fixed outcome."

"They ain't problems yet, but they're happening now. People in Traverse Town are naturally suspicious, prone to doing dumb shit and _then_ wondering whether or not it was a good idea afterwards. A lot them act on impulse because planning too far ahead means acknowledging they ain't going home anytime soon. It's like a self-defence mechanism they use to stop themselves going insane, but it sure as shit makes them cranky and crazy and crappy neighbours."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying she needs to watch where she goes and what she does when she gets there. You give her a piece of friendly advice from me." Cid takes out his cigarette, which has become a mangled stump covered in saliva, and wags it at her. "Traverse Town is full of secrets enough. People deal with their own shit by being nosy about other people's, and when they don't know the answers they make up their own, get five from two pairs and go off the deep end thinking some new bad thing will happen to them if they don't happen to it first. It comes from being the sole survivors of dead worlds. Their survival instinct gets sharper and it can cut you 'til you bleed out. It's happened before. It'll happen again. I just don't want it to happen to your friend."

Tifa stares at him. "Excuse me?"

Cid sighs. "You've got to be honest and open with people or they'll get suspicious and possibly batshit."

"Anybody would think you cared about us."

"Like hell. You need to be open in this town. Think about it – we got wizards, dragons, talking animals, machines, magic and everything else the universe vomits onto us when another world goes kaput."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tifa demands, wondering how much he's been able to figure out on his own, worried not just about Aerith but Kairi as well.

"It means show me some fucking respect like you would your Master Zangan when I impart pearls of wisdom."

"You're not Master Zangan."

"Thank crap for that. The idea of keeping you around longer than I have to makes me wanna run at the wall and smash my goggles into my brain." He rises to his feet without brushing his pants free of dust. There's plenty around since she moved some more boxes, but he makes no move to wipe away the grey film that has settled over his headgear. Tifa's decided they're an elaborate headband and not real goggles at all. There's practically an indentation in his skull where they sit. "I'm gonna go make some tea. Be finished and washed up by the time I get back so you can have a cup, or I'll fire your ass so fast it'll set alight."

That's another thing about Cid – he's almost disturbingly addicted to tea. Tifa flashes back to Merlin calling a teapot out of empty air that first, anxious night and wonders whether the wizard's infatuation with the stuff is comparable.

However, when she mentions it to him, Cid flares up like a firework, informing her in the midst of his rambling diatribe that he _does_ know Merlin, but there's no love lost between them, and the mere _notion_ that they are in _any_ way similar is a _goddamn fucking lie._ He also says some things involving lemon juicers and carburettors that make Yuffie and Zack laugh when Tifa repeats them. Cloud turns beetroot and even Aerith is giggling and trying to hide it as she scolds them for setting such a bad example in front of Kairi.

Yet despite the munny Tifa brings in – and keeps bringing in even when there are fewer things to clean and tidy but Cid keeps sending her home with a curt, "See you tomorrow" – it's not enough to support them all. Traverse Town isn't home, a painful reminder found in every unfamiliar wall and corner. Even though it's a receptacle for world orphans it's still a part of _this_ world. It runs on commerce and in order to survive they have to fit in with that. And so those who can work dutifully traipse off to find some.

Curiously, Leon is the biggest help in keeping them from actually becoming homeless. They're ready to move out and look for somewhere else immediately, but he is firm that they stay one more night. The morning when Tifa departs for her first day Cid's, Leon disappears for a while and then reappears followed by a roly-poly man in a crumpled tan suit. What little hair this man has is thoroughly finger-combed as he stammers that he's Mr. Snoops, the landlord. Leon has told him that they need accommodation, he says, and would they be interested in renting the apartment downstairs from this one?

Yuffie in particular is ecstatic at the thought of staying and, after careful discussion, they decide to take up the offer. It's far more reasonable than they could hope for. Leon mutters something about Mr. Snoops favouring those who fight Heartless as long as his penny-pinching wife doesn't find out.

Gradually, and not without mistakes, regrets and surprises at the differences between this world and their own (Cloud in particular is leery of the airships and technology Cid talks about, and everybody needs an explanation for the word 'computer'), they carve out a life for themselves.

There's never any question about them not staying together. Regardless of her earlier misgivings, Tifa never feels like a spare part. There's an obvious bond between Zack, Cloud, Aerith and Yuffie, but instead of it closing their ranks they extend that bond and loop it around Tifa and Kairi like a warm, shining cord, using it to draw them in closer. After years of coming home to her father's austerity, Tifa learns not to feel guilty that she'd much rather come home to Yuffie's acrobatics, Zack's habit of ruffling her hair, Cloud's smile and the smell of Aerith's cooking – even if she will _never again_ drink her friend's tea.

Not long after Cid's question about Aerith being a witch, Aerith herself goes into town 'running an errand' (which Tifa translates as her going to that beaten-up old church again), and calls in at Cid's shop. She can't believe the difference and admires Tifa's labours with ill-concealed awe. The floor is visible and sparkling, the work surfaces can actually be worked on, and the whole place smells like strong bleach masked with lemon. During one bout of particularly gung-ho enthusiasm, Tifa took an upturned mop to the skylight in the big workshop and washed off so much caked dirt that it dropped in clumps that hurt when they fell on her head. She was blackened and smeared afterwards, but soft sunshine now rolls through the room like melted butter.

Somehow Aerith stays for a while, and somehow Cid is coaxed out to make conversation with her. He grumbles, but over the weeks she's spent working for him Tifa has come to recognise when he's actually glad of company. Aerith makes a pot of tea while he tells Tifa about the finer points of airship rudders compared to Gummi Ships, and he picks up the cup Aerith offers without even thinking about it.

His expression after the first sip is a gurn of prize-winning ugliness and he all but throws it back into its saucer. "What the _fuck_ is _that_?"

"It's tea," Aerith replies, surprised.

"Tastes like gerbil piss. Tastes like _dead_ gerbil piss. Are you trying to poison me?"

Tifa takes a sip. Until now she never realised how much care and attention Cid must take preparing tea, at least not until Aerith's sour brew spreads over her tongue. Her taste buds back away, whimpering. It's not quite enough to make her gag, but the strength is overwhelming and it leaves a strangely brackish aftertaste. Seeing her friend's face, however, Tifa gamely reaches for the sugar.

Cid stops her hand. "Have you ever made tea before?" he demands of Aerith.

"Of course!" she replies, slightly indignant. People have a habit of underestimating Aerith because she's feminine, wears pastel dresses and doesn't consider herself too old for smocking. They don't realise she has a sharp tongue and can use it if she wants to. She'll never be quarrelsome, but neither is she a pushover. Cid's aggression demands a response and it's as if she senses the potential disgust he'll always treat her with if she rolls over now. "Nobody's ever complained about it before."

"Then I feel sorry for the poor slobs who ain't never tasted proper tea to tell the difference. Siddown while I re-educate you." Cid removes the offending pot like it's a dead rat from behind the cabinet. Tifa and Aerith hear him clattering about in the tiny kitchenette adjacent to the back rooms, and he soon returns bearing a floral-pattern set on a tray.

Aerith protests when he shoves a delicate teacup filled with equally delicate brown liquid at her. "I already have some," she says defensively, holding it close – and then suddenly her hands are empty

"Shut up and drink your goddamn tea," Cid retorts, placing the mug of thick, paste-like stuff where she can't reach it.

Tifa waits until Aerith has drunk some before taking up her own cup, so she doesn't feel so traitorous. Cid's tea is lovely and smells faintly of some kind of aromatic plant – rosemary or thyme or something like that. Tifa's never been very into plants.

"It's … fantastic," Aerith is forced to admit.

Cid nods, satisfied. He surveys both girls with a critical eye, and when he raises his cup to his lips he keeps his pinkie firmly tucked in with the rest of his fingers. "You guys settling in all right?" It's not a usual kind of question from him. Cid operates under the idea that he can take care of himself, and nobody can take care of _them_selves as well as he could, but they should try anyway. He values self-reliance and altruism in equal measure, which might be why he's more approving of Tifa now than he was when they first met and she implied he couldn't cope looking after his own shop.

"We're fine," Aerith replies. "We're all pulling our weight and people seem to accept us. It's been even better since Cloud started running his delivery service."

Having realised there's a niche market in chocobo-related jobs, Cloud set himself up to fill it, allowing the distressingly high number of children in Traverse Town to ride on the bird while he leads it up and down the streets. Those children in Traverse Town who are old enough to properly process how they got here share the same haunted, fretful air, and Tifa's own heart hurts for them. She can't imagine what it must be like, to lose everything when so young. Their sad eyes mean Cloud often gives them rides for free. He makes up for this by also delivering packages, letters, food deliveries from restaurants and whatever else people want to employ him for. Sometimes there's no real reason and he finds himself delivering non-urgent messages because people simply want the novelty of seeing him ride off on a huge chicken. Everything he does earn goes into the kitty alongside Tifa's wages.

Zack, by comparison, has had a much harder time finding work. With his scarred face and giant sword people automatically assume he's another Leon, which is actually how the group find out just how far Leon's name can be traded on. People know and respect Leon. He has the same kind of role and reputation as Zack had in Hollow Bastion, if on a much more unofficial scale. Traverse Town sees Leon as its personal hero, wholly devoted to keeping its residents safe from the Heartless. Without asking for it, Zack has become an extension of that. Nobody will believe him when he says he honestly just wants a normal job. Zack is a hero, and heroes don't work behind cash registers or waiting tables.

Cid eyeballs Aerith, but slides his attention to Tifa. "Cloud. That's the blond kid you're sweet on, right?"

Tifa blushes. Even she's not sure what to make of her new feelings for Cloud. She has always thought of him as a tenuous friend, though she was aware of his crush on her back in school. Back then she was flattered by the attention but found him too reticent and nervy around her. She half-expected him to be one of those boys who got intimidated by her skills as a martial artist. There was always something _needy _about Cloud, which only went away when he was with Zack and Aerith. Tifa didn't need that kind of bother when she was chock full of brand new hormones and still figuring out how to be her and be what she was supposed to be at the same time. Plus her parents disapproved of Cloud and Tifa was a good girl who mostly did as she was told – as long as it didn't contradict the personal code of ethics Master Zangan's teachings had nurtured inside her.

Looking back, she reflects on how ridiculous it was that she could leap into battle against monsters but shied away from ticking off her mother and father through hanging out with the 'wrong' people.

The day he spotted her leaving for the mountains and followed her, Tifa started seeing Cloud in a new light. It was short-lived and hindered by circumstances, but upon landing in Traverse Town that light has returned. Cloud is clearer to her now. He, like her, is more comfortable in his own skin than he used to be. While Tifa has learned to tone down her personality and that she doesn't need to project aggressiveness to be taken seriously, Cloud has learned to talk without resembling a petrified rabbit. Every time they speak, whether alone or as part of a group, Tifa finds herself discovering more ways he's changed in the time she wasn't a part of his life. Cloud has grown up and Tifa isn't sure how she'd like to react to that.

It would be easier if Cloud could be more like Zack. Zack is effusive and open, the kind of guy you can go to with both problems and triumphs. Tifa never feels confused when talking to Zack like she does around Cloud, as Zack is so much easier to understand. When Zack makes awkward zooming noises encouraging Kairi to eat, it's cute. Likewise when he ended up with most of the food on his own face thanks to Kairi's clapping, or when he held her at arms' length because he had no idea how to deal with a dirty diaper. The time Tifa accidentally walked in on him getting dressed, Zack fell backwards over a chair in surprise and it made her laugh, but nothing more. The thought of seeing Cloud shirtless like that makes Tifa blush and then wonder why she's blushing.

The fact that both Cloud and Zack are devoted to Aerith doesn't help. Aerith and Tifa's friendship has been strengthened by their falling-out, so Tifa really doesn't want to resent or offend the other girl when _she's_ not even sure how far her own feelings go. It could just be she's still flattered about that schoolyard crush and aggrieved Cloud is over it while she apparently isn't. If that's the case, then Tifa would rather bite her tongue than potentially ruin a friendship just because her heart is lagging behind her head. She thought she was doing a good job at hiding her uncertainties.

Judging by Cid's question, not as good as she hoped. "Cloud's the blond one and Zack has black hair. C'mon, Cid, you should know all our names by now. Me, Aerith, Zack, Cloud, Kairi, Yuffie-"

Cid's expression darkens. "I swear, if I find that pipsqueak rooting through my stock again I'm gonna wring her neck until you could fly a kite with it."

Yuffie sees no problem in liberating things they need without paying for them. Never luxuries, but she does have an extremely loose sense of what constitutes a 'necessity' and feels Cid wouldn't mind the odd missing kunai or throwing star. Tifa brought back the intricate dagger she discovered under Yuffie's pillow, and since then has kept a lookout for other evidence of thievery.

"Yuffie's been stealing from you again?" Aerith asks in alarm. Her eyes narrow and Tifa foresees a lecture in Yuffie's future – and possibly the stoppage of desserts. "We'll see about _that_."

"You gonna cast a spell on her to cure kleptomania?"

Stunned silence falls around them like rocks into a still pool.

"What?"

"Don't your magic stretch to that sort of thing? I ain't that well-versed in how the fucking stuff works. If you bring it up, that damn wizard babbles about all kinds of unbelievable shit until you stick a sock in his trap, so I don't bother asking anymore. Science and technology, they're the only kind of magic for me." Cid sips his tea aggressively – something Tifa never thought possible until she met him.

Aerith's wide eyes gradually return to normal size. She seems to come to a decision inside herself and takes a deep breath. "You know I have magic."

"Wasn't that difficult to figure out when you've hung around this place and Merlin for long enough. Damn blabber-mouthed know-it-all wizard. You learn to pick up on signs; and kid, you're broadcasting loud and clear."

"How? Nobody ever figured it out before without seeing me work."

"Nobody from _your_ world."

"Oh." The significance of this settles against their skin, permeating and spreading to take proper root in their minds. "How much do you know?"

"For fuck's sake, kid, I ain't playing games with you. Remember the part where I said I like to get everything out in the open instead of sitting on it? Look, I ain't going to string you up from the nearest tree. Odds are I've seen much weirder shit than you can pull _anyway, _so get the fuck over yourself and stop thinking you're so damn special. You ain't a beautiful little snowflake any more than I am. You're a human being with a talent. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo."

His outburst is strangely humbling rather than offensive. After that, Aerith's explanation seems anticlimactic.

"A Healer, huh?" Cid says when she's done. "That'll come in handy. Just keep that shit away from me."

"You don't like magic?"

"I don't _trust_ magic. I prefer stuff I can explain and there's too many inexplicable bits to magic. Plus it really pisses Merlin off, and that pompous windbag needs to be pissed off as often as possible."

There isn't much either of them can say to that.

"Traverse Town is much more permissive than Hollow Bastion," Aerith murmurs. "People there … well, let's just say the whole 'stringing up from a tree' idea may not have been so far-fetched."

"Did it ever happen before?"

"…No, but the threat was there."

"You don't give people much credit, do you?"

"Excuse me?"

Even Tifa is shocked at that one. Aerith is a pretty good judge of character and sometimes disturbingly skilled at reading people. To hear this called into question is unheard of.

Cid doesn't know Aerith well enough to know this, though, and carries on saying it as _he _sees it. "You're so busy being scared of what they might say, you never stopped to think what _else_ they might say. Don't mistake Traverse Town as any bed of roses, because it ain't, but remember it's not like other towns. Permissive ain't really the word for it, since that'd imply you _need _permission for whatever you do. Tolerant doesn't really work, either. It's more that people have been lumped together against their will, without any warning or by-your-leave, so they're suspicious as hell of anything or anyone new until they get some answers. They hate mysteries, since mysteries have the potential to hurt them, but once they find out what's behind a mystery they mostly stop caring about it. There's the odd exception to the rule, especially when it comes to the Three Harpies."

"Three Harpies?" Tifa has a sudden flash of real harpies, and says so, but Cid shakes his head.

"Three old broads whose noses are out of joint as often as not. They're the ones you'd have to watch out for, but as for the rest, as long as you weren't keeping nothing shady from them, you could walk around buck naked with a chicken on your head and they wouldn't care – though I wouldn't recommend it. You can fade into a crowd easier in Traverse Town than anywhere else because here, there ain't no such thing as normal."

"So everybody's technically normal," Aerith points out.

"Feh, liberal hogwash. Nobody's normal. That's the fucking _point_." Cid rolls his eyes.

Tifa isn't sure she gets it, but the way Aerith frowns and smiles at the same time is enough to make her not question it.

Even if Cid _is_ being a monumental ass.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

… _a roly-poly man in a crumpled tan suit. What little hair this man has is thoroughly finger-combed as he stammers that he's Mr. Snoops._

-- Snoops first appeared in Disney's 1977 animated movie _The Rescuers_.

* * *


	20. Being True to Yourself is Hard

**A/N:** Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I appreciate each and every one of them. Thank you!

* * *

**19. Being True to Yourself is Harder Than it Looks**

* * *

_Be yourself. Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe, shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish._ ~ John Jakes.

* * *

Aerith walks through town with sure steps. She doesn't get to visit the church as often as she might like, but by now she knows the way well enough to sleepwalk it. The others don't really understand what she sees in the place. They understand the pull of the flowers, but not even Zack felt the same sense of calm when he first went in. She was a little disappointed at his reactions.

"You getting all religious on us?"

"It's not like that," Aerith said, crouching low and stroking the petals with the tip of her index finger.

"You keep coming to a _church_ and talk about the special atmosphere it has, how calm it makes you feel, but say that's not it. Excuse me for being a little sceptical. You never seemed all that interested in the old gods or anything back home."

"It just feels nice in here." Aerith couldn't explain it then and can't explain it now. The calm she feels in the church is odd, like the calm she feels when she wakes in the night and can hear Kairi and Tifa breathing, or when she tiptoes out of the bedroom and finds Yuffie safely inside and asleep on the couch instead of running around on the rooftops just like she used to in Hollow Bastion. It reminds Aerith of how she used to feel after Green Dreams – reassured and like her mother is close by, watching out for her.

When she first brought Yuffie to the church it wasn't calm at all. Yuffie was too busy chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen about how she tracked Leon into the sewer until he spotted her and lost her in the labyrinthine passageways. She had to crawl out through a grate near the fountain in the centre of town when the smell got too much and her 'keen super ninja senses' failed in finding the exit.

"Hey, cut me some slack," she'd protested. "I was dying of asphyxiation. There was no oxygen going to my brain. They were exceptional circumstances!"

Yuffie has really taken to following Leon about, though she thinks she's good at disguising her interest as just playful curiosity. The fact she _isn't_ acknowledging her crush is what clued everybody into it.

Aerith thinks it's quite sweet, though she still gets uneasy around Leon. He's so _intense_ that occasionally he seems on a whole different plane of reality than the rest of the world. They don't see him as often as one might expect, living just a floor below, but sometimes when she's out – especially if she's coming away from the church – Aerith feels the skin between her shoulder blades itch and turns to see him watching her. He doesn't hide. Even if he lurked in doorways or down alleys, Leon couldn't hide. He radiates too much fiercely tamped-down emotion, his face too schooled to be genuine; it makes him a beacon. Aerith might feel more intimidated, except that Leon's been good to them and she doesn't think he means her any harm. She interests him for some reason she can't fathom. It's not romantic, at least, and for that she's glad because she wouldn't know how to react to that sort of attention from someone like him.

"Senhorita!"

Aerith turns. "José!"

José isn't someone who runs, or even jogs to catch up with you. Instead he ambles, perfectly content to make you wait until he reaches your side and shoots you a charming smile that instantly smoothes your ruffled feathers. "Out for a stroll?"

"Just running some errands."

"The little one is not with you today?"

Kairi is as popular here as she was in Hollow Bastion. She still wakes and calls for her mother most nights, but she's young enough that her resilience against losing her home and family in one fell swoop hasn't really registered. She sees Traverse Town as a new adventure and its people as exciting. Aerith, taking on the lion's share of childcare duties, often finds herself talking to strangers captivated by Kairi's shy smile and friendly wave. Kairi draws them, her innate likeability acting as a flame to moths.

"No, she's with Zack today."

"Ah, Seu amante com o cabelo traseiro." José gives Aerith a knowing look. "Ou não."

In his world the landmasses were divided into many islands, each with its own language. Apparently it got very confusing, making Aerith wonder why they kept these languages when they all spoke Common Tongue as well. José just tapped his beak when asked and said it was a case of individuality and national pride. Often he slips between Common and his own language and she doesn't know enough to understand unless he translates, but he's also fluent in facial expressions that are no less potent for being worn on a beak.

"I have something to ask you, my dear."

"Yes?"

"The time has come to move on from Traverse Town. I am leaving to make my way out in the rest of this new world."

Aerith deflates. She likes José. He's not a close friend, but he's kind and helpful, and talking with him makes her feel good about herself – especially when he pulls his usual trick of kissing her hand. José is a gentleman. Gentlebird. Gentleparrot? He's courteous. She'll miss him. "When are you going?"

"Soon enough, but what I actually wanted was to ask you and your friends to attend a little _partido_." He clicks his finger-feathers and wags his head from side to side, bopping to music that hasn't begun playing yet. "A going-away party. It is not right to leave a place and people without the proper send-off, I feel, and to do so would also bode ill for any future plans. We must court good luck like a reluctant lover. So I wish for you all to come to the farewell celebrations. There will be food, drink and merriment for all to enjoy – including your little one, though she may tire earlier than the rest of you."

"It's an evening party?"

"Sim, deve ocorrer depois que o sol parte. After sunset, when the moon is full and the stars of other worlds burn in the sky." He gives a rueful smile. "It seemed fitting to bid farewell to where my old world used to sit as well. You are aware that stars which go out are worlds that have ended?"

Aerith nods. Merlin explained as much, over and over because he keeps forgetting what he has and hasn't told them. He seems more interested in the Buster Sword than anything else lately, anyway, which should at least give Zack something else to concentrate on instead of his lack of employment.

"You will come?" José asks. "Eu serei triste se você não chega."

"Excuse me?"

"I would miss you if you did not attend. Your beauty will light up the party more than any decorative lights. Your world produces beautiful women in abundance, though it is much dimmer for the lack of yourself, Miss Tifa and Miss Yuffie. However, its loss is our gain."

Aerith finds herself returning his smile. "Flattery will get you everywhere. We'll come, don't worry about that. I just wish you didn't have to leave."

José waves his ever-present but never-unfolded umbrella at the buildings around them. "I have had my fill of this stifling atmosphere. I find Traverse Town too gloomy to take anymore, and a suitable amount of time has passed to bid _adeus_ to my home world. True, the rest of this world _may_ be even gloomier, more filled with danger, and have fewer beautiful people in it, but chances are there to be taken. Consider that a good piece of advice, Senhorita. Do not live your life with any regrets."

"I'll keep that in mind."

José nods, kisses her hand as is his custom, and excuses himself after giving her the details of when and where. He whistles as he walks, swinging his umbrella like a walking cane.

Aerith sighs. She _will_ miss José, but she won't try to stop him leaving. It's not up to her to dictate the movements of others – unless, of course, the other person is Yuffie and she's doing something illegal. Even then, that's partly social responsibility, partly prevention of whatever consequences may try to nail Yuffie to the wall – possibly literally.

A sign over a nearby doorway catches Aerith's attention. She stares at it, wondering how she never saw it before. Probably because she's usually hurrying through this part of town to reach the church, but right now she's in just the right spot to see it. It looks like she's not going to get to the church today, she thinks, as the seed of an idea takes root in her mind, watered by José's advice and her earlier conversation with Cid.

Aerith pushes open the door beneath the sign.

* * *

"I've got a job."

Zack looks up from trying to get Kairi's limbs through the correct holes in her dress. It already took him a couple of yanks to realise he was trying to force her head through an armhole. Now he pauses with her head visible but her arms still hidden from view. "Excuse me?"

Aerith beams at him. "I have a new job. And we're all going to a party tomorrow night."

"I thought you only went to fetch bread."

Her face falls.

"You forgot the bread."

"I'll go back and get some from the bakery -"

"No, no, it's okay," Zack says quickly. "I'll go."

Aerith eyes his attempts at dressing Kairi. Kairi giggles, flapping her arms up and down to make her dress fluff out and fall back again like wings. "Those aren't the clothes she was in when I went out."

"Yeah, about that; how easy is it to get jam out of fabric?"

"You gave her jam?"

"No. I didn't give her milk or juice, either. Or chocolate sauce. And I _definitely _didn't give her porridge oats. We need child locks on the cupboard doors, by the way."

Aerith giggles. "I take it you've had a busy morning."

Zack isn't a natural at the whole childcare thing. He likes Kairi, honestly he does, but she perplexes him in ways that trail sharp reminders that small children are resilient and delicate at the same time. While he was sweeping up crushed oats she managed to take out every pot and pan Mr. Snoops has provided with the apartment and slap, hit and beat them with a wooden spoon and a ladle. Kairi thought it was wonderful, while Zack was just glad Leon wasn't home to hear his inadequate parenting skills.

Every time Zack cleaned up one mess Kairi moved on to another, leaving a trail of destruction no single child should be able to produce. By the time he discovered the wooden spoon sticking out of the keyhole in her vain attempt to break out of the apartment, he was exhausted and she was dirty and sniffling at being thwarted. She's generally a happy little girl, but like any toddler she gets grumpy when tired, and running him ragged all morning has left them both exhausted. He wonders whether he was this troublesome for Angeal, then decides he was probably worse. His respect for his uncle ratchets up yet another notch.

Kairi perked up when Zack decided he couldn't let Aerith see her so grubby. Aerith and Tifa are both natural den mothers anyway, throwing his shortfalls into even sharper relief. Even Yuffie seems to know what she's doing more than Zack does. He made even more mess washing Kairi's face than she did getting it dirty.

"Please let me get the bread," Zack pleads, grappling with Kairi's left hand to put it through the correct sleeve. She fights him, giggling, and somehow one of her fingers goes up his nose. He yelps, eyes watering.

Aerith gently takes Kairi by the wrist. "Kairi," she says warningly, causing the arm to go limp and slot easily through the hole. Likewise the other side.

Kairi immediately reaches for Aerith to pick her up. "Out?"

"It seems like you have a lot of energy to run off. Unlike Zack."

"Zack!" Kairi giggles, clapping her hands. "Bash-bash-bash!" She likes the sound of the word and smacks his stomach and the empty air like she did the pots and pans. "Bash-bash-bash!"

Zack winces. "She's many things, but not a musical genius."

"Aren't you even going to ask where I got a job?"

"I'm sorry. Leaving aside the fact I'm now literally the _only_ one without gainful employment, where are you working?"

"At the local doctor's surgery. As a Healer."

Zack chokes. "What?"

Aerith's smile is brittle. "I've decided I'm not going to hide my powers anymore. Things are different here. It's time I stopped hiding who I am and what I can do, and started using them for the right reasons. I was given these abilities to _use_, not to let them go stale and only treat my friends when they get hurt. That's just selfish. There are others who need my help too, and it's time I faced up to my responsibilities. Plus it's extra money and it'll help contribute to the housekeeping." Her words have the ring of something practised many times on the way home. They trip too fast off her tongue.

When she's finished it takes a moment for Zack to realise she's waiting for a response. "I … congratulations, I guess. Are you sure about this?"

She sighs. It's a very deep sigh. Kairi lays her head against Aerith's shoulder and pats her arm. "In Hollow Bastion it was always my first impulse to hide what I can do because of how people might react. Here there's no fear of magic, or at least not to the same degree. I can be _useful_ and _honest_."

Zack tries to ignore the fact that this means she doesn't need him to protect her anymore – not for this, at least. Since they were kids he's sworn an oath to keep her safe and not let anyone hurt or try to punish her for her magic. It's yet another indicator that while in Hollow Bastion he was a hero, necessary and valued, here he's just a guy with an absurdly big sword and few employable skills beyond how to swing it. He's a hero in name only, here.

"At least try to look happy, Zack."

He pastes on a smile.

"That's just disturbing. You look like you ate something that tasted terrible." Aerith comes to sit next to him on the couch. "You're not happy about this at all, are you?"

"I'm just worried for you. We haven't been here very long and it's a pretty big step to take."

"Not for this world. For ours, maybe. Actually, no doubt about it – telling people I can heal them with magic would be a _huge_ thing in our world. But here … they already have Merlin, and they accept his magic. Magic isn't a big deal here. He says the reason Hollow Bastion isn't as tolerant is because they instinctively distrust anything that may make them question the cloaking spell and try to figure out more about the castle. It's like a defence mechanism."

"Have you told anyone else about this?"

She shakes her head. "Just you and Kairi." She wipes crumbs from the corner of Kairi's mouth. "Hear that, Kairi? I'm going to be a nurse."

"I thought you were going to be a Healer?" says Zack.

"I am. That's just my official title. Now, there's something else bothering you, isn't there?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me, Zack. You have your Worry Face on. Your eyebrows, your forehead." She gestures. "You try to hide it, but you can't hide Worry Face from me."

"Is this the part where I say 'you know me too well'?"

"I know when something's bothering you that you're trying not to talk about."

Zack sighs. It's easier to just talk about it, he knows, but he has his male pride. Still, one look at Aerith's concerned expression reminds him how she once moved her entire life out of her home and into his because she wouldn't give up trying to reach him when he needed it. "I feel useless," he confesses. "Ever since we got here, it's been like everyone's found some new role to fill and I … haven't. The Heartless haven't attacked once – not that I want them to, of course, but there aren't exactly any monsters trying to storm the town here, either. They don't have a wall because they don't _need _one. Let's face it, Aerith, apart from fighting monsters and defending Hollow Bastion, what am I good for? Traverse Town has Leon. It doesn't need me muscling in, trying to be the hero here as well, but nobody's willing to give me the chance to do anything else. I'm pretty surplus to requirements. Tifa found work within twenty-four hours of getting here, you've got a job, Cloud made work for himself with the skills he has, even though there aren't any other chocobos here, and even Yuffie's doing … something."

"Her Babysitting, Intelligence and Spy Service."

"What do I have to offer Traverse Town that it doesn't already have?"

Aerith stares at him for a long moment; long enough that Kairi gets bored and wants to get down from the couch. Aerith holds onto her, shushing her before speaking to Zack again. "What do you have to offer? I can't believe you just asked me that."

"Excuse me?" Zack is confused.

"We're a team, Zack. Maybe not officially, but we rely on each other. It wouldn't work with any one of us missing – not Tifa, not Cloud, not Yuffie, and certainly not you. Do you even understand how much comfort we draw from you just _being_ here? You're our strength. You're the one who's the voice of reason in an emergency. Do you think people in Hollow Bastion looked up to you just because you're Angeal's nephew?"

Zack drops his eyes. He'd be lying if he says it's never crossed his mind.

"They respected you because you're capable and honest and too competent not to be taken seriously, but also because that's not _all_ you are. You're not _just _a hero."

"What am I, then?"

"You're Zack Fair. That's all you need to be."

"Nice words, Aerith, but they won't put food on the table."

"Oh, stop thinking like you have to be a hunter-gatherer. There's no 'the man must provide' rule here, and you'd have several angry women ready to smack you if you tried to say otherwise. Who said the role you have to play revolves around just heroing and humdrum household routines, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Kairi."

Panic cuts its curves in Zack's face. "I'm really not getting the hang of this parenting thing, Aerith. I can't keep her clean for five minutes and she's wilder with me than she ever seems with you or the others."

"You're just exaggerating because you're frightened she'll get hurt on your watch. But that's not what I meant. I meant that we're supposed to keep Kairi safe until she's old enough to learn more about her powers, right? But as soon as she does, the Heartless are going to be drawn to her. We need to give her every advantage, and I'm certain Angeal once said something about knowledge being a good weapon."

"He did." Zack casts back through the years to recall Angeal's voice and lessons. He can almost feel the sweat on his face, slashing his way through complicated swordplay as Angeal fired off question after question about monsters, strategy and the brutal truth of what it takes to protect those you care about.

"Merlin and Leon are investigating the Heartless. It stands to reason they might be interested in finding out ways of not only defending against them, but perhaps stopping them from attacking entirely," Aerith gently suggests. "Merlin's already said he's interested in studying the Buster Sword to see if it has any connection to keyblades. He wouldn't turn you away if you said you wanted to help in other ways too."

Zack turns this idea over in his mind. It'd certainly be better than what he's currently doing: sitting at home feeling sorry for himself, sparring with Tifa and Cloud and stressing over bibs, crumbs on the carpet and dirty diapers. "I'll think about it."

"Good." Aerith leans her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes. "You're _our_ hero, Zack."

Cloud said that, once, a long time ago on the day Zack swore his oath. He never forgot it until they came here.

"It may be a giant cliché, but I hope you never forget that." Aerith opens her eyes again and, without lifting her head, frowns at Kairi. "Zack … did you realise her dress is on inside out and back-to-front?"

* * *

Cloud stares at the little creature and wonders whether this is a joke. He's not sure if it stares back, but the dark slits he assumes to be eyes are pointed in his direction.

"Is there a problem, kupo?" asks a squeaky voice.

Cloud swallows. "Um … no. Are you the ones who called for me?"

"We're the ones in need of your services, yes, kupo."

"My name's Cloud."

"We already know that – the mechanic told us, kupo."

"Uh, it's Cloud Strife, not kupo."

"Who said anything about kupo, kupo?"

Cloud decides he'd better leave that one alone and instead focuses on the matter at hand. "Do you need something delivered?"

"Why else would we call for a delivery boy, kupo?" The creature looks like a cross between a piglet, a bat and a child's stuffed toy. It produces a folded up piece of paper, flies up to perch on his chocobo's head and solemnly holds it out for Cloud to take. The chocobo determines it doesn't like this and tosses its head, leaving Cloud to snatch the paper before the piglet-thing flutters away again. "You are to take this to the mechanic, Captain Highwind, wait for him to read it and then bring back what he gives you, kupo."

"That's it?"

"You will be paid on your return, kupo."

Cloud studies the little creature. Despite the bizarre appearance it's civilised and polite. He can see several others peering around the door to their shop, bobbing red bobbles on their long stalks in view even when they whip their heads away like naughty children. He's never seen anything quite like them before, and he used to live next to _Barren Region_.

"What name should I give Captain Highwind?"

"Just tell him the moogles sent you, kupo. No doubt he will already know what we want when you say that; the note is more of a formality and to make sure _you_ know what you have to hand over when you return here, kupo. We're grateful for your services, but must urge you to be off now, kupo." The piglet-creature waves one stubby arm. "Have a safe journey, kupo."

"Uh, right." Cloud swings his chocobo around and starts off down the street, marvelling at the strangeness of Traverse Town's diverse inhabitants and wondering whether he'll ever get used to them all.

* * *

Tifa twirls around and launches into a series of rapid attacks. Her arms and legs are like bars of steel. Zack blocks each strike, but they reverberate through his body all the way down to his bones. He grits his teeth under her newest assault, ducking and countering with a few palm strikes of his own, but it's clear Tifa is master of this situation.

She comes back hard. He sees the kick coming, but too late. He can't block it. Almost superhumanly fast, Tifa's foot slams into his shoulder. Zack goes down on one knee with a grunt.

There's nothing unnecessary about the way she moves. She has sliced off every action she doesn't need like cutting the edges off mouldy cheese, leaving only the quickest way to bring an opponent down using minimal energy. Angeal trained Zack well, and he's learned even more through experience, but Tifa has a natural talent for this type of fighting. Despite their differences in size and weight, she's handing him his ass piece by bruised piece.

He reacts on instinct, dropping onto his back, air whooshing from his lungs as he avoids Tifa's finishing blow. He lifts his right leg, knee bent like a circus tumbler, and kicks out square at her stomach. She curls her spine to keep him from connecting but the move leaves him free to catch her wrists and use her own momentum to pitch her over his head. As soon as she's cleared him, he vaults to his feet and whips around.

Just in time for her impossible mid-air stretch-and-kick to catch him in the jaw.

When he comes around Tifa is standing over him, concern clear on her face. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to kick you so hard."

"Don't apologise," Zack says through his vigorously swelling jaw. She didn't dislocate it, though it feels like she popped it out and back in again a couple of dozen times while he was asleep. "I was the one who asked you not to hold back."

"But we were still just sparring. I just thought … I wasn't thinking. I got carried away."

He recalls the instinctive way her body went from one position to the next and silently agrees. It wasn't conscious thought motivating her, but something else. "How the heck do you _move_ like that?"

She grins, offering a hand to help him up. "Regular martial arts plus Zangan-Ryu."

"You weren't totally cutting loose, were you?"

Sheepishly, she admits she wasn't. "I've never _totally_ cut loose before, but I've come close. If I did I think I might destroy … lots. Losing control is the number one no-no to in Zangan-Ryu. It's all based around control, especially chi control – you know, the inner energy of every living creature. It's not actually supposed to be about combat. In Zangan-Ryu you learn to marshal your own chi and channel it into certain parts of your body, sort of like super-charging them. Theoretically it means you can mimic special abilities if you can fine-tune your chi control enough – enhanced strength, super-speed, stuff like that. I've never done it myself – I'm not nearly skilled enough to get to that sort of level – but it's possible. Master Zangan originally invented the technique as a form of self-defense, turning an opponent's strength against them by focusing on their chi and finding the places where their control is weakest."

"It sounds like a useful tool in a fight."

"Except against the Heartless." Her expression clouds. "They don't have any chi."

Zack processes the implications of this while his body works to locate each and every newly acquired ache and pain. He often spars with Tifa on the edge of town, not too far out but away from the cobbles and buildings were they can fight without worrying about property damage. He's the only one who's a real challenge for her, and likewise her for him. Cloud can fight, but he's always reluctant – despite a natural aptitude for swordplay Zack was surprised to find buried within his friend. Yuffie hates sparring unless there's a reward at the end. Neither of them even considers asking Leon. Zack prefers a sword but knows he has to keep his other skills honed too, and who better than a martial artist of Tifa's caliber to keep him on his toes?

He winces. Tifa frowns with concern. "You need Aerith to take a look at that. I may have loosened some teeth. If I hadn't pulled away in time I could've broken your neck."

He touches the swelling, imagining Aerith's stern lecture. She understands why they all need to train, despite the lack of Heartless. It's venting pent-up frustration at their situation as much as keeping themselves ready for battle. Sometimes talk is good, and sometimes it's better to punch something until either it breaks or you do. Aerith _does _understand, but that doesn't stop her telling them off when they come home bleeding.

Zack flexes his hands to make the tingling stop. "Man, I'm glad you're on _our_ side."

Tifa smiles. "Thanks."

* * *

Yuffie taps her foot. She taps her other foot. She taps both feet. Then, for a change, she flips onto her hands and taps her fingers. None of it makes the time go any quicker. She's just considering clawing off her own face and eating it to alleviate her boredom when she hears footsteps behind her.

"You're blocking my door."

Not 'what are you doing here?' or 'how come you're upside down' or even 'wow, did you miss dinner to make sure you got to speak to me?' which she _did_. Her stomach hates her for it, but since it keeps going topsy-turvy whenever Leon's around she figures it's fair payback.

"I am," she replies, craning her neck a little and digging her chin into her chest to peer up at Leon. "Wanna know why?"

"No."

"Spoilsport. We're going to a party."

"You're still blocking my door."

"You're coming too."

He pauses at that. "I'm not going to a party with you."

"Sure you are." Yuffie raises one arm to shake out the stiffness in her elbow, putting all her weight on her remaining hand. The wrist protests, but she was doing handstands and flick-flacks through trees when she wasn't much older than Kairi, and so is acutely aware of her own limits. "It'll be fun, and maybe you'll actually crack a smile for once."

"I'm not going to a party with you," he says again.

"Tough, because when I mentioned it to Aerith and Tifa they both thought it was a good idea. It's Ho-say … um … Carr … Carry-oh … ah, screw it. That little green parrot guy in the jacket and straw boater – which is a really strange outfit when you remember he doesn't wear any pants – he's leaving town and is having some shindig, and everyone's invited."

"Everyone?"

"Well … maybe not _everyone_. But we are, and he said to bring our friends, and you're a friend. Kind of. Close enough to cadge an invite, anyway. It'll be fun. You do know about _fun_, right? The kind that doesn't involve moping about like a wet weekend and plotting how best to kill Heartless? You _are_ allowed to think about other things, you know. Like parties and people and, y'know, stuff like that." Like me, she wants to think, but that'd be too pathetic for words, so there's no _way_ she'd ever think it. Nu-uh, never. Honest.

Leon stares at her. "Aerith and Tifa told you to invite me?"

"Actually it was my idea, they just agreed with me. You can show me your gratitude by being there – or even better, by walking there with us. You can be my date. I'm a pretty good date. I don't get drunk and drool on your shoulder all evening, and I know how to dance. I can even show you how."

Leon scowls. "I already learned how to dance," he snaps, and there's probably a reason he looks so angry when he says it. Then again there are probably unsaid reasons for a lot of what Leon says and does, but he's keeping schtum on everything.

Yuffie is half-convinced all the vitriol locked inside him will liquefy his insides, if it hasn't done so already. His lungs and liver and pancreas and all that other junk she can't remember the names of, all melting and swirling around the heart he's keeping whole just so the Heartless can't have it.

Yuck. What a freaking disgusting mental image.

"Then you won't have any problems." She bends at the waist, plants her feet on the floor and straightens up. "Phew. Head rush. So, I'll see you there. Don't be late, out, or hiding behind the couch, otherwise I'll send Tifa in to get you. Trust me; you want me to be your escort, not her if you make her late." She pauses. "Or _Aerith _will come and fetch you." She's testing the water, waiting for his response to gauge it against what she suspects.

Leon scowls and pushes roughly past Yuffie to get to his door.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a no."

"No it's not. You'll make Aerith cry!" Okay, this is getting weird. She never uses real names for this length of time. The urge to say 'Ponytail' and 'Teef' knocks instantly against the sides of her windpipe.

Leon pauses. "All right," he says, so grudging he's practically cudgelling her around the head with it. Then he shuts the door. Click. No goodbye or anything. Not even that slow blink he sometimes gives her when she's said something especially dippy.

Yuffie sticks her tongue out and links her hands behind her head with a sigh. She should've guessed it the first time she saw him spying on Ponytail in town. Leon plays his cards so close to his chest he has swallowed them, but actions holler, shriek and screech louder than words. The third time she spotted him lurking in Ponytail's wake, his frankly stalkerish behaviour led Yuffie to believe that Leon – Mr. Grr Get Offa My Lawn, if he had a lawn, which he doesn't, but the sentiment is the same – has a crush like a boulder landing on an unsuspecting mouse. And why wouldn't he? Ponytail is, she has to admit, a pretty good catch. Yuffie has just always assumed she's too wrapped up in Cloudy and Hero to ever feature on anyone's radar as a potential love interest. Turns out she was wrong.

Oh, hell.

Hell, because Yuffie's own stomach is still performing cartwheels of its own, even though Leon is on the other side of a door in a locked apartment (admittedly, not a real barrier to a ninja), and patently Not Interested even if he wasn't much older than her. Hell, because Yuffie isn't stupid, and she's noticed all the eddying hormones and loaded glances flying around like paper darts recently. Hell, because none of them are directed at her. She's surrounded by pretty and can't touch any of it.

Worse than hell. Damn! _Fuck_, even!

Fuckfuckfuckfuck-

"Yuffie?"

Fuckityfuckityfuckfuckfucktastic!

Yuffie turns, smiling brightly. "Hey, Cloudy. What's up?"

Cloud lingers in the stairwell behind her. He doesn't come onto the landing, as though not wanting to invade Leon's territory. "I heard Leon get home. Are you ready to come and eat now?"

Yuffie resists the urge to singsong 'Teeeeeef liiiiiiiikes youuuuu', instead stretching her arms above her head until her spine pops. Cloud winces at the sickening noise. He has a much more expressive face than Leon, though he's still just as oblivious about what emotions should be on it.

Suddenly Yuffie wants to kick both of them in the nads for reasons that aren't truly clear even to herself. She doesn't, mainly because that'd mean having to explain herself and she knows she couldn't get away with 'it seemed like a good idea at the time'.

"Yeah," she says instead, slinging an arm around Cloud's shoulders. "C'mon, I'm starving."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_Ah, Seu amante com o cabelo traseiro." José gives Aerith a knowing look. "Ou não."_

-- Babelfish Portuguese for "Ah, your lover with the black hair" and "Or not."

"_Sim, deve ocorrer depois que o sol parte."_

-- "Yes, it must occur after the sun goes away."

"_Eu serei triste se você não chega."_

-- I will be sad if you do not arrive."

"_Don't lie to me, Zack. You have your Worry Face on. Your eyebrows, your forehead." She gestures. "You try to hide it, but you can't hide Worry Face from me."_

-- Inspired by Anya in _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.

* * *


	21. Disaster at the Party

* * *

**20. Disaster at the Party**

* * *

Money isn't as tight as it could be, since Mr. Snoops rented them the apartment fully furnished and both Aerith and Tifa are used to running households on a budget. Since arriving, everyone has stuck mostly to the basics, unconsciously unwilling to admit this is likely a permanent arrangement. Every however, connection they make, every root they put down, all of it increases their links with Traverse Town as their new home, but they each still have only two or three sets of clothes, including the ones they arrived in and the loans from Leon. None of these are exactly party material.

"How do I look?"

Zack tries not to focus too much on Tifa's chest, which is being shown to great effect in a frankly stunning cream dress. The only short skirt he's ever seen her in was her school uniform, and she's far beyond a schoolgirl now. This leaves him with relatively few places to look that won't make her think he's ignoring her or potentially earn him a slap for being a pervert. He concentrates so hard on her eyes it's like he's trying to pull them out of her head with only the power of his mind.

"You look nice," he says truthfully.

Something heavy lands on his back. "She looks freaking _gorgeous_!" Yuffie corrects, hoisting herself onto his back by hooking her arms around his neck and her legs either side of his waist, forcing him to grab under her knees so they don't both overbalance. "Man, Teef, Highwind sure has some funky connections."

"I know." Tifa turns to admire herself. "I knew he'd been around for years and knows practically everyone, but even the dressmaker? She's the biggest harridan I've ever had the misfortune to meet, but she was like putty in his hands."

"Methinks Captain Grumpy-Pants is a hit with the laaaadies," Yuffie croons, drawing out the vowel so it stops just short of sleazy. "Or at least those with low standards." She still hasn't forgiven him for Aerith's lecture, closely followed by Tifa's lecture, closely followed by a double-whammy lecture from Cloud and Zack about the evils of stealing. "And we don't have to pay for them?"

"We're borrowing them for a small fee. So that means no acrobatics tonight, and you have to be careful with any food you eat. If you stain these outfits that lady will have your guts for garters – literally."

"Meh, she'd have to catch me first."

"… Yuffie…" Zack wheezes. "Can't … breathe …"

"What? Oh, sorry Hero." She unhooks herself and hops down to amble into the girls' bedroom. It's the same size as the one upstairs, since all apartments in this building follow the same basic layout, but everyone fits in much better here. Mr. Snoops was also kind enough to provide an extra bed, and to procure a baby's cot from somewhere that left him looking harassed and talking in a hushed voice about his wife and 'the threat of babies'.

Zack wonders what Mrs. Snoops must be like, to reduce her husband to a quivering wreck at just the thought of her. Mr. Snoops talked about her once in something other than terrified tones, but what he said didn't leave Zack with a much better impression. Zack has always considered marriage to be about love and commitment, and while he's not stupid or naïve enough to believe that's always the case, the idea of marrying someone who terrifies you just plain confuses him. Marrying for politics, arranged marriages, even marrying for money and status – those he can understand, but Mr. Snoops didn't marry for any of those. It strikes Zack that maybe he married because he was too petrified_ not _to.

"If you think Teef looks good, just wait until you see _me_," Yuffie promises, closing the door behind her.

Hollow Bastion parties were mostly formal affairs; old-fashioned and nothing like the things he's heard about in Traverse Town, where people organise street parties just to celebrate being alive. Zack reflects, not for the first, second, nor even third time, about how patchwork life was in Hollow Bastion. The magic distorting people's memories also made them blindly accepting of the impossible – and of their own hypocrisy. Their lives were a muddle of technology and old-fashioned superstition, with little rhyme or reason applied to what they would and wouldn't believe.

Zack remembers science lessons at school, learning about planets and the universe, and how the sun is really just a big ball of gas. He remembers dissecting leaves, reading books and eating up information even when pretending the pigeons screwing on next door's roof were more interesting. He also remembers how darkly suspicious people were of things beyond the protection of the wall. Children studied biology, maths and a few bits of philosophy, all of which was supposed to broaden their minds and develop their questioning skills. Then they toddled out of school into the same jobs their parents held, living and working and making families as if they'd never heard of any place but Hollow Bastion. Their curiosity died, their questions dried up and the blinkers that also kept them ignoring the castle went on.

It was as if they were sticking around like a herd of cattle awaiting the return of the farmer. Zack dimly remembers old plans he held of leaving to join the military, and how those plans simply dimmed the older he got, as the magic fastened its hold on his mind and tied him down in that mishmash of modern and antiquated living.

It wasn't even that people didn't understand what light bulbs were, or that there had to be more technology beyond their borders if the military were driving around in tanks full of explosive weapons; but somehow Hollow Bastioners prolonged their world view by just not thinking about anything that might disturb it. It was like anything outside their limited ideas of what was feasible simply ceased to exist. Once you left school science became a dirty word, the best way to get around had a saddle and its own heartbeat, and nobody thought it odd that Dr. Rui's surgery combined cutting-edge medicines with old wives' tales and superstition. Thinking back on how he could happily flip a switch without wondering what powered it, or where that power came from, makes him cringe. The castle unfailingly provided their electricity, their water, and everything else they needed for the simple price of their continued ignorance.

Everything comes back to the castle eventually, and the abandoned halls with their dark rooms and even darker secrets. What's going on in that place now? Zack isn't sure he wants to know.

"Is that what you're wearing?" Tifa's voice snaps him back to reality.

And this _is_ reality, bizarre and garish but far more real than Hollow Bastion's identity crisis. Zack glances down at himself. "Uh, sure. The dressmaker didn't have anything for men."

Tifa purses her lips in dissatisfaction. "It's very … casual." It's not a good word; not the way she says it.

"It's clean," he offers.

"It's not a good thing if that's the best compliment you can think of."

"I'm comfortable in it. I don't like getting dressed up." He's not just saying that, either. Zack has gone too long thinking about ease of movement and whether he can run and jump without difficulty in whatever he wears. He's pure practicality with only a smidge of vanity – if he can fight monsters in it, it's fashionable, and there's very little that would convince him otherwise.

Which is why when Aerith walks out of the bedroom he feels like he's wearing an unwashed potato sack. "Wow."

"Wow." Even Tifa is impressed. "Red really suits you."

Aerith smoothes invisible creases from the close-fitting dress. "Really? I thought it was too bright. I usually prefer pastels."

"No, it's lovely. Those colours always make you look washed out. You should wear red more often."

Zack swallows the sudden lump in his throat. "You look incredible," he manages, wondering why his pulse is suddenly much louder in his ears and suppressing the little voice that answers him. This is _Aerith_, one of his best friends. He's seen her in dresses before. It's practically all she wears.

But nothing like _this_ dress. Zack is as fashion-savvy as a sleeping tortoise, but the low-cut neckline and cinched waist uncoil something in his stomach that provokes a faint 'uh-oh' close to where his skull meets his abruptly ramrod spine.

Aerith smiles, but uncomfortably. "I feel like one of Kairi's crayons."

"Hm. Something's missing." Tifa examines her, and then steps up to yank the ends of the ever-present pink ribbon. It's threadbare from being worn all the time and rasps as it slides over itself, allowing Aerith's ponytail to unravel. Her hair falls in one huge hank, kinked into a wave where the ribbon was. Tifa fluffs up the flattened bit, using her fingers to comb out some of the knots and fan it around Aerith's shoulders. By the time she's done Aerith somehow looks completely different, even though the changes are actually only slight.

She pats the back of her head, as if looking for the missing ponytail. "Okay, now I feel _completely_ like a dog's dinner."

"Don't be stupid. You look fabulous." Tifa spins her around. "Doesn't she, Zack?"

The pounding in Zack's ears is very insistent. "What?"

"She looks good, right?"

"Uh…" He swallows. "You both look great."

"See? I told you that you look fabulous." Tifa pats Aerith on the back, congratulating her for something Zack's not entirely sure of. "It's fun to dress up once in a while. Don't you feel better for wearing something different?"

Aerith hesitates, glancing at Zack with yet another expression he doesn't understand. He's beginning to feel adrift in all the oestrogen and special female codes. "Yes," she says, eventually but firmly.

Tifa nods. "When's Cloud getting back?"

"He should be home by now." Aerith frowns. "He and Kairi both."

"That's the cue for a knock at the door."

They wait expectantly.

Tifa sighs. "Or not."

The bedroom door crashes open, hits the wall and rebounds. They hear a distracted, "Fuck!" as it hits Yuffie in the knee and she hobbles into the room. "Not the dramatic entrance I was going for."

"I don't know," Tifa grins. "It was pretty dramatic. I thought ninjas had lightning-fast reflexes?"

"We do."

"And yet you were defeated by a door."

"You're asking for a shuriken to the face, Teef." Yuffie straightens to pirouette on one foot. Her skirt is long and flowing, and it fans out around her, then twists to embrace her tiny shape with its own momentum when she stops. It's actually more a gown than a dress – nothing like Zack has ever imagined her wearing.

Yuffie likes showing off a lot of skin, or at least never thinks about covering up more than is on view. He's used to seeing her long skinny legs and (considering how much food she eats) incongruously flat stomach. Her bare shoulders are as familiar to him as his own toes.

In contrast to this, Yuffie has chosen to cover up as much skin as she can, coupling her ensemble with gloves that reach past her elbows, a high neckline and a fan that dangles from a cord looped around her wrist. It's the fan that most makes him double-take. It's such an un-Yuffie-like object – it doesn't have a razor edge, can't be turned into (or used to launch) a deadly missile, couldn't stab through a wet piece of paper, and would break if she tried to hit anyone with it. It puts Zack in mind of a little kid playing at dressing up and grabbing everything it has seen adults wear, whether or not it's all appropriate.

The three girls make a full complement of hemlines – Tifa's stretches to mid-thigh, Aerith's is calf-length, while Yuffie's grazes the floor. Their colours, too, are individual; Aerith is vibrant in red, Yuffie strangely flamboyant in deep green, and Tifa's dark hair and eyes provide a neat contrast to the delicate cream of her dress. It's like being in a nest of some previously undiscovered breed of clucking, fussing, swishing animals. Zack's wearing-a-potato-sack feeling intensifies until he half wants to check his pecs to makes sure he hasn't turned into a girl himself.

"Bow to my feet, lesser mortals," Yuffie proclaims. She takes one look at Aerith's hips and Tifa's chest and deflates like a balloon at a hedgehog convention. "Aw fuck! Way to take the wind out of my sails, guys. Hey, is that a _slit_ in your skirt, Ponytail?" She pretends to swoon. "Little Miss Conservative is showing leg above her knees – the apocalypse must be nigh!"

"Don't use that word," Aerith replies.

"Which word?"

"You know which one."

"Maybe I don't," Yuffie insists wickedly. "Or maybe I do. Why shouldn't I use it? Cid uses it all the time."

"Cid is also a crabby fusspot with a paunch and five o' clock shadow at nine in the morning," Tifa shoots back. "Do you want those as well?"

"Why not? It might be fun to scratch myself and spit and nobody could say anything about it." Yuffie smirks and strikes a pose that's pure Cid. Given her current appearance, it's more than a little disturbing. "'You fucking kids stay outta my stuff or I'll twist off your fingers and use 'em to unclog my fucking drains'." She snorts back a lugie and makes as if to spit it onto the floor. The mouthful muffles her cry as Aerith and Tifa both lunge at her.

"Don't you dare!"

"You spit that and you can forget going to any party!"

They grapple for a moment, a mass of pretty shoes, pretty dresses and un-pretty exclamations.

"Ewewewewewewew! You made me swallow it!" Yuffie shrieks.

"Serves you right." Tifa pushes hair from her eyes. It has come out of the bun she twisted it into, and she helps it on its way by impatiently tugging out the few grips keeping it in place. "Phooey. It took me ages to pin all this into place."

Yuffie shoves her. Tifa totters in her unfamiliar shoes, grabbing at Aerith for support. Aerith, caught unawares, overbalances with arms windmilling. They crash to the floor in a tangled heap, landing on top of Yuffie, who squeals. Amidst the yelps and thrashing limbs a single shoe flies through the air.

Of course, _this_ is the perfect moment for the door to open. Cloud walks in just in time for the shoe to hit him. He falls like a marionette with all its strings cut. When he sits up again there's a large red mark in the middle of his forehead.

Kairi stares at him. She's still holding onto his hand and yet, unsteadier on her feet than Cloud, she's the one still upright. "Fall down," she states solemnly. "Cowed fall down." She mispronounces his name slightly, but she's still understandable. She looks at the rest of them and says again, "Cowed fall down," pointing like they can't see for themselves.

"She wanted to try walking up the stairs on her own, just holding my hands," Cloud says, blinking at the scene before him. "It's why we're a little late. What's going on?"

"It's that girl-on-girl action you two strapping men have been dreaming about since you started living with such gorgeous examples of feminine loveliness," Yuffie says from somewhere in the pile. Aerith and Tifa hastily extricate themselves and Yuffie sits up, her hair askew but her leeriest grin firmly in place. "For the record, Ponytail's boobs are just as squashy as Teef's, especially when they're all in your face trying to suffocate you."

Aerith's face flames until she's almost the same colour as her dress. Tifa blushes too, but accompanies it with a not-as-gentle-as-it-could-be kick to Yuffie's exposed calf. Yuffie kicks back and then flips to her feet in a rustle of skirts.

"I thought we were supposed to keep these things clean?" she says.

"We are. This was a fluke." Tifa pats herself down and inspects the pale fabric of her dress for dirt. Remarkably, there isn't any, something attributable to the thorough job Aerith and Zack have done of the housecleaning. Zack may be untidy, but when Aerith chases after you with a duster, you learn to just take the stupid duster.

Kairi releases Cloud's hand to pick up the shoe. She wobbles over to Zack, completely under her own power, and holds it up for him to take. "Shoe," she tells him in a now-don't-you-forget-this-because-it's-very-important tone of voice.

"She's walking!" Tifa exclaims. "She's walking on her own!"

"You haven't seen that before?" Yuffie asks.

"No." Tifa deflates.

Apparently unaware of this, Kairi points with one fat little hand. "_Shoe_."

"Uh, thank you, Kairi," says Zack.

"Shoe." Satisfied, she nods and walks back to Cloud, falling down only once and not letting it deter her from her goal. She laboriously straightens her legs, walking her hands backwards towards her own feet until she can wobble upright again, and then completes her journey.

Zack looks down at the shoe. It's a strappy red thing with a stubby heel and closed toes. There's only one person it can belong to.

"That's mine," Aerith confirms, coming over to retrieve it. Her walk is lop-sided as she lurches on her one remaining heel. "I'm useless on these things. I don't know why I can't just wear boots like usual."

"Because this is a shindig, and you freaking well dress up for a shindig." Yuffie holds up a palm at Tifa. "I said freaking, that's not cussing, so neener neener neener."

"I wasn't going to say that." Tifa stares at Yuffie. "I was going to ask whether that's snot smeared all across your cheek."

"What?" Yuffie touches both sides of her face. "Aw, man! Eeeeew! It's in my _hair_ too! Grossgrossgrossgrossgrossgross…" She disappears into the bathroom at a surprisingly fast pace, considering the length of her dress.

"Shoe," Kairi punctuates from the doorway, although this time it means 'Cloud, get up, you're blocking the door and I want to go out again.' She tries to push past him towards freedom, but he picks her up as he gets to his feet. "Shoe!" Kairi wails. "Shoooooe!"

"Nope, you're not going out again until you're dressed for José's party."

She immediately brightens. "José!"

"Her clothes are laid out for her," says Aerith. "Tifa, can you check to make sure Yuffie didn't leave anything on the bedroom floor?" The last time Cloud gave Kairi a bath and went to fetch her nightclothes, he found Yuffie's underwear scattered about and blushed so hard he actually burst a blood vessel in one eye.

Tifa verifies that the way is clear and Cloud goes off to complete his duties. They're working on the idea that if they indulge Kairi's desire to walk, she'll be tired enough to fall asleep without fussing too much and sleep so deeply they can stay at the party with her. To this end, Kairi's day has been a non-stop round of outings and disallowed naps. She's a little grumpy, but so delighted at the thought of seeing José, who always gives tickles her with one of his own feathers to keep, that there haven't been too many temper-tantrums.

"Zack?"

Zack looks back at Aerith. "Yes?"

"My shoe?"

"Oh! Yes. Sure." He bends down.

"Actually, I just meant for you to hand it to me."

"This works too. Lift your foot up." He slides the sandal-thing onto Aerith's foot, but freezes when he pushes a little too hard and she braces one hand on his head to stop herself falling over again. It's ungainly, and she pulls out a few hairs, but it also means his face is pressed almost to her stomach.

A peculiar sensation uncoils in Zack's own belly, like butterflies and that borderline awareness when you're sick that you may be about to throw up. He's entirely too aware of her soap-and-flower scent, and the sound of her breathing just above his head – utterly, jarringly, _worryingly_ aware.

"Are you all right, Zack?" Tifa asks. "What's taking so long?"

"Aerith's making me bald."

"Whoops." Aerith releases his scalp and he stands, rubbing at it to cover his alarm.

He looks at Aerith, recognises the face he's looked at for most of his life. He knows the feel of those hands smacking the back of his head and what her voice sounds like when she's thoroughly ticked off. He's seen her cry, seen her at her lowest ebb, lied to her about the taste of her tea and had unfortunate snowball fights that left them both smelling of unseen dog faeces. He has argued with her, teased her, been exasperated with her, and even thought he hated her for being so bossy and sucking the fun out of everything when they were kids. She's his best friend along with Cloud. He's lived with her for years, for goodness' sake. There's no mystery to her, she's just … Aerith.

So what's with the sudden butterflies?

"_Are_ you okay?" she asks, concerned.

"I'm fine. I … guess I'm just going to miss José more than I thought."

Aerith frowns – and well she might, since he knows José mostly in a peripheral way – but nods. "He's certainly made being in Traverse Town a lot easier. The transition between Hollow Bastion and here would've been much different if we hadn't had him to talk to. Cid, Merlin and Leon, too." She nibbles her lower lip. "I hope they don't want to leave as well."

"Fat chance," Tifa snorts. "Cid's like a turnip – all root. It'd take being put into another meteor shower and forcibly thrown _out _of this place to move him again. Intolerant grump."

Neither Aerith nor Zack are fooled by her words. Tifa has grown closer to Cid than any of them, and he seems to care a lot for her in return – albeit in his own rude, bad-tempered way. He'd sooner chew the tail off a skunk than admit it, but he does have elements of 'gruff pushover' in him after all where Tifa is concerned. Zack gets the feeling she's unconsciously using him as a father-figure substitute, and despite his faults Cid gets Zack's vote as a better candidate than Mr. Lockheart. He's not sure what Cid gets out of the relationship, but so far it's working, and Zack can't see any reason to rock the boat.

"You can't predict other people," Aerith points out. "We've not been here long enough to know _anyone_ enough to guess how they'd react in any given situation."

"Cid would swear at it," Tifa says firmly. "Whatever else he might do, he'd cuss it for all he's worth."

Neither Zack nor Aerith can argue with this.

"It feels like we've been here far longer than we actually have," Aerith muses. "Doesn't it feel like that to you? It's almost like Hollow Bastion and everyone there was just …" She waves her hands. "It's echoey, like it was all a dream. José is a giant _parrot_ who walks about like a person and smokes a cigar. When did that stop being impossible? When did it stop even being incredible? When did it become _normal_ to see a dragon and say good morning to it instead of running away? Don't you guys ever wake up and wonder which part of your life is the dream part? Because sometimes I find it hard to tell the difference."

"Maybe that's the spell over Hollow Bastion talking," Tifa suggests. "It might be worth talking to Merlin about it – that magic messed with our minds and with the memories of everyone old enough to know what the town was like before it was cast. We can't be too careful where that stuff's concerned."

"It'd be useful if Merlin was going tonight," says Zack, "but he said he doesn't know José as more than a face in the street."

"And he hates parties even more than Cid does," Tifa adds.

Yuffie marches out of the bathroom. Her hair is pinned into as elaborate a style as she can manage, which isn't very elaborate at all. The short locks stick up at odd angles, coaxed into grips and protesting loudly at such ham-fisted treatment.

"I'm all de-snotted and ready for action!"

Tifa nods towards the closed bedroom door. "We're just waiting for Cloud and Kairi."

"Cool. I'll fetch Grumpy Guts." Yuffie wrenches open the front door and beetles upstairs, fists bunched in the front of her skirt to keep herself from tripping over and knocking out all her teeth.

Cloud and Kairi are ready when she comes back, grinning in a slightly manic way.

"He's not there?" Aerith says gently.

"He's a bas-… man," Yuffie replies, eyeing Kairi. "You men all need a kick in the crotch to remind you to be where you say you'll be when you say you'll be there. Hero, are you really going to take that big-ass sword with you to a freaking _party_? You and that thing have an unnatural connection. Do you hump it in private or something?"

Zack, long used to Yuffie's babbling, brushes it aside.

Finally they all make their way out of the building and set off for the location José gave them, alternately jabbering and trip-trapping across the cobbles and down the darkening streets. Evening comes early in Traverse Town, regardless of season, casting everything into eerie twilight that looks like it needs a fog to soften its hard edges. It's the same in the morning – pre-dawn grey light clings to the world, allowing the sun through with resentful slowness.

They hear before they see; a mixture of whoops and music closely followed by clapping hands. It feels like José has invited the whole of Traverse Town. Things are in full swing when Zack and his little posse arrive. The street is lined with trestle tables covered in food and bowls of clear orange liquid. Bunting has been hung from the streetlights and colourful streamers sway in the breeze made by breathlessly dancing bodies. Near the fountain a small area has been cleared and some residents have brought out instruments to replace the recorded music. Zack recognises a few of them, but others are from worlds where 'music' has a very loose interpretation and alternately resemble plumbing and small mangled animals. At least one sounds like it too, but the overall effect is festive. Clearly José doesn't want anyone to mourn him going.

"Wow," Tifa breathes.

Cloud eyes a large red and yellow paper horse, dangling from a streetlamp, which someone is trying to hit with a piece of wood while blindfolded. "Is this what parties are supposed to look like? Hollow Bastion was sure missing out."

"Pretty!" Kairi cries, as the horse explodes in a shower of flowers and sweets. "José! José!"

"Boa vinda, little sugar lump." José disentangles himself from a crowd of people and ambles over. He's still wearing his straw boater, but has swapped his regular jacket for a red one that clashes horribly with his feathers. "Ah, Miss Aerith! We are a matching pair tonight!"

Aerith smiles. "Hello, José."

"You all look wonderful," he beams at them, until his eye falls on Cloud and Zack. "We are aiming for casual chic this evening, my friends?"

"We, uh, didn't know what to wear," Zack says, half apologetic. "We're not used to parties like this."

"Then allow me to educate you." José grabs his hand and spirits him away into the thick of the festivities. "Come, come, everyone! The night is young and I wish to enjoy my time with you all."

* * *

The night _is _still young, but Aerith feels about a hundred years old. She finds a seat on the fringe of the crowd and sinks gratefully into it. The others are all still laughing and dancing – mostly badly, since there aren't any steps to speak of and they're just moving as the bizarre music takes them. She spots one or two glints of martial arts in Tifa's movements, but they're stylish when masked in cream fabric and a carefree smile. Everyone looks so alive and free – the first time they've all been so honestly happy since they got to Traverse Town. It makes Aerith happy too, even though these stupid shoes are killing her.

"First time in heels?"

She turns to a woman who has also sought refuge from the crush of bodies, though her reason is more obvious. Her belly is swollen with pregnancy.

"You're new in town, right?" the woman asks with a friendly smile.

"Relatively," Aerith replies.

"I think I've seen you around. You have a daughter, right?"

Aerith has given up sputtering when people say this. Despite the different eye and hair colour, and the fact their faces look nothing alike, most of those who spot her with Kairi assume they're related. Given that, if Aerith ever does have children, she'd want them to be like Kairi, she's not offended. "She's not actually my daughter; we just ended up here together and kind of adopted each other."

"We?"

Aerith nods at her friends. Cloud is holding Kairi's hand in one of his and play-acting a tango. He's so much better with her than anyone suspected, though with his natural gentleness maybe they should've. Kairi is happy to boss him about and he's happy to take it. Beside them, Yuffie gyrates like her limbs have been snapped off and sewn back on too loosely. She wiggles her fingers in Kairi's face. Kairi tips back her head in a laugh that's swallowed by the noise of the crowd.

"She's adorable. Is that her father with her?"

"No, we're none of us related."

The woman nods, but there's a sadness to it, and the way her hand slides over her abdomen causes Aerith to wonder whether her own family are with her. So many people in Traverse Town are here because they've lost their worlds, Aerith reminds herself, and they all have stories of people they've lost.

"I'm Aerith."

"Chicha. I recognise your name. People talk about your group a lot. It's unusual for so many to survive this far. Usually there are only one or two survivors when a world dies. I've heard some pretty strange rumours about how so many of you lived to tell the tale. It's nice to find out you're pretty normal – no second heads or antennae or anything." Her smile is tired but genuine. Aerith finds herself liking this woman. Chicha reminds her of Elmyra. They have the same kind of innate motherliness and wry humour. "So what world are you from?"

"Does every world have a name?"

"Mine doesn't. Didn't." Chicha sighs. "Kuzco calls it Kingdom in the Sun, but I've never liked that name. I remember rainy days so fierce they nearly washed my whole village away down the mountain, but he has a pretty narrow point of view. To him, his kingdom _was_ the whole world. I guess that's what comes from being a selfish teenager, though I think living with me here is wearing down his rough edges now."

"Kuzco?"

"In the flesh," says a nasal voice by Aerith's shoulder.

Aerith turns and jolts at the sight of a creature with four shaggy legs and a ridiculously shaped neck and head. Its face is only inches from her own. The startling intelligence in its broad eyes changes to irritation, judging by the way its tail flicks from side to side. The closest she's ever seen to something like it before is a nameless monster that once tried to scale Hollow Bastion's outer wall despite its cloven hooves. Angeal took care of that one, but this one seems much more harmless.

"Who's the chick, Chicha?"

"This is Aerith, one of the new bunch."

"Really?" The creature squints at her. "She doesn't _look_ abnormal. Hey, baby, how'd you like to dance with a studly llama-emperor?"

"Llama-_emperor_?" Aerith repeats, envisioning an entire empire of these creatures. She's gotten used to animals who walk upright like humans, but this is a new one and she's still processing being talked to be the lovechild of a donkey and a rag mat.

"Kuzco, we've talked about this," Chicha scolds. "You're not an emperor anymore. You haven't been for a long time."

"But I _am_ still a llama," he pouts. "What's up with that, anyway? How come you haven't found me a cure yet?"

"Because I've been a little busy being _heavily pregnant_."

He snorts. "Like that's an excuse."

"You could always ask Merlin yourself."

"He insulted me."

"You ate one of his books. One of his expensive _magic_ books."

"Hello – I'm a _llama_! It's what I do. I can't help it. It's part of the whole total-omnivore gig."

"Excuse me," Aerith interrupts. Their banter sounds like it's been enacted many times before. "You know Merlin?"

"Who _doesn't_ know that old coot?" the llama grunts. "You do realise most of Traverse Town's refugee population stick around because they hope a powerful wizard like him will be able to get them home someday, right? Thicky McThick and the Thickoes don't get that their worlds don't _exist_ anymore to get home _to_."

Chicha winces. "Thank you, Kuzco, for once again being the height of sensitivity."

"What?" He glances between the two of them. "_What_? At least lifting my curse is _possible_. I'm not living with false hope."

"Me neither, but remember when we talked about being sensitive to other people's feelings?"

"We have a lot of conversations where you tell me I'm an ignorant jerk with the compassion of a bent horseshoe. Refresh my memory about which one you mean. And while you're doing that, remember to mention how I'm living with you to help lighten the load when you finally drop the sprog."

"It's not due for a while. I could remember to mention how you're mooching off me until then."

"And I could remember to mention how opposable thumbs would be really handy for when it _does_ finally happen."

Aerith's head whirls. "I'm thirsty. I think I need something to drink." She gets up, intending to fetch one from one of the bowls of orange liquid. "Would either of you like something?"

"Actually, that'd be lovely," Chicha replies.

"Not me." Kuzco raises a front hoof in a very human gesture. "Apparently punch makes a llama's digestive system do a great impression of a whirlwind. I had a bucket of water before. Plus, can't hold a glass." He shoots a look at Chicha. "No thumbs."

* * *

Cloud watches Aerith detach herself from her strange new friends. He recognises the woman from when he has travelling around town making deliveries, and the creature with her can often be seen pacing around, muttering to itself, eating weeds and then spitting them out again. They're the only survivors from their world and Cloud feels sorry for the woman, faced with raising a child alone in a strange land. He should've known Aerith would draw her to them, or be drawn to them.

"This party is pretty busy," Zack comments. They lost sight of José after he showed them around and introduced them to people whose names and faces they instantly forgot. As host, José's duties extend beyond just them. He's a popular guy, judging by all those who've come to see him off. Or maybe this party is just an excuse to enjoy themselves.

"Nothing like back home." Cloud is vaguely surprised that he can say this without the usual stab of homesickness. Is Hollow Bastion fading from his heart so quickly?

"I keep thinking I'm going to accidentally stab somebody," Zack goes on, gesturing at the Buster Sword on his back. "Too many people too close together."

"It pays to always have a weapon to hand."

They both turn to see Leon, who is impervious to the dancing around him. It's like he's been transplanted into the setting without his consent and, inasmuch as he _can_ look uncomfortable, he does. H e holds his gunblade like it can protect him from the swelling happiness.

"Squall!" Yuffie launches herself at him, clasping her arms around his neck. "Wow, you actually turned up. My flabber is gasted."

"It's Leon," he snaps, but the words die on his lips when he looks over the top of her head.

Tifa, abandoned by Yuffie, slips between people to follow her and join them. Her pale dress is conspicuous against the backdrop of other colourful partygoers. Her hair brushes her shoulders, looking tousled but not scruffy. Tifa has always had an ability to look great no matter what she wears, Cloud thinks.

Leon's eyes widen. He looks openly stunned. "Rin-"

A scream pierces the air.

The dancing falters. So does the music. The scream comes again, louder this time because of the sudden quiet. It's thin, terrified, and comes from within the crowd.

A woman points to the top of the fountain. "Heartless!" she screams.

A stampede would be more organised than the party crowd when it moves. The sight of those first disc-like eyes and twitching feelers sparks a hundred terrible memories – all those who have been attacked by Heartless, lost loved ones to them, and eventually seen their worlds die because of them. Just talking about them alternately stirs hatred and glacial fear. Those who have always lived in Traverse Town have heard enough about Heartless to also panic. The effect of their sudden appearance is both electric and devastating.

Within seconds the party has broken up and people are running in all directions, unmindful of whatever is in their way. Tables are turned over, decorations tumble, and more than one body stumbles, to be caught under the rush of feet. The screaming is almost an afterthought.

"Hey!" Cloud yelps, abruptly separated from his friends. He's swept along and can't even see Zack, whom he was nearest to. Instinctively he covers Kairi's head and works to keep her protected from sharp elbows. In their terror nobody is careful of a single child.

Cloud hears a roar and sees Leon scaling the side of the fountain, using the stone carvings as footholds. He swings his gunblade up and lays into the first Heartless with a ferocity that borders on crazed.

"Cloud! Kairi!" Tifa works her way through the crowd towards them, knocked sideways several times but somehow keeping her feet. She ploughs into Cloud and propels him to the edge, where the rushing bodies are fewer.

They each press their backs against the wall, knowing they should also be running but scanning for their friends. Tifa is uncomfortably close. Cloud can feel her breathing. Some of her hair gets into his mouth.

"Did you see where Zack went?" he asks. Kairi whimpers in his arms and he shushes her, stroking her head and pressing her against his chest and the comforting thrum of his heartbeat. It's what his mother used to do for him when he was small, and it's worked before when Kairi is upset at bedtime. She quietens a little, but the commotion is obviously terrifying her.

Or maybe it's the sight of the Heartless that has her shivering and burying her face in Cloud's shirt.

"I lost him and Yuffie when everyone went wild," Tifa shouts above the noise.

Leon roars again. They look up to see him knocked from his perch by the sheer number of Heartless pouring out of the empty air. A green smudge bounces up the fountain, swinging a folding chair. Yuffie cracks a bunch of Heartless with it. The force of the blow makes them to explode. She twists around, opening the chair and slamming it shut like a mousetrap around those attacking Leon. Unencumbered, he grabs a stone horse's head and swings himself around to land beside her, and they swat and slice like a single creature with four legs and two heads.

It's not enough, though.

Heartless decant into the fountain's base like water. They're so slow, but they move with conviction as they clamber over the side and swing their antennae to seek out prey. People injured by the frantic crowd try to crawl away on all fours or lay on the floor, moaning. The Heartless aim for these first.

Something black and silver streaks across the cobbles. As the first wave turn to dust, the thing has already moved on to the second, faster than the naked eye can follow. It takes a moment and a brief pause for Cloud to realise it's Zack. Cloud's mouth falls open. He has never seen his friend move like that before.

Zack also looks shocked when he finally halts, holding the Buster Sword ready and glancing around at the settling piles of black dust. His mouth moves in the beginning of question: "What the-"

One of the fallen people disappears, a stray Heartless's hand buried up to its elbows in his chest. It shudders and splits, another Heartless peeling out of its spine. They bump feelers for a moment, establishing contact, or maybe communicating through touch since they have no mouths. Then they turn on Zack.

Lunging forward, Zack makes a great diagonal sweep that cleaves through several Heartless, including the two moving towards him. Others are also coming towards him, but most chase the crowd – easier prey to swell their numbers so they can take on someone who actually fights back.

Even as fear for Zack's safety stabs into him Cloud realises that he, Kairi and Tifa have to move. It would be too dangerous to expose Kairi to close-quarters fighting. She's small and vulnerable, and it's up to them to keep her safe. Aerith would never forgive him if he put her ahead of Kairi, but Cloud's gaze still rakes over the scene, searching for the only member of their group he hasn't yet seen.

He spots Aerith when the animal in front of her yelps with a human voice. Aerith darts forward, away from the pregnant woman she's been shielding, and whaps the attacking Heartless away from the llama using an empty punch bowl. The glass shatters, shards dulled by black dust. Having lost her only weapon, Aerith returns to supporting the woman. Their escape is hindered by the woman's difficult breathing and the way she keeps clutching at her belly. Cloud is instantly transported back to the day in the marketplace when Anemone Caspian went into labour.

He's torn. Part of him wants to shove Kairi into Tifa's arms and go to Aerith, but another part of him knows this would be a stupid idea. Yet another part of him wants to go to Zack and Yuffie, even though they can obviously take care of themselves.

Kairi clings desperately to his neck, whimpering. He tries to balance impulse and reason in his head and comes out with a hodgepodge of both, equally laced with self-reproach like a spiked bowl of punch. "Tifa, Aerith needs help."

Tifa follows the line of his pointing finger. "But…" she starts until she sees his eyes. He's begging her and she can't refuse him. "Can you get Kairi away on your own?"

Cloud nods and Tifa takes off, vaulting over the debris without a thought of her short skirt. Halfway there she grinds her shoes against a particularly large cobblestone, snapping the heels off so she can go faster. Her dark hair streams behind her, and it's this that Cloud keeps seeing as he holds tight to Kairi and runs in the opposite direction to his friends.

* * *

Blood pounding and sword feverish in his hands, Zack cuts his way through the Heartless trying to escape the fountain. Above him, Leon and Yuffie dance over the stone carvings. Zack has never thought of furniture as a good weapon before, but Yuffie uses her chair to devastating effect. Leon's expression shifts between grim and bared-teeth fury, the most concrete emotion Zack has ever seen on him. Leon uses his gunblade like an extension of his arm, but his movements are still solid and human.

Zack can feel his connection with the Buster Sword like a sparkling explosion. It's the same bond he always feels, nestling in the back of his mind and flaring up whenever he uses the sword, but so much more _intense_. The heat of battle has set all his nerve endings alight, as though holding each one in a candle flame until they convulse. His feet move him where he needs to be sooner than his mind can register where that is. His grip on the hilt crackles with energy. He moves faster, leaps higher, slashes more devastatingly than should be possible. He's _alive_ with the power of the sword. Heartless fall all around him, and still he keeps going, seeking, slashing, _killing_. This is what the sword was made for, to kill and kill and kill –

No it isn't, it's for protecting, not mindless destruction. He swore to Angeal he'd use his training to protect people. He's a hero, not an assassin.

But it's so _good _at this; surely this is what it was forged for, before nobleness and all that crap got in the way –

No, no, that's not right, can't be right, mustn't be right ...

_Angeal!_

Zack's thoughts are a scrambled mess of combat, Angeal's code, and his ties with the sword, until it feels like _he's_ the weapon, and could cleave apart his enemies with his bare hands if he just reached out to touch them. Battle-awareness slams into him from all sides, assaulting his senses until he almost suffers white-out. For a second he imagines Angeal beside him, but when he looks there's nothing there. He's confused, but his body keeps moving with unerring accuracy.

"Aerith!"

Who's that? Who just shouted?

A pale figure, blurring in his peripheral vision – female in a white dress. Who was wearing the white dress? A darker figure leaps down from above; man-shaped, not Heartless. Zack recognises them both, but proper awareness slips away from him. They're not enemies and his brain stops discerning after that.

Zack blinks, aware he needs to refocus his mind. For a moment the unthinkable happens and he falters, swaying under the force of the Buster Sword's magic. His senses are blitzed. He's bewildered, unused to the sudden strength of the link. His heart jackhammers. The pause almost costs him his life when a Heartless, as if it can hear the thundering, comes up behind him and fastens onto his back.

"Hyaaaaaaa! Death from above!" Yuffie lands on top of it, squashing it and popping its head with her heels. Her long skirt has been shredded and the trailing bits torn off – probably by her, the tears are too even to be accidental. She's wearing a pair of shorts underneath.

Bizarrely, given the seriousness of the situation, Zack thinks, _How Yuffie. _

"Yo, Hero, quit spacing out or you're dead."

"I…" He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. His hands tremble with the need to fight, but he realises with a jolt that there are only a handful of Heartless left. Did he do that? His throat is clogged and Yuffie's face blackened with a film of dust.

She twirls her folding chair like a bo-staff. "I'm so good it's scary," she crows, eyeing the remaining Heartless. "Ladies first." She takes several steps back, and then launches herself at them in a great running leap.

Zack's muscles clench to follow but he forces himself to take stock of the situation first. A few partygoers lay horribly still, and there's a knot of people near the overturned refreshment tables. Tifa and Aerith are among them, unharmed, with Leon competing with Tifa's ready stance like a knight defending a cluster of princesses. A semi-familiar glow flares above them – Aerith's magic at work, although it's different than usual. Zack wonders who's been hurt and why there's a flower –

"Fair!" Leon barks. "Behind you!"

Zack doesn't even think. He swings his arms in a smooth arc. The Heartless falls in two rapidly dissolving pieces.

Now isn't the time for sight-seeing, but the magic of the Buster Sword is strong within him. Zack feels sick under its insistent pressure. His ears pound with his own pulse and his feet feel kind of numb. There's a dull ache in his head and chest, but the pain feels far away, like he's not totally connected to himself.

When the last of the Heartless finally fall, so does he. On his knees, the hilt of his sword pressed between his palm and the ground, he noisily throws up before collapsing onto his side, mind throbbing and vision frayed at the edges. He hears someone call his name but can't identify who it is. His heart throws itself against the inside of his ribcage. It _hurts_.

And then suddenly the insistent beating … stops.

Darkness swamps him.

"_**ZACK**_!"

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_"Mine doesn't. Didn't." Chicha sighs. "Kuzco calls it Kingdom in the Sun, but I've never liked that name."_

-- _**The Emperor's New Groove **_was originally called **_Kingdom in the Sun_ **as a working title. True fact!

* * *


	22. An Impossible Promise

* * *

**21. An Impossible Promise**

* * *

Aerith is disturbed by the feel of Zack's mind. She's also disturbed by how aware she is of it. Her senses felt sharpened when she pressed her hands to Chicha's belly in the street, but it's only now, without battle raging around her, that she can grasp how sensitive her powers have suddenly become.

Zack's mind feels like part of it has unravelled. She weaves together what she can with golden thread, repairing the tangled cells like she used to sew up holes in his clothes after he came back from monster hunting. She doesn't know how to heal minds like she heals bodies – it's a firm and irrevocable fact. She cannot – simply _cannot_ – pull him back from the darkness has engulfed him. She tried.

She failed.

Instinctively, she knows mending thoughts is beyond her capabilities, but she can still ease the physical swelling at the base of his skull and hope it helps. His nerve-endings have been _scorched_. He has overstrained the tendons in his arms from gripping his sword, too. She strokes his hair off his forehead as she works to patch him up, fingers dipping momentarily along the curve of his eyebrows, lightly brushing where his lower lids meet the upper in a tangle of eyelashes. He doesn't stir.

Nobody fully understands what happened. One moment Zack was a whirling dervish, destroying more Heartless than Leon, Tifa and Yuffie combined, and the next he'd collapsed and wasn't breathing. Dashing to him, kneeling on broken glass and grasping his face in her hands, Aerith felt like thorns lined the insides of her own lungs until he took his first shuddering breath. She doesn't remember exactly what she did. She has a vague memory of wanting to grasp his lungs with both hands and squeeze air into them, and of a great surge, like adrenaline washing through her but ten times more blistering. Afterwards Tifa told her the corona usually produced by her magic was so bright that everyone had to squint, and didn't circle gently above Zack's head, but burst violently above him.

"How is he?"

Aerith looks up. Relief briefly overcomes her. "Better than he was."

Cloud shuts the door and crouches next to her chair.

Zack is on his back on the bed, clothes dark against the cheerful embroidered throw. Chicha and Kuzco's house was closer than their apartment, and it made sense to bring everyone here. Chicha was so grateful to Aerith for saving her unborn child and preventing a traumatic early labour that she wouldn't hear of anything else. As a result, Aerith and Cloud now find themselves surrounded by unfamiliar things: dun-coloured clothes, ceramic pots, a clothes-peg doll – scrappy items collected to remind Chicha and Kuzco of their lost world.

Leon stayed to do crowd control and recover the bodies. Two people were crushed to death in the stampede, but Leon took on the job of dealing with them the same way he takes on everything – stoically and sensibly. The light of battle drained out of him as son as the Heartless were gone, like water down a plughole, leaving nothing but a dirty bath-ring of sweat, bruises and grim detachment. Somehow that was just as unsettling as Zack's condition, though not nearly as scary.

"And how are _you_?" Cloud touches Aerith's lower arm.

"Confused," she admits. "Worried. Nauseous. Strangely hungry." The last one slips out of its own accord. She follows it up with a mocking laugh that makes Cloud stiffen all over. "Where's Kairi?"

"Tifa has her. She's safe. We got away before the Heartless could sense her."

"If she wasn't the reason they appeared."

Cloud shakes his head. "I spoke to Leon. He said large gatherings of people in a single place, especially if the veil between worlds is weak in that place, can attract Heartless. so many hearts together is like a beacon for them, especially if they're raised in high emotion, and the fabric of this world is a lot thinner than most, so the party was really - " he searches for the right word " - attractive."

"So everybody's supposed to be lonely to avoid being detected?"

"I don't …" Cloud falters against the heaviness of her words. "Uh, that llama woman wasn't in labour after all, huh?"

"It was a false alarm. She was under a lot of stress. It's understandable, really." The words come easily, even though Aerith thought she'd have nothing to say. She looks at Zack. He seems so pale, lips drawn back in a grimace that has yet to ease. He looks in pain no matter what she does. This wasn't how their evening was supposed to go. She never even got to dance with him once. "Cloud, what happened?"

He stares at her like he can't believe she's forgotten. "The town was attacked by Heartless," he says uncertainly. "Remember how Leon says it happens sometimes-?"

"Not that. I mean what happened to Zack?"

"I … don't know," Cloud confesses in a tone that conveys just how much he isn't sure what answer she wants to hear.

"You didn't see him," she murmurs, and goes on to fill him in on Zack's wild frenzy and subsequent collapse, even though the others must already have told him when he arrived. Cloud lets her talk.

When she has finally finished he drops his head. "I'm sorry; I should've been there instead of running away -"

"You kept Kairi safe. Don't apologise for that."

"But -"

"Don't apologise, Cloud." Aerith's voice drops to a whisper. "I thought he was gone. He stopped breathing. His lungs just seized up. His heart stopped. I had to touch it with my power to get it started again. He was … he was …" She stops.

"But he's all right now."

"For how long? Until another Heartless attack? What if next time he's not so lucky? What if next time _all _of us are killed, or turned into those things? What if next time it's Kairi who gets trampled to death, or Tifa who's crushed, or Yuffie who has her heart torn out? What if next time it's _you_ who -" She can't go on.

"Aerith -"

She cuts him off. "I hate this. I hate this whole situation. I hate being here, I hate living in fear, I hate the Heartless and what they're doing to us, and I hate that Ansem man for creating them in the first place. I hate him." Her features twist up into an unfamiliar expression. It feels strange. Before, she felt empty and exhausted, but sudden boiling hatred surges through her veins like acid.

For a second she wonders whether this is how Leon feels all the time. He has locked his emotions up tight because of Ansem and the Heartless, but she remembers his face in battle. Under that stoic veneer is a human soul eating itself alive.

She shakes her head. "If Ansem weren't already dead, I'd -"

"Aerith, stop it. This isn't like you."

"I'm not allowed to hate things? Well I do. I hate what's happened to us. Why _us_? We're not bad people. Why are _we _being punished? Something is _wrong _with the universe if good people aren't rewarded, Cloud, and something is _broken _if they're punished when evil people are allowed to get away with whatever they want." Her voice has been getting louder, until she's almost shouting at Cloud. "Why Cloud? Answer me that. Tell me _why_ I should hate what's happened!"

"That's not what I said -"

"It is!"

"No it isn't. I just said this isn't like you."

"Why not? You always act like I'm perfect, or like I need protecting all the time so I'm not … not _tainted_ or something. I'm not some sweet and innocent maiden, Cloud. I'm a human being. I'm capable of hating, and wanting to hurt things, and being scared … so scared I want to throw up … and cry … and go to sleep so I never wake up again …" Her voice catches in her throat like cloth on a gorse bush. "Cloud, I was so frightened that he was dead. I don't know what I'd do if he … if either of you … I couldn't go on. I couldn't do it."

Cloud impulsively reaches out to hug her. She's rigid against him, staring at Zack over his shoulder. Cloud just holds her close even though her elbows are locked, digging into his stomach, and her spine ramrod. He's not sure what else to do, and it's obvious.

Eventually the feel of his hands tentatively rubbing her back and the sound of his breathing relax her. She sags into the embrace. She doesn't cry, partly because she's not sure she'd be able to stop, but also because her hatred has evaporated all her tears inside her. She feels horribly hollow, like the hatred scraped out part of her to make room for itself. She hates feeling like this even more than anything else – hatred of the hatred. The irony falls into her like a pebble sinking into a deep pool.

"Promise you'll never leave me," she says suddenly, unreasonably, _pleadingly_. It's a stupid and selfish thing to ask for, but she can't help herself. She clings to Cloud, asking him for the impossible – a promise to control the future, which nobody will ever be able to do, even if the very universe depends on it.

"I promise," Cloud says without thinking. "We'll stay together no matter what. _All_ of us."

Aerith sighs, not caring that it's an impossible promise. She just needs to hear the words. Her arms lift to hold Cloud tighter to her, as though trying to bind them together through sheer force of will.

The shock of nearly losing Zack and the tiredness from the potency of the magic pulled out of her have left her shaky in body and spirit. Cloud's warm body is grounding and exactly what she needs right now. Cloud and Zack have always been her anchors. Whenever there are problems, they've been there for her like she's been there for them. She nuzzles his neck, breathing in the scent of him, feeling the strong muscles in his back.

Cloud freezes. "Aerith?"

She realises what she's doing and freezes too. For a long moment they stay this way, pressed close together, until a groan from the bed makes them jump apart.

Zack clasps a hand to his forehead and slurs, "Whu h'ppn?"

Relief detonates in the room like a bomb filled with warm honey.

Aerith holds the readied glass of water to his lips. Cloud helps Zack to sit upright as he takes small sips, wetting his throat and coughing as Heartless gunk sluices into his stomach. Aerith worries this will affect him badly, but it's too late to stop it, so she resolves to keep an even more careful eye on him to ensure there are no side-effects.

"What happened?" Zack asks again, more lucid this time. He's still blinking a lot, but his eyes become brighter with each passing second.

"What do you remember?" Aerith asks.

"Fighting Heartless ... and losing control. Did I pass out?"

"A little more than that," she replies cagily.

"How much more?"

She doesn't answer.

"Aerith? Cloud?" Zack glances around. "Where am I? This isn't home. How long was I out?"

It's Cloud who answers in the end. "You weren't breathing for a while, and your heart stopped. Aerith had to bring you back using her powers."

Zack's eyes widen. "I _died_?"

"No," Aerith says quickly. "You only … _almost_ died." It's not as reassuring as she hoped.

"Fuck." Nobody corrects Zack for his language. Given the circumstances it seems entirely justified. "I … oh _fuck_. Thanks. I mean … thank you. _Really_. I knew I was tired after the Buster Sword went crazy, but I didn't realise I was _that_ bad. Are you okay?" He asks Aerith, obviously remembering the state she was in after trying to heal Kairi that first night. That was the last time she used her magic.

"I'm fine. For some reason my powers are stronger than usual. I was able to help Chicha and Kuzco _and_ heal you as well, and I barely broke a sweat." Now Zack is awake and more like himself her outburst seems childish. She's too embarrassed to look at Cloud, though he's entirely fixed on Zack.

"Your magic is stronger than usual?" Zack repeats, a thoughtful expression cutting through his astonishment like lemon juice in milk. "So was the Buster Sword's. It was fine until I called on it to help me fight the Heartless and then 'whammo!' It tried to fry my brain. I wasn't used to that much power at once, but I couldn't stop. If there hadn't been so many Heartless maybe I could've broken the connection sooner, but I got so focussed on fighting them that I couldn't let go. I guess that's what drained me so much that I …" He finishes the sentence with a shaky gesture.

Cloud frowns. "Both of you had a power surge?"

"That's a good way of putting it." Zack shifts sideways and winces, holding his head.

Aerith leans forward to press her fingertips to his temple. Before she's made contact, however, an iridescent pool of magic gathers above him. The rough shape opens upside-down, showering Zack with sparkles like a flower scattering pollen.

His grimace clears. "Wow."

"I know." Aerith stares at her own hand. "Usually I have to touch people to heal them, and it doesn't look like that." The fear that motivated her disturbing outburst of hatred rears its head again. "What's happening to us?"

"Where's the Buster Sword?" Zack asks, casting about. His eyes fall on it, propped up by the door. He scoots off the bed before either Cloud or Aerith can stop him. Instead of picking it up, however, he just stands in front of it as though locked in a staring match. After a minute he grasps the hilt in one hand and his arm spasms. When he turns back to them his face is troubled. "Either I'm much more sensitive than I used to be, or something's augmented the Buster Sword's magic the same as yours, Aerith. It's always enhanced my own abilities when I call on its power in a fight, but nothing _like_ as strong as this. I don't get it."

"It means you've finally become acclimatised to this world." The door swings open without the person behind it doing them the courtesy of knocking. When they see it's Leon not one of them is surprised. "You're awake." Leon narrows his eyes. "And unharmed."

"Aerith fixed me up," Zack says.

Leon transfers his gaze to Aerith. "You're a Healer." It's not a question, and there's a hard, almost accusing edge to it. "You never mentioned that before."

Aerith feels Cloud move closer, protective against the implicit hostility. Leon's voice doesn't rise or fall, but he radiates some ill-defined emotion that makes her uneasy.

"Yes, I am," she replies, squaring her shoulders. Her bare feet and tangled hair don't help her image. She's not even sure where her shoes _are. _"What do you mean 'acclimatised'? What does that have to do with anything?" She knows she should be asking about those poor people, but the changes in her powers unsettle her. She hasn't had a Green Dream since coming to Traverse Town and fears dealing with these changes without that guidance.

"Exactly what it sounds like. Just like it takes time to acclimatise to a different altitude or a different pressure-depth underwater, it takes time to acclimatise to a different world, including the nuances of its magical field. The upsurge in your powers was due to you finding your own place in the fabric of this world and the world accepting you into it as more than visitors. This world lends itself to magic because the fabric between worlds is so thin here, but the field is uneven for that same reason, so it can take a while for an individual's powers to compensate. You were probably affected by that when you consciously called on your powers."

"How long were you listening at the door?" Zack not-quite-demands. He folds his arms and it's abruptly clear that although Leon is taller, Zack has a broader and more muscular chest.

"You talk loudly," Leon replies without missing a beat. "You should both be careful about overreaching yourselves. Emotions play a part in how your magic will develop from now on. If you channel yourselves properly you won't have any problems, which will mean training yourselves not to have a repeat of tonight." This time the accusing edge is firmly directed at Zack.

"You know a lot about this for someone who doesn't use magic," Zack replies.

"You don't have to possess magic to know how it works in this kind of situation."

"Is that the voice of experience?"

Something flashes behind Leon's eyes; the same something that flashes whenever people call him 'Squall' and when he first saw Tifa at the party. "Yes," he says unexpectedly. He doesn't elaborate, however, and Aerith stands up to prevent Zack from antagonising him further.

"We'll practise," she says. "There won't ever be a repeat of tonight."

Leon gazes at her for a moment before nodding. "Good." He glances over his shoulder. "There are some people who want to speak with you."

Aerith expects Tifa or Yuffie, so she's surprised when José saunters in with another humanoid bird wearing a wide-brimmed hat. José beams when he sees them.

"My friends! You are all right. Eu fui preocupado! I was worried when I could not find you, and even more when I was told what happened."

Greetings and reassurances are exchanged, during which Leon removes himself and José's companion is introduced as Panchito Pistoles, the sole other survivor of José's dead homeworld. It was his return to Traverse Town, after exploring outside it for several months, which led to José's decision to leave. Panchito talks with a slightly different but even heavier accent and wears a gun belt, but despite this he's mellow and friendly. Aerith finds herself instantly liking him. There's a cheery twinkle in his eye and he instantly treats them all like they've known each other for years.

Tifa, Kairi and Yuffie seep and burst into the room respectively. They're still dirty, but ecstatic to see that Zack is okay. Yuffie wraps herself around his neck when she learns he won't collapse from it, eliciting chuckles all around when Zack claims she's going to kill him all over again. Kairi immediately demands that Tifa hand her to Cloud. She nestles possessively against him, watching everything with a thumb in her mouth. She doesn't seem badly affected by being once again attacked by Heartless. Aerith is uncertain whether she should be relieved or worried about this.

"I promise you, my friends, our parties are not usually so dangerous," José says. "They can get a little wild sometimes, but this is the first time anything like this has ever happened." He's saddened by the deaths and takes off his boater as a sign of respect. "All I wanted was to leave Traverse Town on a happy note."

"You did not know this would happen," Panchito reassures him, patting him on the shoulder.

"Even so, eu sinto responsável." José catches their uncomprehending looks and shakes his head. "I feel responsible."

"If that is the case then I am equally responsible," Panchito declares. "It was my idea to hold a party, but I do not blame myself the way you are trying to blame yourself. It was not our fault at all, but those Heartless who caused the panic that resulted in this tragedy. Neither you nor I could have predicted or prevented what happened. Am I correct?" He looks at the rest of them.

"Of course," Tifa says instantly.

"Ours was simply the misfortune of bad timing, uno quién amo." Panchito presses his beak against the side of José's head in an equivalent of a kiss, shocking everyone who sees it. The casually possessive arm around José's waist finishes the thought.

Everyone wears the look of people whose carpet has suddenly been swept out from under them, and now they're trying to tap-dance on quicksand.

José flicks his eyes up at them, reading their reactions. "You are surprised, meus amigos?" he asks carefully.

Yuffie recovers first, bouncing back a quick, "Only that you'd be dumb enough to try and blame yourself for what those creepy Heartless did. I mean, I understand about wanting credit and acknowledgement and everything, but seriously, couldn't you have picked some better thunder to steal?"

Panchito throws back his head in a laugh. "The scrawny one makes sense. You should listen to her."

Yuffie's crowing is interrupted only by her own wagging finger. "Hey, buddy, I'm not scrawny, I'm just waiting for my hormones to kick in properly and grow me some ribcage fun-bags."

There's a cough from the doorway. Kuzco leans against it, both left feet hooked over both right in a startlingly human stance for something with four legs. "Hate to interrupt, kiddies – wait, actually, no I don't. Chicha wants to know who's hungry and alive enough to eat. She phrased it nicer than that, but you catch my drift. So if you're all done with the big love-fest, someone with opposable thumbs and no baby-belly had better come help set the table."

* * *

The dressmaker is extremely displeased at the state of the dresses when the girls bring them back. In fact, 'displeased' is an understatement of epic proportions. You could fry eggs on the heat of her rage. Even their explanations of what happened at the party aren't enough to pacify her. She shrieks for her husband and everyone is shocked when Mr. Snoops appears from the back room of her shop.

"Yes, sweetness?" All colour drains from his usually florid face at the dressmaker's murderous expression. "Oh no."

This is the terrifying wife who keeps him in his niche as a nervous wreck. Watching her rant and rave, throwing up her hands and threatening that if the creatures hadn't disappeared with her world, she'd feed them to her pet crocodiles, Tifa can understand why Mr. Snoops goes through life with enough nervous ticks to drain a cow of blood. The woman seems in a state of PMT – as long as it means Permanent Menstrual Tension.

Eventually they calm her to merely simmering through a mixture of compliments, apologies and promises to pay for the ruined dresses. Mr. Snoops runs through a gamut of pet names, so many that Tifa realises she has no idea what the woman is actually called. However, what finally makes the dressmaker's voice drop below ear-bleeding is a familiar figure in the shop doorway. Tifa hasn't even realised Yuffie is gone until she reappears behind Cid.

Against all expectation, the dressmaker transforms into a completely different woman the moment she realises Cid is breathing her air. She bats her eyelashes and flutters her hands, giggling and cooing that of course it's fine, the girls were just defending the town and they shouldn't _dream_ of paying for something like that. She even skins her lips back over her teeth enough to commend them for their fighting skill. Mr. Snoops's face falls with every word and Tifa's heart goes out to him.

Yuffie grins fit to burst when they leave. "She'd jump your bones in a _heartbeat_, Highwind."

Cid actually shudders. "When you said Tifa was in trouble, you didn't tell me that … _woman_ was involved." He says the word like it's a piece of chocobo dung discovered on his front step in the morning.

"Would you have come otherwise?"

He grunts. It's quite an eloquent grunt; at least to Tifa, who's getting used to them. Cid hates leaving his workshop when he's got a project on the go. The fact he's here at all speaks volumes.

She thanks Cid, not needing to force the sincerity into her voice. "She was scarier than any Heartless."

"Goddamn witch," Cid mutters, cigarette slewing from side to side.

"She was looking at you like she's on a diet and you're a piece of chocolate cake," Yuffie says wickedly. "And she'd like to take a big bite out of your -"

"Yuffie!" Aerith cuts her off.

"What? _What_? She did. You can't deny she was totally hot for ol' Ciddy-poo here." Yuffie leans against Cid as they walk, tipping her head to rest against him even when he quickens his step. "Why else do you think he was my first choice for a rescue instead of Hero or Cloudy? I'll bet she's got all sorts of wild fantasies about you and her, Highwind. And who wouldn't, being married to Mr. Snoops? I'll bet when they climb into their twin beds at night she's imagining the creaking springs are actually you and her, bodies all slick with sweat, hands exploring everywhere -"

The cigarette falls from Cid's mouth. He has bitten right through the middle. "Kid, get away from me before I get _really_ pissed."

Yuffie does dance away, but carries on talking. "That's kind of noble of you, not wanting to move in on another man's wife. I can admire and respect that."

"Yuffie," Tifa warns.

"What? I'm paying the guy a compliment!"

Tifa can't help listening for the sound of the other shoe dropping.

"But if he _wasn't_ noble and principled and 'I'd rather cut off my genitals with a blunt scalpel', she's not _so_ bad to look at. Maybe too much make-up, and she's getting a bit saggy around the bosom area – not that I'd _know_ what it's like to have any freaking _sag-meisters_ attached to my chest – and a bit saddle-baggy, and turnkey-necked, and her hair dye needs to change so it's not so scoop-out-your-retinas-with-a-rusty-spoon-to-get-the-same-effect blinding … but I hear painted trolls are really in this season."

Cid grunts again, shoulders so far up they're almost past his ears. "Kid, even if _all_ worlds disappeared and we were he _only_ two left in the whole fucking universe, I'd still rather crawl into an engine and turn it on than look twice at Madame Medusa."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	23. Coming to an Understanding

* * *

**22. Coming to an Understanding**

* * *

"Who's Rinoa?

Cid looks up from the mound of fresh gummi on his workbench. "What?"

Tifa folds her arms, staring at him with a 'don't-even-try-to-palm-me-off-because-I've-had-enough-of-you-doing-that-whenever-I-bring-this-up' expression. She's learned how to put a lot of meaning into a look since coming to working for Cid. When he gets really into his work – _really _into it – she could bring a live chimera into the shop and fillet it with a rusty hacksaw while singing dirty limericks and he wouldn't hear the noise. If he glances up she has to be able to communicate a lot in a short space of time, and she can't rely on his ears to absorb her words when his brain is clogged with thoughts of mechanisms, custom jobs and system glitches.

"Who's Rinoa?" she asks again.

Cid scratches behind one ear, discovering a spare cigarette he was saving for later. He puts this into his mouth and works it between his teeth before answering. "A man's pain ain't supposed to be for other people to gossip over."

"That's a silly answer."

"It's the best you're gonna get outta me, toots."

"No." Tifa pulls back the second chair at his workbench – the one he brought in when he started teaching her about gummi and his precious machines. Mostly it's basic stuff, but sometimes he waxes lyrical about whatever invention he's been working on while she deals with customers. She sits down and stares hard at him. "It's not."

"Kid -"

"Today I went to collect the moogles' tab like you asked, and they called me Rinoa. It's not the first time it's happened, either, but any time I ask you suddenly have something else to do. Whoever she is, I apparently look a lot like her and I think she has something to do with why Leon has women's clothes in his apartment but has never, since the night we arrived in Traverse Town, had anybody but Merlin visit him there."

Cid's eyes widen. "He kept her clothes?"

"So you _do_ know!"

Cid stares at her. For a second she thinks he's going to tell her to leave him alone again. Cid might be better with her than he used to be, but he can still be snappier than a piranha, and he's not above calling her unrepeatable names to make her leave him alone. Of course, she's now not above smacking the back of his head the way Aerith lightly smacks Zack or Cloud when the situation calls for it. Tifa and Cid have developed a rhythm that squeaks out of tune only when one of them pushes the other too far, and they're constantly learning the limits of each other's boundaries are so they can push them.

"She came with Leon and Merlin from Radiant Garden," Cid replies, surprising her. He doesn't sound happy about telling her this, so she leans forward eagerly in case he changes his mind. You don't have to be a genius to tell that he'll probably never repeat this story.

"Really?"

"I got here after. Had time to set up shop here and make a bit of a name for myself before they came into my life. I found all three of 'em outside town when I was scouting for bits of fallen gummi. It was about two, maybe three years ago." His eyes become distant for a moment. "Yeah, just short of three years ago, I reckon. I lugged that damn ice-crystal home using a mini Gummi Ship – called it the Gummi Hover. Too many design flaws to keep making them, but it worked at the time. Three people wrapped in magical ice, all human at a time when practically all I could see in Traverse Town was bipedal animals, monsters and fuck knew what else. They were human, alive and that was good enough for me, but I was fucked if I could figure out how to break them out of that ice. I tried every tool I had – even put them under a roaring engine to see if the heat blast would melt it, but nada. I kept them here, trying to figure out what might work, asking around town, but no shithead had a fucking clue. I found out where all the regular humans lived, but not one of them could help." He shakes his head. "Fuckers. _Ignorant_ jackass fuckers. Too busy worrying about their own skins to help out someone else."

"What happened? Did the ice melt on its own?" Tifa recalls Merlin saying it wasn't his best spell and wonders whether magic has a shelf life like food.

"Not exactly." Suddenly Cid looks embarrassed. Tifa's curiosity piques. "I hate magic. Had it on my world but never had much time for the fucking stuff. Technology's the key, I say, but … well, turns out you can't use technology to break magic spells the way you can use it to break everything else."

"You used magic to break them out?" Tifa is shocked.

"No! Well, kind of … um … you ever hear the story of the princess who has a spell cast on her by an evil witch to make her sleep for a hundred years?"

"I think I've heard of something like that." Tifa frowns, remembering. "But in Hollow Bastion it was a pig farmer's daughter and the spell was supposed to last until her favourite piglet had licked a mountain made of salt down to the size of a thumb, or until true love's first kiss woke her."

"I think every world has some variation of it." Cid still looks extremely uncomfortable. "Well, it turns out that in real life it doesn't necessarily have to be _true love's_ kiss."

There's a loaded pause while Tifa turns this over in her mind. "_You_?"

He nods.

"All of them? Even Leon? Even _Merlin_?"

Cid's embarrassment gives way to alarm. "Fuck, no! Just her – Rinoa, the girl. Just the girl! I kept the ice crystal at the back of the workshop, and one day I slipped and fell on it, and my mouth must've lined up pretty much with hers when I landed because the next thing I knew I had this girl sitting in the middle of my fucking floor with melted ice all around her, staring up at me like I had horns and a pitchfork. She couldn't punch for shit – still too wobbly – but she had a slap that could knock the tarter right off your teeth."

Tifa snorts. She can't help herself. The image of Cid being slapped like a dirty old pervert, coupled with his outraged expression, is enough to make giggles ripple up her throat. "So _she_ kissed Leon and Merlin to wake them up."

"Once she'd calmed down enough, yeah." Cid touches the side of his face as though remembering the sharp feel of her palm.

"How come neither of them ever mentioned any of this before?"

"They got their reasons. Probably Merlin's like me – figured it wasn't his story to tell. He, Leon and Rinoa worked together back in Radiant Garden. When the shit went down that landed them here, they were protecting each other. As for why Leon never told anyone, that kid's clammed up tighter than a glass-blower's asshole. He's pretty ashamed of himself for not being able to stop the Heartless from spreading and getting himself trapped in a magic spell for twenty years, and he wasn't exactly Mr. Sparkly Happy Shit before that, from what Rinoa told me."

Tifa thinks back to the conversations she's had with Leon – few, far between, brisk and usually with other people around. In fact the only times she can remember talking to him alone are when she first arrived and tried to kick him in the head, and one evening when they met by the chocobo's shed. She was running through _kata_ when Leon arrived home, bloodied and torn from seeing off a clutch of Heartless on the other side of town. Tifa tried to take him to Aerith but Leon refused. When she told him he was being irresponsible he snapped off a reply she now recalls with perfect clarity.

"I'm responsible for more than you'll ever know, now leave me alone."

Leon always seems like he's punishing himself for something. Tifa chooses her next words carefully. "Cid, what happened to Rinoa? Why isn't she around anymore? And why are you, Merlin and Leon so cagey about even mentioning her?"

Cid sighs and stares at the lump of gummi instead of her. "We didn't wanna hurt the kid. He blames himself, the stupid fucktard. One of the smartest people I ever met, good head on his shoulders, but can't see past his own nose to appreciate the truth when it comes to that girl."

Something clicks in Tifa's head. "He was in love with her, wasn't he?"

"Still is."

She's not sure whether that means Rinoa is still alive or whether Leon is in love with a memory – and she doesn't get a chance to ask because at that moment someone coughs behind them. They both whip around to see Leon himself standing beside the shelves of custom-item order forms she alphabetised last week.

"I came to pick up my gunblade shells," he says icily. "You said to call in today when they're back from the moogles." Cid knows the shape of a bullet better than his own hand, but the moogles lather up each shell with spells that make them extra destructive. Cid may hate using magic, but he's too good a businessman to ignore an individual customer's needs.

"We were jus t-" Tifa starts.

"Second shelf down," Cid interrupts her. "Got your name on it."

Leon grabs the box and leaves.

Tifa whirls on Cid, but he just glares up at her, face slammed shut and no chance of him finishing the story now. He hunches over, shoulders at ear level, and Tifa recognises the signal for her to leave him alone unless she wants an argument. She considers whether an argument would answer her questions, but decides not. Chasing after Leon wouldn't reap anything, either, and seeds of guilt at discussing him behind his back gnaw at the inside of her stomach. She knows more than she did, and though she has even more questions now, Leon's diamond-hard eyes trouble her and she withdraws to think about what she's learned.

* * *

"Cetra!

"Gesundheit."

"No, no, my dear boy. Your sword – it was made by the Cetra!"

Zack blinks at Merlin, completely nonplussed. "Excuse me?"

"The _Cetra_," Merlin says again, obviously becoming irritated that Zack doesn't understand. "You've never heard of them?"

"Should I have?"

Merlin makes a huffy noise in the back of his throat, like a moogle having an epileptic fit, and explains, "A very old race of people, believed to be some of the first to combine traditional workmanship skills with magic. They invented many of the basic principles of magic still used today – the law of exchange, for example, which is the idea that all magic requires an expenditure of equivalent energy in order to work. Unfortunately some cultures believed this meant actual sacrifices needed to be made, which led to the creation of dark magic, but the principle itself is sound. The Cetra were extremely wise. They created a great many magical weapons, although most have been lost over the centuries."

"And you think the Buster Sword was made by them?"

"Didn't you say you found it in an abandoned temple?"

"_I_ didn't; my uncle did."

Merlin waves a hand, as though this is mere quibbling in the face of a momentous discovery. "It was found in a temple, which was probably a Cetra holy place. Their culture regularly communed with the spirits of its dead ancestors, though most texts regarding them reference seers entering a fugue state first – they spoke with the dead in their dreams, if you will, although my own studies lead me to think it was more likely some early form of astral projection. There are records of some fugue states lasting years, but that's debateable and may be a result of mistranslation. Most likely the state itself was induced, which required their sleeping bodies to be protected, which, in turn, necessitated the creation of weapons such as this one to use on those who would harm them while they were at their most vulnerable."

Something small and silvery flickers in the back of Zack's mind – a half-remembered though that slips away from him when he reaches for it. "What … happened to the Cetra?"

"They died out." Merlin shrugs, but it's a sharp movement, as though not having a better explanation irritates him.

Since coming over more often to work with him, Zack has noticed that Merlin values knowledge above all else. This might be why the moogles do such a brisk trade in magical items while Merlin, who has much more skill, prefers to stay out of the public eye and conduct research. Sometimes he leaves Traverse Town for day, and returns with armloads of books, scrolls and computer discs he grudgingly has to ask Cid to help him access.

"Just like that?" Zack snaps his fingers. "Poof, and then no more Cetra?"

"They weren't the only early race to use magic. It was common for entire races to become insular when they felt themselves to have evolved above common humans, so a plague or a war would wipe them all out and that would be that. Luckily there were ample scribes around to chronicle their work, plus there are relics that give judicious researchers key insights into their lives and cultures."

"Like the Buster Sword."

"Indeed. I've never seen a Cetra weapon so perfectly preserved," Merlin admits.

The sword is laid out on a series of metal stands in the centre of the brown-panelled room. Initially Zack was wary of letting Merlin inspect it. Glass phials of multicoloured liquids and other bubbling experiments flourish in Merlin's house like the clutter flourished in Cid's shop before Tifa got hold of it. Once, Zack accidentally knocked over a phial and its contents burned a hole in the floor.

Merlin has treated the Buster Sword with none of these, however, instead comparing its shape with illustrations in his books and tapping it with tiny tuning forks. Today's revelation comes at the end of long study with dozens of crystals that shimmer and wink like they're alive. They may be pretty, but watching Merlin hold them over the sword, press them to the metal and then note down the results has left Zack bored and itchy to be anywhere but inside.

"This is a great discovery – or rather it would be a discovery of great archaeological significance if we were still in Radiant Garden. Uh, Hollow Bastion. Home. If only I could speak to my peers about this sword's metal composition – it has elements in it I've never seen before! And there's a residual magical charge that resonates like psychic ability does in humans, which might suggest the Cetra had discovered a way of inspiring sentience within inanimate objects." Merlin sighs. "Alas and alack, this discovery will mean nothing to anyone but ourselves and others from our world. The secrets of the Ancients mean little to those without a vested interest in who they were."

"Ancients?" Zack hears the capital letter as clear as a bell ringing. "I thought you said the Cetra made the sword?"

"A colloquialism – an idiom, if you like." At Zack's blank look he goes on, "A vernacular term. A lingua franca." At Zack's continued blankness he impatiently says, "Ach, it's a simpler word that refers to the same thing, much like the synonyms 'humans' and 'people'. The Cetra are also more commonly known as simply the Ancients, since they lived so long ago and so much magical history can be traced back to them."

A memory, slippery as melted butter, slides away from Zack. He has heard that name before, he's sure of it. It was a long time ago, though, and he can't remember when exactly it was …

"The reason I am so interested in the origins of your sword, my boy," Merlin interrupts, "is not actually because of the archaeological significance of the Cetra at all. No, no, in point of fact it is because the Cetra may have been one of the last races to make contact with other worlds, before they were separated from each other with the protective gummi barriers. I have a hypothesis, based on my research, that the Cetra may have been involved in the creation of the keyblades!" He rocks back on his heels, thumping his staff against the floor in triumph.

Zack frowns slightly. The memory has really done a bunk now. He focuses on what Merlin is saying. "So keyblades were made in _our_ world?"

"Not necessarily. They are beyond simple physics and dimensional limitations – they can unlock any door, remember, including the doors that lead to other worlds. They may have been created in a limbo between worlds to prevent them from becoming too tied to one. All the same, I believe the Cetra had a hand in their creation, though they may not have been the _sole_ creators. It's more likely it was a collaborative effort between many races from many different worlds. Nobody can say for certain. There is so much we don't know about keyblades that it's difficult to theorise with any degree of accuracy, and without one to study theory is all we have."

"Merlin, if you don't mind me asking, how the heck do you know _any_ of this stuff about the Cetra if you were sent to this world with just your staff and the clothes on your back?" Given the lack of anything else to think about while Merlin is absorbed in his work, it's something Zack has wondered about with every book and scroll the old man brings out.

Merlin taps the side of his nose. "Ways and means, my lad. I am a practitioner of the arcane, after all."

This doesn't explain a thing. Zack's frown deepens. He'd dearly like to get out into the sunlight – his skin feels tight and dry in here with the dust and odd smells – but he's interested despite himself. "I have no idea what that means," he says honestly.

Merlin's smile widens, though it's difficult to tell under his moustache. "You are referring to my books, I surmise. They do indeed reference the history and magic of our world, but if I told you I brought each one with me you would not believe me."

"You're right."

"Ah, but I did! Highwind thinks he is so clever, fitting large amounts of information onto his shiny little _Compact Discs_." Merlin sneers the word, though his smile doesn't waver. The effect is somewhat disconcerting, akin to a fluffy kitten cawing like a crow. "But magic perfected data storage and transportation long before technology decided it was a good idea. Look here, dear boy." Merlin motions Zack to a bureau crammed with sheaves of paper, pots of ink and paperweights. From the mess he extracts a quill with a long, curling white plume. He shuffles the papers until he finds a blank sheet, dips the nib of the quill in one of the inkpots and places it against the page. "Summon. Mustrum Ridcully's Alphabetised Digest of Magical Creatures."

At once, the quill begins scribbling frantically. When Merlin takes his hand away it carries on unaided, and soon the entire page is covered in neat script. When the quill floats back to the inkpot Zack reads what it's written: _This being a true and accurate account of the legendary beasts and monstrosities beyond the natural realm, completely the author's own work and in no way influenced by the works of Hughnon Ridcully no matter what he might tell you to the contrary. Chapter One: So You're Cornered and the Dragon's Eaten Your Left Arm…_

"That's amazing."

"Most of my library is in that quill," Merlin says proudly. "I had it in my pocket when we were sent here – a happy twist of fate, I think you'll agree. Unfortunately it does need precise names of books and their authors in order to recreate a hard copy, but on the whole it's a boon to my research. I only wish I'd had a chance to insert Ansem's Report before that dratted last battle …" He trails off into a string of mumbled self-recriminations and wishes that he could remember exactly what he read of it before being cast out of Radiant Garden.

Leon and Merlin's scrambled memories are a sore point for both of them. Mostly they remember everything about their lives in Radiant Garden, but certain aspects remain clouded – the enemy they fought in their final battle being a major one. It's not they don't remember anything at all, but more that their memories are like teabags – riddled with tiny holes through which current thoughts swish without ever being able to touch all the leaves within at once. They remember random snippets – Merlin's opposition to the creation of the Heartless, the nature of the enchantment that froze them, Ansem's Report – but have to link these recollections together with speculation and guesswork, like sewing a patchwork quilt together with mismatching threads.

"It detailed so much information about the Heartless and their nature that it would be invaluable to us now, but its pages were scattered and expelled from the world as we were. There could be pieces in hundreds of different worlds with porous barriers."

"We're learning a lot about the Heartless as we are though, right?" Zack marshals his tone to keep it hopeful instead of whiny. He doesn't like the idea that all the effort they've gone to – fighting invading Heartless, recounting battles in excruciating detail, scraping black dust from their wounds so that Merlin can experiment on it to find a way of defeating them totally – could be a waste of time.

"Indubitably, but the fact remains that Ansem's Report would further our knowledge a great deal. Even a short time with it whole and in my hands would be immeasurably useful. An impossible dream, I know." Merlin sighs and bangs his staff on the floor again, this time with resolve. "Nevertheless, with this new information regarding your Buster Sword, mayhap we are a smidge closer to discovering the location of the legendary keyblades. I feel that not even the Heartless would be able to stand up to them; nor, indeed, to those able to wield them. Keyblades can only be used by those who are truly pure of heart. What else would be so splendidly appropriate for defeating creatures of darkness like Heartless than warriors whose hearts are filled with light? It has somewhat of an ironic flavour to it, don't you agree?"

Zack nods because it's what Merlin wants to see, but at the mention of keyblades and purity of heart his thoughts turn to Kairi and what that might mean for her.

Merlin points at the still-writing quill. "Release."

It freezes like it's had an electric shock and falls onto its side, leaving an ugly blue splotch on the paper. Merlin tuts, but rather than clear it away he turns and leaves the bureau in chaos. He has no Tifa of his own to tidy up after him, and this observation leads Zack to conclude that, whatever their differences, Merlin and Cid have more in common than they could ever bring themselves to admit.

It's only a short while later that the door opens and Leon strides in. He strides everywhere unless making a conscious effort not to. It's his natural gait and has a way of making people want to snap off a salute before they realise what they're doing. Today, however, his eyes are shadowed with something other than his usual repressed frustration.

When he first met Leon, Zack thought him incapable of feeling anything except short bursts of anger. Now he knows different – Leon is a container for some pretty nasty emotions that sometimes flare but always simmer. Zack has never seen him smile, which strikes him as an unhealthy way to live, but nobody has been able to coax even a smirk from Leon yet. Not even Yuffie, who seems to have made it her mission, has met with success. Looking at Leon now, Zack wonders whether anyone ever will.

"My boy! How delightful to see you!" Merlin is incongruously pleased to see Leon. Where Leon is concerned Merlin is strangely attentive, as though he once promised someone he would take care of him and nothing – not lack of warmth, rudeness, nor resistance to his help outside of fighting Heartless – will make him break his word.

When Leon has had the news of the Cetra and Buster Sword explained to him he narrows his eyes and looks sidelong at Zack. There's something in the look that pricks at Zack, but before he can try to understand it Leon asks, "Have you ever fired a gunblade?"

"Excuse me?"

He holds up the weapon that is never far from his hand. "Have you ever fired one of these?"

"No. I'd never even _seen_ one before coming here."

"You should always be versed in the basics of your unit's other weapons as well as your own, in case you need to use them in an emergency. Or in case the enemy ever get hold of it, so you know its weak points."

Zack can appreciate the sense of this, but the word 'unit' has him frowning. Leon talks as though they're part of an army platoon in the middle of a war.

"Are you offering to teach me?"

They're two of the strongest weapon-based fighters in town. Yuffie takes second place, with Tifa reigning as foremost hand-to-hand expert, and there are a couple of others with fighting ability they're willing to use against the Heartless, though their skills are lacklustre and more showy than effective. At least one is from a world where combat has become a flowery means for the rich to entertain themselves using blunter rapiers. Zack has an uneasy feeling that Leon plans to make them all into some kind of troopers.

Leon grunts and holds the gunblade out handle-first. It's heavier than Zack imagined, which is ridiculous, as the Buster Sword is twice its size. Then again the gunblade isn't a magical weapon, despite using enchanted bullets. He can't swing it inside to get an idea of the heft, but Zack can picture the damage he could do with a sharp edge like this. Not to mention the trigger he cautiously keeps his fingers away from. The gunblade isn't cocked but Zack has a natural aversion to guns, preferring the control of a weapon that never leaves his hands.

"Is this because you think I can't handle the Buster Sword's magic?"

Leon says nothing, but it's clear this is exactly what he thinks. Zack has been careful about calling on the Buster Sword to augment his abilities after what happened at José's party. He refuses to admit it's because he's scared – he has spent too many years facing the prospect of death at monsters' claws to _not_ consider the danger of battle – but a thorn of uneasiness jabs the bottom of his mind when he remembers that night. Despite Aerith's assurances, he knows that for a brief time he was medically dead and that brings forth thoughts he really doesn't want to have.

Zack realises with a tiny jolt that Leon is, in his own way, trying to be thoughtful. Leon, too, knows what happened to Zack that night, and Leon probably understands better than most what's been going through his head ever since.

"I can handle it," Zack says resolutely.

"You should be ready for every eventuality," Leon replies. "That's the mark of a good soldier."

"Except that I'm not a soldier."

Leon pauses before speaking again. "No." Another pause stretches between them. "Aerith's magic went out of control as well, though not as badly as yours. You both need to be careful. That involves forward planning and practise. Do things in increments. You, in particular, took on too much too fast. Build yourself up. Work in stages. Learn how not to let the magic overwhelm you."

Zack nods, holding Leon's gaze.

"Neither of you ever told me you had magic."

"It never came up." _Plus you were rarely around for more than a bare-bones conversation._

Leon takes back the gunblade. "I'll train with you."

"You will?" That throws Zack. Leon has never sought out their company before. Mostly he seems like he's avoiding them unless their paths cross by accident. Phrasing it as 'train _with_ you' implies that Zack is his equal, too.

Until this moment Zack has always felt like Leon is … not exactly _threatened_ by him, but circumspect about which of them is more powerful. Lurking somewhere under that austere exterior is decency and fierce pride, and up to this point Leon's prior experience with fighting Heartless has put him on a higher footing than Zack and his friends. Now, with a major battle behind them and a better idea of Zack's skills, Leon is clearly rethinking the situation and where they both stand in relation to each other's strengths and weaknesses.

_You've been in charge of fighters before, _Zack thinks. He can see in Leon's eyes what he once saw in Angeal's – the ability to assess a warrior's potential and flaws with unerring accuracy, and the ability to understand what each one would mean on the battlefield. It's odd to see it in someone not much older than himself, though. Angeal's was born from years of seeing cadets and training them into soldiers. Leon's is based more on natural talent and intuition.

"Excuse me," Merlin interrupts. "Leon, am I to take it that conversation with Mr. Fair the only reason you graced us with your presence?"

Leon grunts an affirmative.

"It's just Zack," Zack puts in. "Mr. Fair makes me sound about a hundred years old."

"And just what is wrong with being a hundred years old?" Merlin asks pointedly.

Zack's eyes widen. "You are?" he blurts before he can stop himself, and immediately wants to slap his forehead and pinch his lips together with a clothes peg.

"No, I'm not," Merlin replies with a mischievous smile. "But be careful about ageism around arcane practitioners. Some types of magic keep you looking young and let you live longer – often in return for a quick temper and a fondness for turning people into amphibians."

Zack gulps. "I'll bear that in mind."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_She had a slap that could knock the tarter right off your teeth."_

-- Taken from an episode of _Everybody Hates Chris_.

"_Summon. Mustrum Ridcully's Alphabetised Digest of Magical Creatures."_

-- Mustrum Ridcully is a character from Terry Pratchett's Discworld books, though he's only making a cameo here so there's no need to have read those to get this. Hughnon Ridcully is his brother.

I should also have mentioned last time that Panchito Pistoles is the third part of _The Three Caballeros_ alongside Donald Duck and José.

* * *


	24. Sand and Rock

* * *

**23. Sand and Rock**

* * *

_Real friends are very special, but you have to be careful because sometimes you have a friend and you think they are made of rock, then suddenly you realise they're only made of sand. Equally there are people you assume are made of sand, but who turn out to be made from rock you can stand on when you think you're about to drown._ -- Maria Callas

* * *

Aerith is just packing up when Dr. Sweet enters. He's a large man, well-built and sturdy with it, with skin the colour of melted chocolate and a not a single hair on his scalp. He has a habit of sometimes talking too fast to be understood, but his face is so expressive this isn't often a problem. He's rubbing his hands on a towel, which he slings around his shoulders when he sees her.

"Hey, Aerith girl? I thought you came to me to work as a Healer."

"Technically I'm just your nurse."

He raises an eyebrow. "Now that's just splitting hairs, girl. You're a darn good nurse – good bedside manner and a smile that shows off all those pearly whites – but that ain't my point. My point is you ain't healed a soul since that party where your friend went ape fighting the Heartless. Yeah, I know about that. Don't look so surprised. You think I go home and hang myself on the back of a door until I come to work the next day?"

Aerith sighs. "Dr. Sweet, there hasn't been any call to use my magic since then. There haven't been any major injuries to attend to and -"

"'Cept that kid who done broke his collarbone."

"Well yes, except for him."

"Did you heal him?"

She bites her lower lip. "No, I didn't."

"'Zactly my point. When you first rolled up on my doorstep looking to work for me, you were so gung ho about using your powers you darn near blinded me. Ever since that party you couldn't blind a guy with a white stick and dark glasses. What's up with that?"

"Nothing. I've just been a bit … tired."

Dr. Sweet's aerobic eyebrow goes up again.

"Using so much magic to heal Zack that night … it left me drained. I'm still not fully recovered."

"A Healer who can't heal herself?"

"That's the irony of my magic," she replies truthfully. "_I'm_ the one person I can't use it on." She knows this because she tried to the day Zack discovered the Buster Sword, when the bat-monsters attacked and left her with wounds of her own. All attempts to heal herself had failed. She might as well have been a regular person holding her hand over her skin and waiting for a miracle to happen.

That didn't stop her going to Tifa the morning after José's party and asking her to teach her how to fight. Aerith couldn't bring herself to ask Zack or Cloud, felt odd about asking Yuffie, and thought Tifa would be more understanding about her reasons for wanting to learn. Plus, the thought of Yuffie's wild recklessness in battle versus Tifa's measured precision made Aerith approach her friend instead.

However, Tifa had startled Aerith by gently but firmly refusing.

"Why not?" Aerith had demanded, hurt and confused. "There was a time you told me I _should_ learn how to fight."

"That was a long time ago."

"I've even _more_ reason to learn now. I need to be able to protect Kairi."

"And Zack and Cloud?" Tifa replied shrewdly.

Aerith hadn't replied to that. "Why won't you teach me?"

"I'll teach you how to defend yourself, but I won't teach you how to go into battle. You, of all people, can't afford to throw yourself in harm's way. If you got hurt you couldn't heal yourself, and if anything really bad happened to you it'd kill Zack and Cloud. I couldn't live with myself, knowing I'd had a hand in _putting_ you in harm's way. I won't do that to you, and I won't do that to them."

"But -"

"The best way you can protect Kairi is not to run off and die and leave her." There was a kind of sense in Tifa's words, but it was an unpleasant one. "She needs security. She needs to know someone is always there for …" she added, looking contemplatively at Aerith, "there are some people who just aren't meant to fight. It'd spoil them."

"You make me sound like some pampered princess who can't take care of herself." The words reminded Aerith of the way she'd shouted at Cloud in Chicha's house. Embarrassment at the memory took the sting from her words, but she was still irked. Did _nobody_ think she was capable of acting like an actual human being?

Tifa had laughed. "I'd never be stupid enough to suggest _you_ can't take of yourself, Aerith."

"But that's exactly what you're doing. I'm not an invalid. There's nothing wrong with me. I should pull my weight. I want to be able to _do _something."

"You think you don't do anything?" Tifa stared at her in open amazement.

"Don't twist my words around."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Aerith, I never thought I'd say this, but you're acting like a child."

"I am n-!" Aerith caught herself. "I just hate being treated like I'm something that needs to be protected all the time."

"Don't you mean some_one_?"

"I mean what I said. It's bad enough that Cloud and Zack seem to think I'm made of glass. I thought you, at least, would understand."

"I'm not sure what I'm meant to be understanding here. You do so much already. I don't get how you can think you don't do anything."

"Domestic things."

"What?"

"I only do domestic things. That's me doing my part – I keep the apartment nice and I change diapers. I'm like … I'm like everybody's housewife!"

Tifa started to laugh.

"Don't laugh at me. I'm serious."

"I know you are. It's just … your face."

"What?"

"You're _pouting_!"

Aerith resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It really wouldn't help her cause. "I just want to be able to defend the people I care about," she murmured. "Is that so wrong?"

Tifa stopped laughing. She put her arm around Aerith's shoulder and gave her an awkward half-hug. "Not at all, but being able to defend them doesn't mean going looking for trouble. Aerith, you're our only hope if we get hurt in battle. What would've happened to Zack if you'd been unconscious from your own wounds? Or if you'd been busy fighting Heartless someplace else when he needed you. You have to face the fact that, as a healer, you have a responsibility the rest of us don't have, and part of that means keeping yourself in one piece, which means letting _us_ do the dangerous stuff. It might feel like taking a backseat, but believe me, it's not. Your healing is crucial. We rely on you to be there when we need you. That's way more important than being able to throw a good punch."

It took a moment for Aerith to reply. "Although learning how to block a punch might be good idea." She leaned towards her friend, more grateful than ever that Tifa came to this world with them even as her words made something unpleasant, like the echo of cold fear, stir in Aerith's gut.

Tifa smiled, lifting her chin to balance it on the crown of Aerith's head. "Now _that's_ idea I can get behind."

"Fancy that," Dr. Sweet whistles, dragging Aerith back into the present and another dash of that cold echo. "You'd better be dang careful about them Heartless, then – especially if you're gonna hang around with the rest of them heroes and put yourself in the line of fire. Like I said, you're a mighty fine nurse and I'd hate to have to train another one how to make my coffee just right." He winks and tugs both sides of the towel, as if acting out a full stop for the end of his sentence. "Look, I don't pretend to know much about magic, but I know when a person's scared of something, and girl, you got F-E-A-R wrote all across your face when that broken collarbone came in."

"I was just -"

"You'd best not be about to lie to me, girl. I told you when you started here I got five rules: no smoking, no drinking, no hanky-panky at the office, no trying to murder me in my bed and no lying to me. So what's about to come outta you mouth ain't gonna be no lie, right?"

Aerith sighs. "I'm not scared. I'm not!" she exclaims at his disbelieving look. Tifa's words resonate in her mind: _You have to face the fact that, as a healer, you have a responsibility the rest of us don't have. Your healing is crucial. We rely on you to be there when we need you._ The weight of that responsibility pulls her thoughts towards what-ifs that terrify her. She shoves them away. "I'm just being cautious. I need to learn more about what's happened to my powers before I start using them willy-nilly."

Dr. Sweet squints at her. "'Willy nilly'? What are you, an old biddy? Nobody uses words like 'willy-nilly' anymore. Next thing, you'll be telling me not to 'shilly-shally' or 'dilly-dally'. If you get all the way up to 'hey-nony-nonny' I may have to anaesthetise you for your own good."

A small laugh works its way out of her. It feels good.

Dr. Sweet believes in the power of laughter as medicine and beams at her for her response. "You're all worried about your friend, too, right?"

She nods. "Next time I may not be there to pull him back. _That _scares me. I know he can't go forever without using his sword, but part of me wants him to never use it again."

"Heartless don't come here as often as you seem to think. This was the biggest attack I ever done seen in these parts, and I've been here more years than I like to count. Traverse Town may have a lot of people in it from other worlds, but it ain't as much a giant refugee camp as you'd think. There are folk who've lived here since long before anybody ever heard of Heartless. You wouldn't know it now, but in the beginning there was a lot of resentment about folk from other worlds moving in on their patch, taking their jobs and living in their houses."

"Really?"

"Dang skippy." Dr. Sweet places a hand on Aerith's shoulder. It's comforting, even if it does feel like he could accidentally snap her collarbone like a twig. "Girl, you can't spend your whole life worrying about what _might_ happen. You do that and you'll miss everything that's happening right now, then before you know it you'll be sucking your dinner through a straw and smacking kids off your porch with a cane. You want to end up that way? No, you don't. Concern is fine and dandy, but don't let it dictate how you live your life."

Aerith smiles and pats that back of his wide hand. "Thank you, Doctor. Do I have to pay for that advice?"

"Call it a freebie. Glad we got this out in the open. Now scat and go home to your family before they come after my hide for working you too hard."

She pauses for a moment, startled. Images of Zack, Cloud, Yuffie, Tifa and Kairi flitting across her brain. Yes, they are a family. It's a thought that has loitered in the back of her mind like a shy guest at a party, but hearing Dr. Sweet say the word makes it shuffle forwards to shake hands with her conscious mind. They're not just friends or people who live together anymore; they've been through too much and know each other too well.

"I thought I'd check in on Chicha on the way home," she says.

Dr. Sweet nods. "Good idea. She's about ready to drop that sprog any day now. Should be a simple birth. No breach, and all my scans indicate the baby's healthy. Can't say that llama won't be a hygiene concern when it comes to who's gonna be midwife, though."

"Kuzco cares about Chicha more than he lets on," Aerith says, remembering how he lashed out at Heartless with his hooves and tried to bite them with his blunt teeth when they threatened Chicha. He was obviously terrified and Aerith got the feeling there was a time when he wouldn't have thought twice about running away and leaving her.

"Just so long as he don't teach no baby how to chew grass or poop in the street."

Aerith pulls a face. "No! I have to talk to him, and now all I'll be able to think about is that!"

Dr. Sweet grins. "Glad to be of service."

* * *

Cloud is aghast. "But I can't use the Buster Sword!"

"Why not?" Zack asks reasonably.

"Because it's yours!"

"So?"

"But it's _yours_! You nearly burst a blood vessel when Yuffie tried to use it."

"Because she tried to run off with it in the middle of the night without permission. I'm giving you permission."

"But … I can't."

"Why are you so against learning how to use it?"

"Because …" Cloud averts his eyes and studies the pan of soup on the hob, moving the wooden spoon in continual circles. "Because…" he says again after a moment, but still can't finish his sentence.

Zack comes to stand beside him. Rather than stare at his friend and intimidate him, however, he fetches a breadboard and a loaf and begins slicing it up for dinner. It's always simpler fare when they're in charge, mainly because Aerith's been cooking for them for so long they have to look up the recipe for ice cubes. Recently, however, Tifa let them know that it's about time they stop assuming Aerith will do all the chores unless she asks them to do some.

"She's not a housewife," Tifa said as pointed them both at the kitchen and lay in wait with a broom for Yuffie.

"You already know how to use a sword," Zack points out now.

"Not that sword."

"You don't have to use the magic if that's what's worrying you."

"Zack, just look at it. It should be impossible with that tiny handle and huge blade. Just picking it up requires magic."

Zack concedes the point. Since his conversation with Leon he has thought hard about this and come to the decision that Cloud should learn how to use the Buster Sword in case Zack himself is ever injured in a fight. This also means teaching the sword that Cloud is to be trusted, since Zack is its chosen wielder and it's protective of him and their bond. It wouldn't do any good if Cloud tried to fight off a Heartless attack and the Buster Sword suddenly weighed its true amount. All of this leads up to the fact that Cloud should have a couple of sparring sessions with it, to brush up his reluctant swordsmanship as well as acquaint him with the weapon on a deeper level.

"I still think you should have a go," Zack insists, but Cloud shakes his head. "Why _not_?"

"Zack, I'm not a warrior. I'm a delivery boy and a chocobo nut. I learned some bits about how to fight while living with you and Aerith, and Yuffie's tried to teach me things since the day she moved in, but I don't have much talent for it."

A snort escapes Zack's nose. He hastily searches for a tissue to clean up the sticky mess that follows. "Ew, gross!"

"You sound like Yuffie."

"Be careful what you say. I'm the one with the breadknife and you only have a wooden spoon." Zack presses a tissue against his face and then shoves it up his sleeve. When he makes to pick up the knife, however, Cloud stops him.

"You need to wash your hands first."

"And now _you_ sound like Aerith."

"So we're even."

Zack shoots him a sceptical look while running water over his hands. "You're wrong about having no talent. I've sparred with you before, remember?"

"And you beat me every single time."

"Not _every_ time."

"Close enough. Seriously, Zack, if I hit anything it's more out of luck than because I'm aiming at it. Tifa taught me some hand-to-hand moves and I practically knocked _myself_ out." A faint blush creeps into his cheeks at the memory, though whether at embarrassing himself or because it was Tifa he did it in front of is debatable.

Zack frowns. He was watching that time too, and he didn't think Cloud's skills were too shabby. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

Cloud waves a hand at him, not dismissive but shucking the praise like an uncomfortable shawl. "I'm not a fighter," he says again. "Plus, the Buster Sword will always be yours. You've had it since you were fourteen and sometimes it feels like it's your first love. I remember the way you used to get all googly-eyed over it, the way boys at school got googly-eyed over their girlfriends. I wouldn't feel right trying to use it."

Zack shakes his head. In the time it takes him to dry his hands and finish cutting the bread he explains about Leon's visit to Merlin's and his own subsequent conclusion that Cloud should learn how to use some weapons.

"This is a far cry from what you used to say," Cloud says at the end. "I remember you once told me I _shouldn't_ learn how to fight. Now you're pushing me into it."

"I'm not pushing you -"

"So what would you call it?" He turns off the hob and clatters around getting bowls from cupboards.

Zack moves aside to let him pass. He pulls out a drawer to fetch what cutlery they need. Cloud scoots around him. the movements are so perfectly timed it's almost as if they've rehearsed them. "Okay, so maybe I am, but it's only because I want you to be able to defend yourself if anything happens to me -"

Cloud slams a bowl down hard on the table, breaking the rhythm with the finality of shattering glass. "Don't talk like that! Nothing's going to happen to you, so there's no reason for me to learn how to use your stupid sword!"

At once the truth dawns on Zack. Cloud isn't worried about what the Buster Sword's magic will do to _himself_, he's worried about what it will do to _Zack_ if he starts training with it again. Cloud was really cut up about not being there when his friends needed him at José's party. Even more than the pain of that memory alone, however, Cloud is worried that by taking up Zack's sword and learning to fight he's tempting fate to take his friend away. what need would there be for Zack if the Buster Sword could be used by someone else? Cloud hasn't talked much about what happened that night, but Zack sees now that his own near-death experience has affected his friend more than Cloud is willing to admit.

"I'm not going to die on you," Zack says quietly.

Cloud's fingers grip the sides of the bowl so tight they're white at the tips. He's so awful at keeping his emotions hidden that it'd be laughable in different circumstances.

Zack moves closer to him, as though approaching a spooked animal: softly, softly, no sudden movements. "You learning to fight isn't asking for me to disappear."

"I know that." Cloud forces his muscles to unclench and runs a hand through his bangs, making them spikier. "I just … it sounds so corny when I say that I don't want to lose you, and what you're suggesting feels like you're preparing me for exactly that."

"That's not the reason. I just don't want _you_ to be left defenceless in a bad situation. The Buster Sword is a dependable weapon, but only if you're used to it and it's used to you. I'm its chosen wielder, so it's different for me. You think _I_ want to lose _you_? You're my best friend, Cloud. That means I don't want to take any chances with your safety, especially not here and now, when Heartless are a very real, very dangerous risk."

Cloud says nothing for several seconds. Zack can hear the soup, bubbling faintly on the afterglow of the hob's flame, and the faint sound of voices from outside. The girls will be back soon, and they'll hungry for dinner. There will be no chance for he and Cloud to talk then. Aerith is the one who pulled him back from death and neither of them wants to remind her how close they all came to being separated.

"I was absolutely terrified out of my head," Cloud murmurs, not looking at Zack. "I wasn't there when you collapsed. I was running in the opposite direction like a coward and I didn't come back until after you'd been taken away."

"You were keeping Kairi safe," Zack starts to protest, but Cloud cuts him off.

"I had to learn about what'd happened from _Leon_. I didn't know where Chicha and Kuzco live, so I couldn't run as fast I wanted to find you guys. I had to ask directions when all I wanted was to _be_ there already. I imagined you'd already died while I was on my way, like Tifa's mom did. I hated myself for not being there when you were hurt, even though there wasn't actually anything I could've done to help you. I probably would've gotten in the way, but I wanted to be there for you and Aerith and I _wasn't_."

"But I'm okay now," Zack says, equally softly. "And you were there when I woke up – you and Aerith both. That meant a lot to me."

Cloud says nothing, just stares at the pattern on the bowl like it can tell him the right thing to do.

"Cloud -"

"I promised Aerith we'd always be together, all three of us. When you were unconscious, she made me promise never to leave her. I promised for you, too."

"Good. I'd have made it myself if I hadn't been dozing."

"I never want to be running away when one of you needs me. Never again." Cloud sighs. "I guess I _should_ learn how not to get myself killed in battle if I'm going to help keep all my promises."

Zack smiles. "Atta guy." Then to break the tension he wraps an arm around Cloud's neck and rubs his knuckles into his scalp. "But I get to noogie you for being so maudlin."

"Hey, no! Ow! Zack, no!" Cloud yelps, but he's laughing as well. "Quit it! I mean it, Zack Fair! Quit it right now or I'll put hotroot in your soup when you're not looking!"

"Just try it, chocobo-head. I have plenty more noogies where this came from."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_Aerith is just packing up when Dr. Sweet enters. He's a large man, well-built and sturdy with it, with skin the colour of melted chocolate and a not a single hair on his scalp._

-- Doctor Joshua Strongbear Sweet is a character from Disney's 2001 film _Atlantis_ – its 40th animated feature and the first to receive a PG rating from the MPAA for 'action violence' since _The Black Cauldron_ in 1985. I always thought Sweet was the best character in the film, although when I went back, seven years after first seeing it, to re-watch _Atlantis_ for this fic I fell in love with most of the cast. I think it's one of those films you appreciate as you get older. Try as I might, I couldn't find a good-sized picture of him that wasn't the ubiquitous poster, but you can get a pretty good gander at him alongside Milo, the main character, at disney. munkyisland. com/images/atlantis/sweet2. jpg

"'_Willy nilly'? What are you, an old biddy? Nobody uses words like 'willy-nilly' anymore. Next thing, you'll be telling me not to 'shilly-shally' or 'dilly-dally'."_

-- Side-fling to Tifa's line in _Final Fantasy: Advent Children._

"_If you get all the way up to 'hey-nony-nonny' I may have to anaesthetise you for your own good."_

-- Side-fling to something Edmund says in _Blackadder II_ – still one of the best British comedies ever made, in my opinion.

* * *


	25. Goodbye Caballeros

* * *

**24. Goodbye Caballeros **

* * *

"Now if you'll just hold still for me …" Aerith concentrates, keeping her eyes closed. She can feel the glow of her magic starting like a tingle in her toes, except it's outside her body. She has tried explaining the sensation, but it's difficult. The air in front of her suddenly feels like it's a part of her, and if she links together the dust motes in it she can use them as a bridge for her magic to slip along –

"What're you – no!" A high-pitched voice rises in sudden terror. "No, stop!"

Aerith opens her eyes and gasps. She was trying to heal her patient's broken collarbone, knitting together the fragments the way she has many times before. The body could've done it alone eventually, she just speeded things along. The bulging shoulder she sees now shows that she has speeded it up too much.

"What did you -" the patient starts, and then screams as the bulge rips and a crooked twist of bone thrusts out through the torn flesh, still growing. It trails cords of sinew. Aerith can hear tendons snapping like string pulled too tight.

She wants to throw up.

Still the bone grows, wrenching the rest of the body sideways as its sudden weight drags the rest down. Almost at once the other shoulder also swells and a second horrific bone rips free. There's a tearing noise as kneecaps give way, shooting forward in impossible curls, and the forehead explodes into bloody ridges. Cheekbones, elbows, ribs, pelvis – they curl and jut and extend until the body is more streaky red bone than flesh and the pained groaning has stopped.

Aerith backs away, hands at her mouth. She hits something behind her and whirls to see what it is. Her relief is tempered by guilt and remorse.

"I-I didn't mean to … I didn't …"

"You didn't realise your own strength," Leon says, but his face is melting into Dr. Sweet's. "You were only supposed to heal one break. You weren't supposed to kill him."

"My magic … it got away from me -"

"Fat lot of good that does him." The figure is smaller now, petite and wearing a distinctive yellow scarf. Yuffie gestures at the body, and even as she does so her hips fan and her face changes, becoming Tifa's beautiful soft features. "Isn't this what you were scared would happen?" The voice is Tifa's, but the tone is sharp and accusing. "You think you're dangerous. You think you'll do more harm than good." She grips Aerith's head and turns her to stare at the body.

Aerith shuts her eyes, unable to look at it. She's frightened that she'll recognise the face. What if it has changed into someone she loves, too? What if it's Zack under all those bony growths, or Cloud, or Kairi? "What if I can't stop my powers anymore? What if I do too much and I hurt someone?" She can feel tears slipping from under her closed lids.

Tifa's hands release her head, but others take their place. Their touch is rough and calloused against her skin. "You can cope."

"Zack?" Aerith opens her eyes, but it's Cloud's face she sees.

"We trust you," he says, using Zack's voice, her two boys together and supporting her, just like always. Blue gives way to violet and Zack shoots her his special everything-will-turn-out-okay-in-the-wash grin. "Do you trust us?" he asks in Cloud's slightly higher voice.

"It's not me you're asking to trust, it's this world and what it might do to my magic if I use it again -"

"Do you trust us?" he asks again, more insistently.

She stares at him. "You know I do."

"Then trust us when we say you can do it." He wraps her in a sudden hug, wiping her tears on his shoulder. He's warm and smells like her whole life – soap and feathers and antiseptic and motor oil, burnt toast and dust and flowers, plus that prickly taste in the back of her mouth when she smiles …

Aerith tumbles back into her own head and sits up in bed, gasping.

The room is dark. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. When they do she instantly becomes aware of a warm weight next to her, huddled against her side. She looks down and is surprised to see Kairi. Her eyes are nearly luminous in the gloom, and for a moment Aerith could swear she sees something far too adult flicker behind them. Then it's gone and Kairi is patting her cheek with one fat little hand.

"You go sad," she says seriously. "Kiss."

Without really thinking about it, Aerith leans down for Kairi to plant a quick peck on her cheek. It happens all the time; Kairi is affectionate and loves giving hugs and kisses to anyone who'll have them. She's especially adept at finding the person in a room who's saddest and using her natural babyish charm to coax out a smile. So far only Leon's cheek (and thus his smile) has eluded her.

Kairi screws up her face. "Nasty – blech!"

There are salty tears on Aerith's cheeks. She wipes them away with the edge of the coverlet. "How did you get out of your crib?"

"Climbed," Kairi says proudly. "Good climber."

"You have to go back in."

"No, stay with Aeris." She always mispronounces the name. It's funny, as she doesn't have problems with all words containing a 'th' sound, but staunchly refuses to pronounce Aerith properly. "You sad. Kiss."

Aerith bends for another peck. Kairi takes the opportunity to enfold wrap her head and neck in an awkward hug.

"Stay."

Aerith knows she should insist, but Kairi is warm. The smell of her, redolent of shampoo and the barest hint of talcum powder, makes Aerith feel safe in ways she can't define. "All right." She pulls back the cover between her and Tifa for Kairi to climb in. "But this is a one-time thing."

Kairi snuggles down. She sleeps in a foetal position, head and knees curled towards her stomach, and nestles with her head pressed into Aerith's middle as Aerith lies on her side. One of Aerith's arms snakes protectively around the little girl, holding her close and feeling her breathing even out as she falls asleep.

Beyond Kairi, Aerith can see the rise and fall of Tifa's back. Tifa always sleeps facing away from the middle of the bed, though she's long since gotten used to platonically sharing it with Aerith. Aerith knows Yuffie is probably sprawled on the couch by now, snoring from whatever kept her out so late. The knowledge that she's out there is soothing; a part of the rhythm them fell into in Hollow Bastion that they've been able to bring with them.

"Bad dreams?"

Aerith is startled. She thought the Tifa was asleep. "Yes."

"Was it a Green Dream?"

Aerith thinks back and then stops herself. She wants the dreadful images to fade as quickly as possible. "No, just a normal nightmare."

"You get those?"

"You don't?"

Tifa rolls over. One side of her face is waffled from being pressed against the pillow. "What's up?" she whispers.

"Nothing."

"You don't get the kind of nightmares that make you cry in your sleep and then sit bolt upright over _nothing_."

"Just … thinking about my magic," Aerith admits sheepishly.

Tifa half-nods. "I thought so. You're worried."

"It is that obvious?"

"You flinch every time someone mentions it and go white whenever Zack and Cloud say they're going out to train with the Buster Sword. Plus you haven't used your powers in weeks."

"I …" Aerith can't think what to say. She's still tired and sleepy, but afterimages of her nightmare dance across the backs of her eyelids even when she blinks: the bulging shoulder, the pile of reddened bones, the feel of Zack-Cloud's arms around her … Well, okay, maybe that last part wasn't so bad. She'd like to hang onto that, but the rest makes her shiver. "I wish I could do more," she finally says, not sure whether she means more to get over her fears or more to help in other ways.

Tifa looks thoughtful. "You're not going to ask me to teach you how to fight again, are you?"

"You wouldn't agree."

"In the morning would you like to me go through those self-defence moves that I taught you?"

"Yes please." Maybe doing something physical will help ease the knot of tension that has taken up permanent residence in her tummy. Aerith also thinks she'll go down to her church tomorrow as well. Perhaps she'll take Kairi with her. Kairi likes playing hide and seek amongst the pews and is gentler than any regular toddler with the delicate flowers.

Aerith always feels calmed after a visit there. Nature is a third party in the vortex of human emotions and she can be sure nobody else will disturb them. Nobody seems to ever go there except her. She's drawn to the place, and not just because of the flowers. There are plenty of other flowers in Traverse Town – one of the major pluses it has over Hollow Bastion – but Aerith keeps gravitating back to the church. There's something there, something that beckons in the scorched brickwork and broken floorboards. Once or twice she has wondered what happened there to make it so dilapidated, but having answers and knowing other people have been there would spoil the illusion that it's her special, private place.

Tifa still looks thoughtful. "It'd be useful if we had more in our arsenal than just the Buster Sword and Yuffie's weapons. Maybe that would make you feel less antsy about Cloud and Zack throwing themselves into battle."

"We have Leon's gunblade."

"I guess, but that's … I don't know. I could … never mind."

"What?"

"Forget it. It was just an idea." She shakes her head and the lines on her forehead clear.

"What was?"

"It's not important. Listen, Aerith? Don't worry about your magic. Take all the time you need and speak to Merlin if you have to. He's a powerful wizard. Maybe he can give you some advice for how to cope with all this new energy you have." Tifa turns over to face the wall again. "There's no rush, and we're all here for you. We're a team now, remember? That means we can count on each other in a pinch."

Aerith stares at her back for a moment before settling down onto her own pillow. Kairi snuggles into her and Aerith breathes in the scent of her clean hair.

_Not a team_, she thinks drowsily, remembering Dr. Sweet's words. _A family_.

* * *

José and Panchito are finally leaving Traverse Town. Their original plan was to go the day after the party, but in the end they don't make tracks until over a month later. The weeks that make up the interim are mainly given over to helping clean up and make peace with those residents of the town who believe them responsible for the tragedy, and for helping the families of those who died. The group don't see much of the two birds in this time, but when word arrives that they plan to go in the morning, everyone is there at the edge of town as soon as the sun peeps over the horizon. Even Kairi is already awake and sitting on top of the covers, having once again climbed out of her crib, when Aerith opens her eyes. It's as if she, too, knows this is worth getting up for.

"We'll miss you."

José pokes Aerith in the stomach with the end of his umbrella. "Nenhum grito. No tears or needless unhappiness, menina bonita. We are not leaving forever. You will see us again."

"¿Por qué hace usted toda la mirada tan triste?" Panchito asks. At their blank looks he translates, "Why do you all wear such sad faces? We are embarking on a new stage of our lives. You should be happy for us."

"We are," Tifa replies as he enthusiastically pumps her arm up and down.

"Then show it. Smile. Show your teeth. _Act_ happy." He grabs José and pulls him close for a mock-pose. "Commit us to memory as we are – vibrant and filled with the promise of bigger and better things. You are all too gloomy – except for you, little one." He breaks off to tickle Kairi into a giggle-fit. "You have the correct attitude. You should all copy her smile whenever you can. It will extend your lifespan and prevent wrinkles."

Aerith wonders whether Madame Medusa would like that beauty tip. She came into Dr. Sweet's surgery last week, having heard that Aerith is a Healer, and demanded that Aerith make her turkey neck disappear. When Aerith explained she couldn't do that because it wasn't technically an injury the woman took up her usual shriek, which summoned Dr. Sweet out of his office. After Aerith unfroze herself from the combination of Madame Medusa _cuddling up_ to him and Dr. Sweet's scalded-cat expression, and the woman finally left, Aerith laughed and laughed until she felt like she might need stitches to sew herself back together.

The day is warm and the weather holds as Panchito climbs into their vehicle and starts it up. It's a kind of horseless carriage without wheels. Cid would probably know its proper name, but he isn't here. The blast from underneath kicks up dust and emits a sharp stench, like rotten eggs mixed with cigar smoke.

José lingers longer than his partner. Aerith is closest, and since Kairi has decided she wants to stand on her own next to Cloud Aerith's hands are free and José takes one. "Panchito is right, Aerith. You all need to smile more. There are reasons to be gloomy, but you have each other and you are all safe. This is enough, yes?"

"Oh José, I'm going to miss you."

"I will come back to visit once we are settled in Wander Harbour. It is only a few days away from here, and we will exchange stories and chitchat then, all right? We shall share some of your delightful butter-biscuits, which you shall of course bring with you; you shall compliment our new home; I will enquire as to what the Three Harpies have done to raise people's dander since our departure, and all shall be enjoyably gossipy, yes?"

His genteel kindness and mischievous eyes make her clasp his hand tight. Since the night of the party, when Panchito kissed him at Chicha's house, nobody has really talked about José himself. They've discussed the party and what happened there, and been over the upsurge in their powers, but the subject of José has been tucked out of the way and not touched upon in any great detail.

Apart from Yuffie, everyone grew up in Hollow Bastion, where boys married girls as soon as they were old enough and had bouncing babies nine months later. One boy for one girl, possibly through marriage interviews if normal routes reaped nothing. It was stuffy and sometimes businesslike, but it was the way things _were_. Marriage. Babies. Family life. Boys didn't go with boys, and girls didn't go with girls – not the way boys and girls went together. It just wasn't done, and even something as innocuous as too much physical contact was cause for ridicule until a comforting touch to the arm became a shoulder-punch to inject more masculinity into it. Likewise, girls who weren't married by childbearing age were an oddity. Aerith usually found herself on the end of disapproving stares because of her living arrangements – one of the few things about her home town she _doesn't_ miss. The pettiness and closed-mindedness created a natural instinct in her to rebel against what Hollow Bastion thought of as normal, but this has clashed with some of the more deep-set conventions of her upbringing until this moment.

Even if he was human, Hollow Bastion would view José as an aberration. Yet he's not. He's still the José who was so nice to her and Cloud on their first morning in Traverse Town; who invited her out for tea and crumpets, and who showed her where to buy good quality fabric so she could make Kairi some new clothes. He hasn't become someone else just because she knows more about his personal life than before. That's reassuring in a way she can't really understand, and also makes her feel guilty for ever doubting him.

Evidently he understands her thoughts, or at least the parts that show in her face. He pats her elbow, feathers silky with the faintest hint of a prickle at the tips. "We do not fall in love with bodies, Aerith; we fall in love with people."

"What?"

"Never mind. Nenhum grito, remember? No tears or needless unhappiness."

José and Panchito leave amidst good feelings and warm wishes, the little knot of people watching until their vehicle is nearing the horizon. Traverse Town is like Hollow Bastion in that it's surrounded by harsh environment, but the bleakness is broken up by patches of green and the knowledge that no unusually bloodthirsty monsters lurk in it. Wildlife in this world is much more indifferent – some if it's dangerous, but if people don't bother them they're content to leave everyone alone. It's nice not to have to worry about a rouge chimera attacking José and Panchito, or Vetalas chasing them over the horizon, but Aerith still hasn't gotten over the little thrill of alarm that comes from looking out across a wasteland like this. Barren Region is a boogieman that will never completely go away.

"Bye-bye!" Kairi waves furiously. "Bye-bye! Bye-bye!"

"Do you think they'll be all right?" Tifa asks.

"Panchito spent a long time scoping out a safe place for them to go," Cloud replies. "Apparently it's a lot like their old world. I don't think he'd have come back to fetch José unless he was convinced they'd both be safe." A pensive expression circles his features like a dog herding unruly sheep into a pen.

"He cares about José a lot," Aerith agrees.

"Aw, sweet." Yuffie tips her head on one side and then spins on her heel. She marches back into town, arms swinging. "Right, now the mushy stuff's over, what are we having for dinner?"

"You really have to ask?" Tifa replies, taking slightly longer to break her gaze from the horizon.

"Not soy!"

"You know the alternative."

"But beans make me fart and there's nothing cute about farting in company. I'm kick-ass, not _smelly_ or _noisy_-ass! C'mon, Teef, we gotta have something apart from beanfeast and soy."

"We have pumpkin."

"Oh, big whoop."

"Are you okay?" Zack draws close to Aerith, touching her elbow to let her know he's there.

She sighs. "I'm fine. I just don't like losing friends – for whatever reason. I know they'll come back, and we'll visit them in Wander Harbour, but it's not the same."

Zack nods.

"Bye-bye, José," Kairi enthuses, and turns her beaming smile on them. "Home now?"

Home. Traverse Town, not Hollow Bastion. Aerith takes a deep breath and pushes all her bad feelings aside. It's difficult to keep hold of them when Kairi smiles. Sometimes Aerith thinks Kairi must have magic in her smile – the power to wipe away the glooms like chalk off a board. "Yes. Home now."

"Cloud?" Zack pokes him in the ribs.

"Huh?" Cloud, a million miles away, startles. "What?"

"You _do_ want to come home with us, right?" Zack asks teasingly. "Or are you happy trying out as Traverse Town's newest gargoyle. We can leave you here and your face can drive off intruders."

The insult takes a moment to register. "Hey!"

Zack laughs and dashes off a few steps, leaving Cloud to follow him. It's childish, but it's exactly what's needed to lighten the mood. Cloud had a face like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but now he's back to his unpretentious smile. He has the capacity to look like all bucks stop with him and demand that he find a way to solve them, but smiles like he's a kid allowed to play in the dirt after a life of keeping clean. Trust Zack to be the cause for the switch.

Aerith watches them: her boys. She can't ever imagine one of them without the other, or herself without either of them. She will do whatever she can to keep them safe and in this happy little world they've made for themselves– even confront her fears about her magic.

"C'mon, Aerith!" Zack calls back. "Or do you want to be the gargoyle instead?"

"Slowpoke," Cloud adds.

"Be careful what you say to me," she warns. "I can do unspeakable things to your food." She grins at them both, takes up Kairi's hand and together they make their way home.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	26. Tifa Learns a Lesson

* * *

**25. Tifa Learns a Lesson**

* * *

Tifa stares at the boulder. It's a big one, easily twice her size and dense as … well, stone. She presses the palm of her hand against it. It's cool to the touch, since it's evening and the heat of the day has leeched out of the boulder into the dirt. She couldn't come out here until now and spent the day nursing the same bundle of ideas that have been stewing in her head for a while, but were only given proper form while talking to Aerith.

She centres herself like Master Zangan taught her. Before every lesson, even those where they did no actual fighting, he would make her find her centre and wrap herself in its cooling steadiness.

"Life is about balance, Tifa," he'd say until she felt like her ears might bleed from hearing it so much. "Yours and the rest of the world's. Without balance we pave the way for our own defeat. Nothing can survive without balance."

Tifa's centre is like a well-worn old shoe. She finds and slips into it easily, feeling the special calm of a warrior suffuse her. Emotions can be useful in battle, but she always returns to her centre if she really wants to win. Eyes still closed, she runs through the opening moves of her favourite warm-up sequence, limbering up her muscles and feeling out her own chi.

Like a lump of clay, chi is always hard and difficult to use at first, but softens and becomes more malleable the more it's handled. Tifa can sense hers like a small ball of blue-white flame around her heart, which she imagines spreading outwards into her limbs. Concentrating, she marshals it in specific directions and feels the energy move like iron filings following the path of a magnet. She has done this before, channelling it around her body to improve her manipulation, perfecting her fine control, but today she intends to experiment.

Her eyes snap open and she lets out a brutal yell, slamming one fist against the boulder. To anyone else it just looks like her punching a big rock, but Tifa can actually visualise the dancing flames of chi across her knuckles.

The boulder crumbles to dust.

Tifa has to leap backwards to avoid being hit by falling debris. She doesn't lose her focus, but she's a little surprised at the force of the strike. Usually a move like that would lay an opponent flat, but punching a hunk of rock would crush the bones, tendons and muscles in her hand to red pulp. Though it was what she was hoping for, it's still amazing to her that she can cause so much damage to a solid object with just one punch. She stares at her fist, unclenching her fingers and examining them. There are tiny cuts on her knuckles but otherwise she's perfectly fine.

"Wow." She raises her eyes to the pile of rubble. "Intense."

So she was right. Chi is linked to magic, and the magical field that has enhanced Zack and Aerith's powers can affect her too. The few times Master Zangan channelled his chi this way he was able to cause mini craters in the ground and shatter wooden blocks with just his little finger, but it left him so breathless that Tifa worried about his health. Master Zangan was not a young man, and his body was scarred from years of battles he didn't like to talk about – or else couldn't fully remember because of the enchantment from the castle. She can feel sweat trickling down her back but her iron self-control keeps her breathing steady.

She tries the trick another couple of times, not punching anything bigger than the first boulder or putting any more chi into her fists than feels comfortable. What happened to Zack weighs heavy on her mind, as do Aerith's worries about what might happen if they overexert their magic. Tifa isn't stupid. She doesn't want to end up the same way, especially when she didn't tell anyone she was coming out here. Since she has never tried this before she thought her friends might fret and try to stop her – or even if they didn't, that they might insist on coming with her, and she would've had an audience if she'd failed. Her pride got in the way of good sense, but since her theory has been proved correct she's sure – or at least hopes – they'll understand.

"This was very foolish of you."

She spins around in surprise. She was so intent on not letting this world's magical field influence her chi control that she didn't hear anyone approach.

Leon stands with arms folded, watching her with an indecipherable expression.

Tifa falters. This is the first time she has seen him properly since the incident in Cid's workshop, when he caught them talking about the mysterious Rinoa. The only contact she has had with Leon since then is to glimpse him going past their apartment to his own. She never sees him leaving, though he must. Sometimes it feels like sharing the building with a ghost.

There's never any noise from upstairs, as though Leon picks a spot as soon as he gets home and stays there until he goes out again, or climbs over furniture rather than touch the floor. The apartment Tifa shares is always boisterous, with Yuffie, Kairi and Zack all vying to be noisiest. Aerith can really yell as well, not to mention the ruckus that always fills the place when bangs pots and pans together while cooking. Tifa remembers from Hollow Bastion how Cloud can raise his voice, though he's not exactly prone to it. Leon, on the other hand, never so much as creaks a floorboard.

He stares at her now. She feels uncomfortable under the force of his eyes. Since they're blue it feels like the heaviness of an entire ocean is bearing down on her, and she realises she still feels guilty for prying into his privacy.

Coupled with this, however, is indignation at his tone. She draws herself up tall against it and demands, "What are you doing out here?"

"Watching you."

"Why?"

"It's a good thing I did. This could have gone badly wrong. You've nobody to help you if you got into trouble."

"I can handle wildlife, and Cid said bandits don't come around here much."

"That's not what I was talking about."

She knows what he _is _talking about. She's not sure why she's skirting the issue, except that Leon talks so little and part of her thought that maybe he'd go away if she used up his reserves of patience. "I didn't get into trouble. I was experimenting with my Zangan-Ryu chi control and it was a success."

"I can see that." He looks at the scattered piles of rubble. Dust hangs thick in the air, a pale brown pall settling over everything like soot from a freshly cleaned chimney. Tifa's arms and the front of her clothes are also covered in it. "I remember Master Zangan from when Hollow Bastion was Radiant Garden. He said chi is like a body's naturally generated spiritual and magical energy. You were lucky."

"He was a good teacher."

"I think you know that's not what I meant."

"I knew what I was doing."

He looks sharply at her. "No, you didn't. You thought you knew what you were doing and took a dangerous risk to prove yourself right."

Tifa opens her mouth to disagree, but she has to close it again. He's right. Irritation flickers within her. Leon has a natural capacity to ruffle feathers and, despite her guilt, she can feel her own feathers starting to fluff. She's proud of what she has learned, and even more at what she has achieved. This could be useful in fighting the Heartless, which Leon is usually all about, but for some reason he has decided that, on this occasion at least, being an ass is more important than his war. Tifa was hoping that the first person she told would be pleased and share in her satisfaction. Instead all she has is Leon's penetrating stare and an uneasy feeling in her gut.

"It paid off, didn't it?" she says sourly. "If I can learn more about how to control my chi this way I can use it to fight the Heartless more effectively."

Leon says nothing. She can't tell what's going on behind his eyes.

"A 'well done' would be nice." She's pouting. Why is she pouting? She gave up pouting when she was a kid! Why the hell is she starting up again now? If she weren't so irritated she'd be embarrassed. "You don't do the positive praise thing very well, do you?"

He grunts.

"Look, I'm sorry I asked Cid about Rinoa," Tifa blurts. "If you're mad at me because of that then I'm sorry. I just wanted to know why people keep mistaking me for her. I didn't mean for you to overhear."

Leon does something slightly too long to be a blink. "I'm not mad at you," he says evenly. "Not for that, at least."

"So you _are _mad? How can you tell? You basically have two expressions and there aren't any Heartless around to change this one into the other." Tifa could clap her hands over her mouth in shock at her own offensiveness. That sounds like something _Yuffie_ is more likely to say. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that -"

"Yes you did. And for the record, I'm mad at you for putting yourself at such a stupid risk. You have a lot of people who care about you, yet you're willing to endanger yourself like this without a thought for how it might have affected them if things went wrong."

"I thought of them …" Memories surface of how careful everyone has been, how extra concerned with each other's welfare since José's party. The recollection of Cloud in particular rises in her mind like a corpse in a pond, as well as Aerith's shadowed, worried face. Tifa was trying to ease the pressure on everyone by giving them an extra weapon, but she was so intent on that part she neglected the part where they'd be worried about her. She flushes. "I only wanted to see if I was right about chi being affected by this world as much as their magic. I was just doing it so I can use my skills to keep everyone safe."

"Commendable but misguided."

Tifa is startled. Was that a compliment? From Leon? Granted, a backhanded one, but still – from _Leon_?

"How much did Cid tell you?" The question bullwhips into her and stings just as much.

Tifa flinches. She doesn't have to ask what about. "Not much. Mostly about how you got here and how he broke the spell keeping you frozen in that ice crystal." She wets her lips, which feel suddenly dried out and itchy. She doesn't know how much Leon overheard and how much she should tell to fill in the blanks. Leon always seems like he's punishing himself for something and suddenly she's afraid to know what for. "He also told me you and Rinoa were in love."

Leon doesn't flinch but he might as well have. He has obviously steeled himself for hearing that. "Anything else?"

"No, that's the point where you came in."

He drops his gaze and turns away from her, back towards town.

"Hey, wait -" Tifa tries to follow but her body has other ideas. She may not have gone out of control the way Zack did, or put on a spectacular lightshow like Aerith, but underneath her tightly controlled movements and even more tightly controlled chi her body is running on empty. The landscape whirls. She stumbles. "Urgh …"

She doesn't see Leon move. He's just suddenly there.

And she's _in his arms_.

Shock hits her first, closely followed by embarrassment. Nobody has ever picked her up like this before; like a damsel in distress who can't defend herself – not even Master Zangan. The touch of Leon's leather gloves under her knees and back burn like a branding iron, which would be only slightly cooler than her cheeks.

"Put me down."

"You can't walk."

"I can -"

"You're exhausted." He starts walking.

Tifa's blush increases tenfold. She doesn't want anyone to see her like this – especially Cloud. She's the strong, sassy one who can kick anybody's ass. This doesn't go with that image at all.

Now she's off her feet, however, her achy muscles make themselves known. Is this how Zack and Aerith felt the first time their powers surged? Ow. Having little other option, since she's not actually sure her legs would bear her if Leon _does_ put her down, Tifa folds her arms across her midriff and her mouth begins to settle into another pout. She quickly forces this off her face. Honestly, she's getting worse than Yuffie – and isn't _she_ going to have a field day if she spots Tifa arriving home like this? Just imagining Yuffie's reaction makes Tifa feel even more tired.

"You do look a lot like her."

"Huh?" Tifa stares up at Leon's chin. For a second her brain doesn't make the right connection. She looks nothing like Yuffie.

"Rinoa," Leon says without looking at her. She has a perfect view of his Adam's apple going up and down. "You have the same eye colour and hair – both dark and cut to approximately the same length. Your facial structures are very similar as well, but your nose is slightly longer and your jaw is squarer."

Her hand rises automatically to touch her face. A square jaw? Obviously Leon never learned the fine art of complimenting women. She's about to say something when he goes on, speaking quickly, as though ripping off a bandage that has stuck to a wound with crusted blood. It will hurt to remove it no matter whether you do it fast or slow, but slow will hurt for longer.

"She was very beautiful."

Tifa contends with this information as she might a new martial arts move – examining it from several different angles and anticipating what it means for her, before taking it into herself and making it a part of her mind.

Rinoa _was_ very beautiful. Past tense. Also, she looks a lot like Rinoa. Tifa's cheeks colour. Being carried like this and getting roundabout compliments from Leon – _Leon!_ – is both uncomfortable and flattering. The words carry more weight because he has never said anything like them before, but at the same time she's not sure how she's supposed to react to them. Nobody's ever sure how they're _supposed_ to react to Leon anyway. Mostly they each come away feeling somehow incompetent – even Zack, who has sparred with him and proved they're pretty evenly matched. Just hearing the word 'beautiful' in Leon's rough baritone is bizarre.

"Were you very in love with her?" Tifa asks in a small voice, as though coaxing a shy animal out from behind a rock and trying not to scare it away.

"I was."

She can't ask what happened. The words stick in her throat. She wanted to know before, but now she _doesn't_. She overpoweringly and categorically _does not want to know _what happened to Rinoa, because it can't be a happy story, and Tifa wants the ability to get away under her own steam if she has to hear something awful. She may not like Leon in the traditional sense of enjoying his company, but she doesn't want a guided tour of his pain.

Unfortunately she has already opened this can of worms and they've wriggled too far to be scooped back in without squashing and murdering them.

"She died."

Just like that. Two words, but they answer as many questions as they inspire.

"Don't you want to know how?" No malice. Not even any curiosity. Leon's voice is flat and dispassionate, separating him from this terrible thing.

Nodding would be insensitive. Not to mention it'd be so creepy to want to know the details. Rinoa died and Leon … died inside, Tifa supposes, thinking back to what Cid said.

"_He blames himself, the stupid fucktard. One of the smartest people I ever met, good head on his shoulders, but can't see past his own nose to appreciate the truth when it comes to that girl."_

"She had magic. She was born with it inside her, but she didn't start learning how to use it until she was a teenager. It was part of her bloodline, she said, and developed during puberty. She didn't like a lot of it but there were parts she enjoyed. Mostly it scared her, so she preferred not to use it if there were alternatives."

"What kind of magic?"

"Shape-shifting. Some elemental abilities. Her mother was a sorceress and her father was a warlock. Apparently her mother's side could trace their lineage all the way back to some millennia-old race called Timbers, who were one of several pivotal races when most modern rules of magic were still being invented. She once told me she was conceived under a blood moon, which augmented the gifts from both parents when they were passed on to her, and females are naturally predisposed towards being the more magically potent in her family. Despite having all that power, however, she wanted to be accepted for the abilities she'd cultivated herself. She didn't want to rely on something she felt she hadn't earned, no matter how impressive She said she felt like she couldn't accept other people's respect if she didn't respect herself first. She was … exceptional." There's no mistaking the rusty pause when he says this; a tiny glitch in his rehearsed words.

This is all wrong. Tifa huddles in on herself.

"I'm making you uncomfortable."

"That's pretty perceptive."

"For someone with only two facial expressions?" It's deadpan, but it might almost be a joke.

She blinks. She … wasn't expecting that. Really, Leon just keeps surprising her today. "I said I was sorry for that -"

"Don't be." He stares straight ahead. "It sounds like something she'd say."

_Uh-oh_.

"She didn't use her magic for a long time after we woke up from the enchantment. It just never occurred to her. There was no need – Traverse Town was peaceful and we could live as normal people, once we realised we couldn't go back to Radiant Garden, and that there might not even be a Radiant Garden to go back to even if we could. We didn't know the final outcome of our battle against Ansem, since our memories were affected. Merlin wanted his privacy, so he split off from us. There weren't any Heartless attacks back then. We thought we'd left them behind along with everything else. We were wrong."

"Leon -"

"I don't know when her magic became acclimatised to this world, but it'd fallen into sync by the time the first attack came. We weren't ready. She called on her powers to fight them. It was far more powerful than she could handle." His throat convulses. "She died." Those two words again. They're spiked all over with thorns. Tifa can practically feel them pricking her own skin.

How many other people has Leon talked to about this? Not many, she'd wager. His fingertips press into her skin through his gloves and her clothes. His stare is a little _too_ fixed and a little _too_ blinkered. Leon always looks around him, eyes flicking left and right, scouting for danger even in his own apartment. Now he stares ahead as though he can drag their building to them to save him walking so far to reach it. His eyes are slightly hooded, shielding any emotion that might have leaked into them.

"I'm sorry," Tifa whispers.

"Why?"

"Because …"

"Because that's what you're supposed to say to something like that?"

"No. I'm sorry because it obviously caused you a lot of pain. I'm sorry you had to go through that. I lost my mom a few years ago and it hurt so much. I can relate to how you must've felt, losing someone you care about."

Leon glances down at her then, catching her unawares. His eyes are like chips of ice. She doesn't like the look in them because she can't put a name to it. It's hard and cold and burning and sorrowful and disbelieving and sceptical and angry, all at the same time. The jumble and depth of conflicting emotions is so out of place in his normally unreadable gaze that Tifa's breath catches in her throat. Above all it's a _dangerous_ look because it shows that, under his veneer, Leon is bursting with feelings that might rip him wide open if he keeps them suppressed the way he does.

He walks all the way into town and has almost reached their building before either he or she speaks again.

"I thought you were her."

"What?"

"When you came to Traverse Town. I thought you were her, dead on the ground in the middle of the street. Once I got close I saw the differences, but that's why I was there when you came round."

"So it wasn't just you being a selfless hero?"

"I'm no hero."

Tifa's eyebrows angle downwards. "I think all the people you've saved from Heartless would disagree."

"I'm not a hero," he says again, flatly.

He stops. They've come to the chocobo shed and the apartment building looms in the poor light of encroaching evening. The chocobo itself comes to the window and peers at them, as if trying to figure out what the hell this creature with too many arms, legs and heads is.

Leon sets Tifa down. Her legs wobble uncontrollably and he makes to pick her up again to carry her up the stairs.

"I'm fine," she insists, pushing him away.

"No you're not." He catches her under her arms and levers her upright when her knees start to buckle. "It's safer if you travel on my back up the stairs. Here."

Carefully, he manoeuvres her around and crouches so she can cling to his back with her arms looped around his neck from behind. She could choke him in a hold like this, but there's precious little power in her arms. Rather than help, resting for the journey back seems to have sapped even more of her energy. It's leaving her like air from a punctured balloon. She feels like she couldn't go three rounds with a fruit fly right now – a comedown for someone who was smashing boulders into powder less than an hour ago.

"Tighten your grip."

"I'm _trying_."

"You should count yourself lucky this is all that happened to you. It could've been much worse."

"I know. Thanks for bringing me back."

He says nothing but stands up and she falls forward, hands gripping opposite elbows while trying not to cut off his windpipe. Her face is next to his ear and she can smell his hair and the skin of his throat – slightly musky with sweat and something reminiscent of Aerith after she returns from that abandoned church. Strong hands catch the backs of Tifa's knees and hitch them to waist height as Leon leans forward so she won't tumble backwards while they ascend the stairs. He lets out little puffs of air with each step, but he doesn't talk again until they're outside her front door.

"Thank you," she says again, leaning one shoulder and a hip against the wall. "I can take it from here."

"Don't ever do that again. Don't endanger yourself needlessly when you have so much to lose."

Tifa bites her lip. "I get it." She manages not to sound _too much_ like a teenager being chewed out for being irresponsible.

Leon stares hard at her, eyes back to being unreadable. He leans forward to push hair from her face. It's jerky and sudden, and entirely too intimate based on the distance between them until today. It's even worse than being carried because that, t least, it was necessary. This is needless but deliberate. His fingers twitch like he's afraid he might hurt her.

Tifa turns her face away, conscious of the shadow lurking in her too-long nose and too-square jaw. "Leon, I'm not Rinoa," she says softly.

"I know that." Snappishness edges his tone like gilt. He straightens up and raps on the door, then turns and leaves without saying goodbye.

Tifa watches him go, confused and angry at herself, but also sad for him. When the door opens she smiles tiredly at Cloud and hopes it covers her uncertainty about all that's just happened. Everything feels slightly unreal, deadening her senses and wreathing her mind in the kind of fog that usually comes with waking or falling into a dream. She's aware of the scrape of wall against her skin, tearing a little at her elbow, and realises belatedly that her knees have buckled again. Only Cloud catching her and picking her up the way Leon just finished doing pulls her back into herself.

Cloud isn't wearing any gloves. She can feel the heat from his hands against the bare skin on the backs of her knees. This is the second time in her life she's had to be carried this way by a man, but this time … maybe she doesn't mind so much. Cloud's blue eyes aren't hard like ice, but warm and concerned. He's asking her what happened, except suddenly all she wants to do is _sleep_.

"Tifa? Tifa!"

Her eyes drift shut and, unable to fight them, Tifa drifts away.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_Apparently her mother's side could trace their lineage all the way back to some millennia-old race called Timbers."_

-- The original Rinoa from FF8 was originally a member of a resistance group in a place called Timber.

_She feels like she couldn't go three rounds with a fruit fly right now._

-- A riff off a line from _Angel: The Series_.

* * *


	27. Life is for Living

* * *

**26. Life is for Living**

* * *

_I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing. _-- Agatha Christie.

* * *

"Is she okay?" Cloud hovers like a dragonfly searching for a perch, jittery and impatient.

Aerith opens her eyes and fixes him with a stare caught between mildly cross and very irritated. She never gets irritated with Cloud, so he drops back and leans against the wall for as long as it takes her to close her eyes and his fingers to start twitching again.

"She's lost a lot of energy," Aerith mutters, eyes still shut. Concentration rolls off her in waves. There's a large dose of tension in it, too. The room is so full of expectation that it's almost a smell in the air – one Cloud feels like he's choking on.

Above Tifa's bed a large blossom of light opens slowly, like it's trying to force itself through a hole much too tiny or it to fit through intact. It's as though Aerith is trying so hard to keep control of her magic that she's nearly stopped it entirely, but it gives Cloud the opportunity to marvel at the new turn her powers have taken. Aerith hasn't used her powers since José's party, so Cloud hasn't really appreciated the differences. It makes sense, he supposes, that her magic should take on the appearance of a flower. Whenever he thinks of Aerith he thinks of flowers – first the flowers in her mother's shop, and those she used to gather from Dark Forest when they were kids, and more recently the flowers that grow in the abandoned church in the centre of town. He wonders whether all people in her family were attracted to flowers, or whether their healing took on the form of whatever interested them most.

Pinpricks of light rain down from the petals. Tifa stirs slightly in her sleep, her face scrunching up as if in pain. Aerith's eyes snap open. "She … feels like Zack did when he nearly died," she says in shock.

Cloud frowns. "But Tifa can't use magic."

"Apparently," Aerith stares at her, open-mouthed, "she can. She never told me."

"She never told anyone," Cloud says, hearing something strange in Aerith's voice. After that bad business between the two girls over Aerith not telling Tifa about the true extent of _her_ magic, he doesn't like to think what the repercussions might be from Tifa doing the same.

"Not even you?"

He shakes his head.

The bedroom door is open, so Zack doesn't knock when he strides in. The first indication they have of his presence is him standing between them looking thunderous. Moments later the bang of the front door hitting the wall resounds in the other room.

"Leon told me Tifa's been 'experimenting' with magic and her Zangan-Ryu, turning boulders to rubble outside town."

"You've seen Leon?" Aerith asks, not rising from her chair or moving her hands from her lap. She's facing away from Zack, pointed at the bed and her patient, and so has to twist her neck to look at him. "When?"

"Just now. He gave me a message for Tifa when she wakes up." Zack's usual cheer has been engulfed by jagged eyebrows and a worried glare. "He said 'You're allowed to tell them everything'."

"Everything about what?" Aerith wonders, looking back at Tifa and frowning.

"Everything … about her magic, probably," Cloud replies, also looking at Tifa. She looks smaller than usual, covers drawn up to her shoulders and face strained. There's a wrinkle between her eyes, as though horrible thoughts occupy her even at rest.

He was shocked when he found her in the hall and she fainted into his arms. If something was enough to leave _Tifa_ like this it must've been pretty serious. Then again, if she really _has_ been messing around with magic when she's not used to it, and in _this_ world as well, with its strange but potent magical field … Sudden anger at her recklessness erupts inside him. He nearly lost Zack that way and has no wish to lose anybody else in the same fashion.

_Especially Tifa?_ a little voice pipes up from the back of his mind – the one that used to encourage him to peep over the fence between their houses but also made him too tongue-tied to speak to her at school.

Cloud isn't in love with Tifa anymore – if, in fact, he ever really was. His feelings for her were as close to love as he has ever come, but they don't glow with the same white-hot intensity as they did when he was fifteen and full of more hormones than sense. Back then he convinced himself he was in love with her, and as nothing more than a naïve teenaged boy from the rarefied atmosphere of Hollow Bastion, who was he to doubt the power of feelings so strong they made him walk out onto a rickety rope bridge and nearly plunge to his death just to impress her?

But nothing is as simple as Tifa's old romance novels would reduce it to, especially intrigues of the heart. Cloud is only just coming to realise for himself how many different types of love there are, but also how many different layers each of those types can have. He looks at her now and love stirs within him, but it's not the same one that struck whenever he looked at her in her short-skirted uniform, or saw her walking into town with Master Zangan or her parents. He wants to protect her and keep her safe, even though she could kick his ass six ways from Sunday. He wants her to be happy. He wants to see her smile and know it's genuine. To all intents and purposes, he does love her, but he isn't _in_ love with her – not the way he always thought he would be if her father and the stigma surrounding his own family were no longer issues.

Tifa rouses, breaking Cloud from his reverie. He's crouching at her side in an instant, a swirl of mixed-up emotions flaring like fireflies taking flight around his gut. Aerith leans forward and Zack stands over them both as Cloud grasps one of Tifa's hands. The cuts and bruises from earlier are gone, though her palms are still calloused and rough to the touch. He suddenly remembers her telling him how Master Zangan presented her with a rough branch and, in order to strengthen her grip and her skin, used to make her twist her palms around it every day, as though giving it an arm-burn.

"Tifa?"

She blinks vaguely at him, still not quite awake. "Muh?"

"It's Cloud. Remember?"

"'Course I remember you. M' not brain-damaged, jus' tired…" She fades out again, eyelids drifting shut, and then snaps them open so fast Cloud can practically hear them hit the skin above the sockets. "Ohmygosh_Cloud_!" She focuses behind him. "And Aerith. And Zack. You're all … performing vigil at my bedside? Crap, how long was I out?"

"No Yuffie or Kairi, though," Cloud informs her. "They're at Chicha's. Apparently Kairi's the only one Kuzco has ever allowed to ride on his back."

"I …" Tifa fumbles for words. "I didn't say anything really embarrassing in my sleep while surrounded by so many witnesses, did I?"

"No," Aerith murmurs. "But an explanation would be nice."

"Leon left a message for you," Zack says tightly, obviously relieved Tifa is awake, but still angry. Zack doesn't do emotions by halves, so the two are at war in his face, each struggling for supremacy over the curve of his mouth. He relates the message word for word.

Tifa nods with her own peculiar relief. "You might want to pull up your own chairs," she says with a sigh. "This may take a while."

* * *

Aerith isn't sure how to feel about Tifa's news. She's thankful her friend hasn't been lying to her about having magic but hiding it, is cross with her for not telling anyone what she was up to, and feels sorry for her after the story of Rinoa. Mixed-up alongside all that is shame over her own hypocrisy. Aerith winces even to think about the first stab of emotion when she felt the familiar contours of the sickness that had damaged Zack mapped over Tifa's senses. How dare Aerith feel even slightly upset at the idea Tifa might have kept secrets from her after her own track record? The relief Aerith felt afterwards, when she learned this is the first time Tifa has ever tried using her chi this way, only intensifies her shame.

Tifa was embarrassed when telling them how she apparently resembles Rinoa so much, and how Leon reacted to that – though she became strangely cagey when she got to the part about arriving at their front door. Tifa claimed she was already half asleep by then and can't remember Leon leaving, but Aerith doesn't believe it.

Leon. This explains a lot about him – his reticence, his brusque compassion, the ferocity of his war against the Heartless. It also explains the décor and clothes in his apartment. Aerith has never thrown away the outfit he gave her when they first arrived in Traverse Town, though he refused to take it when she offered it, freshly washed and pressed, back to him. Aerith knows that even if she'd planned to, she'll never wear it again now.

"Poor guy," Zack says, all his anger having drained out of him. It is genetically impossible for Zack to hold a grudge. Even keeping bad feelings going for long is difficult when he has nothing to stoke his wrath. The story of Rinoa dumped cold water over his feelings, and now he sits at the kitchen table like a damp squib examining its soaked fuse.

Aerith places a plate in front of him. It's one of her ways of providing comfort. "Here," she says softly, pushing it towards him. "Eat."

Zack glances at the sandwich. Yuffie and Kairi are eating with Chicha and Kuzco, so dinner was always going to be a simple affair. Yuffie has developed a taste for Chicha's spicy cooking, and Chicha doesn't mind making extra, so Yuffie goes over as much as she can get away with. Chicha's invitation is open and extended to all of them. When she made it she confessed to Aerith that having multiple guests reminds her of the family she lost when her world was destroyed. She doesn't even mind when Yuffie and Kuzco bicker like little kids, and of course she has fallen for Kairi. With a new baby on the way Chicha has fallen harder than most, and the way she acts around Kairi is redolent of practised motherhood. Aerith has learned a lot from watching her.

"Why do I feel so weird about this?" Zack asks suddenly. "I didn't even know this Rinoa girl. I feel sorry for Leon – I'm not a complete jerk – but … I don't know." He pokes the sandwich and rests his cheek on his other fist. "I just feel weird. Like I'm supposed to _do_ something."

"You can't do anything," Aerith replies. "It happened a long time ago."

"Not long enough for Leon to start being sociable again."

"I don't think he was all that sociable to begin with."

"I guess you're right," Zack concedes. "That was your first time using your powers since the party, wasn't it? Healing Tifa, I mean."

The question is sudden and catches Aerith off-guard. "Yes," she admits after a moment. "It was."

"You looked stressed."

"Really? I can't imagine why." Sarcasm sharpens her tone.

"It's been over -."

"I'm aware of how long it's been."

He levels a penetrating look at her. "You did great."

His encouragement falls a little flat, but still, the fact that he's trying warms her. "Like Leon said, we have to be careful and take things slowly. In a way it was lucky Tifa was only drained of energy. I knew what to do for that."

"That's good."

Zack's gaze slides to the bedroom door, closed now and with Tifa once again asleep on the other side. Cloud has gone to tend his chocobo, which he always does when he has troubling things to think about and wants to get his own head sorted before talking about them. In a way, bringing that bird along was the best thing for him – though Zack still refuses to get on it. He swears only an earth-shattering catastrophe would prompt him to ride a chocobo ever again. He's convinced this one in particular has taken against him, and watches him only to spot the best opportunity for maximum pecking-damage – completely not fair, he has asserted more than once, since Yuffie's the one always wheedling for a barbeque with complimentary yellow feather headdress.

"What are we doing?" Zack asks suddenly. "I mean really. What are we trying to do here?"

"What do you mean?" Aerith asks with a small frown. "You make it sound like we're on some sort of mission. We're not trying to do anything except live our lives as best we can."

"We said we'd stay in Traverse Town because we could protect Kairi here. Heartless can appear anywhere in this world, so no place is safer than the next, but it feels like we're just … surviving. Leon's war is personal. Yeah, it was awful what happened to him, but that doesn't mean we should become soldiers in his crusade."

"_You're_ suggesting we leave?" Aerith says in complete surprise. Zack has never run away from a fight in his life, especially not one in which innocents could be hurt if he isn't there to defend them. For Zack, everything is built in at bone level – nobleness, pride, dreams, decency. They're integral parts of who he is that not even Angeal had to teach them to him; he just unearthed what was already there.

"No. Yes. I don't know." Zack scrubs at his face with both hands. "You guys are my top priority. I like Leon. He's a good guy. I like Cid and Merlin and Chicha and Kuzco – hell, I don't think there's anyone in this whole town I _don't_ like, with the possible exception of Madame Medusa. Even so, keeping you guys safe is number one for me. It's always been number one and will always _be_ number one."

"I don't understand what you're saying."

"Neither do I, if I'm being honest. I think what I'm getting at is that we're not really _living_, and we haven't been since we got here. We're just … hanging around waiting for the next disaster and filling in the spaces between with something _like_ living. I'm tired of it. I want a proper life, Aerith. I don't want just a skeleton of one."

She sits down beside him. The admission is heartfelt and she doesn't want to say the wrong thing, but she has no idea what the right thing might be. "We're building a life for ourselves, but lives take time. They need time to grow and take root. We've only been here six months."

"Six _long_ months."

"It's still not enough time to put down the kind of roots we had in Hollow Bastion."

Zack exhales noisily. "I guess homesickness comes in all shapes and sizes, huh?"

"Is that what this is?"

"…Partly. I think." He still looks troubled. It's clear to Aerith that there's far more bubbling beneath the surface than he's letting on. "I just have a bad feeling about the way we're going about things." Abruptly he shakes his head, picks up the sandwich and bites into it. "M' prolly jus' bein' shtupid. How long 'til Tifa c'n get up?"

"Sleep is the best remedy for her now." Aerith reaches out without even thinking to flick crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "Don't talk with your mouth full. I made the sandwich, but I don't want to wear it."

Zack swallows and drags a wrist absently across his lips. "Aren't you going to eat anything?"

"I'm not hungry."

Zack eyes her critically and pushes his plate in her direction, indicating the remaining sandwich. "You just used up a lot of energy healing her. You need to keep your strength up."

"Zack -"

"Did you poison this?"

"What? No!"

"Then what's the problem?"

Rolling her eyes at his style of arguing, she breaks off part of the sandwich and nibbles at it.

"I don't want to live my life based around the Heartless," Zack says, eyes distant. He's tried to break away from these troubling thoughts but apparently they're not ready to let go of him just yet. "I think that's the long and short of it. I want my life to be for me, not for them. They already take too much. They've already _taken_ too much."

Aerith leans sideways against him, still nibbling her half of the sandwich and holding it with both hands. "That sounds reasonable."

"Not selfish?"

"It's not up to you or any of us to save _everyone_." A tiny thorn of doubt pricks her mind because she knows on some level, perhaps not even consciously, Zack will probably never see it that way. He's too much of a hero – a true hero, someone who's willing to sacrifice himself for the safety of others, and all his hopes and dreams for the happiness of those he cares about.

In his own way, Zack is even scarier than the Heartless.

"Sometimes," she says quietly, thinking about how much it took for her to sit down beside Tifa and summon her magic, frightened of what it could do to her friend if she got it even slightly wrong, "you have to save yourself before you're able to save anyone else."

* * *

Tifa wakes up with a sharp 'whuff' noise and a heavy pressure on her chest and stomach.

"Idiot."

Something latches around her neck like the world's biggest limpet. "Yuffie!" Tifa cries, half-hazy with sleep and blinking to clear her vision. "What the-"

"Shut up. Anything you say right now is _totally_ going to make me want to hit you, and Aerith said I was only allowed in here if I promised not to."

Tifa is startled. Yuffie doesn't _do_ hugs – not proper ones, and certainly she doesn't initiate them like this. This is almost … tender. It's like someone has put on her skin for a moment but doesn't know how to _be _Yuffie Kisaragi. Tifa freezes, not sure what to do next in case she spoils the moment. Eventually she raises her arms to return the hug, but the instant she does so Yuffie pulls away, returning to form by sliding down the bed and smirking up at Tifa.

"So you can use super-strength to smash rocks with your bare fists now?" There's devilish glee in her voice and her face is a study in approval with a touch of admiration.

A grin creeps unbidden to Tifa's lips. _This_ is the reaction she was hoping for, not the disapproval everyone else seems to have treated her to when she was only trying to help. "Yeah."

"Coooool."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	28. Cloud Versus Leon

* * *

**27. Cloud Versus Leon**

* * *

"What's that?" Kairi asks, pointing to a pale yellow flower.

"That's a lily."

"Lily. Liiily. Lilllly." Kairi giggles. "Lily! What's that?"

"That's another lily."

"What's that?"

"Another lily. They're all lilies."

"Oh." Kairi looks around the church, searching for something. Eventually she finds it and points. "What's that?"

"Kairi, I already told you -"

"What's _that_?"

"That's a lily." Aerith gives up and just answers the questions as they come, until Kairi determines she has identified every flower in the patch and waddles to pick up the little plastic spade Cloud bought for her. It glints as she holds it in one pudgy fist. "I help you!"

Aerith smiles, drawing the little girl onto her lap when she comes close enough. Kairi wriggles, leaning forward to stab the spade into the soil. Aerith catches it before it can decapitate anything.

"Gentle," she chides.

"Huh?" Kairi twists awkwardly to look up at her.

"Gentle. Like this." Aerith takes her own trowel and lightly turns over the topsoil to aerate it. It was becoming too hard packed for the delicate roots, but the clods underneath are dark and rich with moisture.

Aerith has never been able to figure out how this soil is here, or how it stays so fresh when only a hole in the ceiling provides access for rainwater. She has decided not to think about it too much though. This is a place of quiet reflection, not hiving questions.

Kairi watches her hands with huge eyes. "I help you," she says again, and once more tries to stab the tip of her spade down without skill or finesse.

Aerith stops her again and pulls her hand back, restraining her squirming arm. "No, Kairi. Gentle. Remember?"

"Gentle?" Kairi looks nonplussed at the word.

"Yes, gentle. Like this." Aerith strokes her cheek with the back of one finger. "Ahh." She makes a soothing noise, like she used to when Kairi was troubled in sleep or weepy and she used to stroke her like this to comfort her. "Gentle. Geeentle. See?"

"Gentle." Kairi reaches up and clumsily strokes Aerith's cheek the same way. She catches the corner of one eye, making Aerith blink and tears flood into it, but Kairi's intentions are clear. "Ahhhhhhhh."

"Yes, now gentle with the flowers too."

"Gentle with flowers." Kairi looks thoughtful. She drops her spade and leans forward, stroking the back of one hand across the droopy petals of the nearest lily. "Ahh. Gentle. Ahh. See?"

Aerith can't help but chuckle. "Good."

Kairi beams and promptly slips off Aerith's lap to circle the edge of the flower patch, treating every lily she can reach to the same treatment. She knows not to try trampling into them to get to the middle ones.

As she bends back to aerating the soil, Aerith can hear her little voice piping, "Gentle. Gentle. Ahh."

When she can't hear it anymore, however, her head instinctively jerks up. She scans for the familiar red hair and pink dress. Kairi is the kind of little girl who suits pretty dresses, and Aerith, with her own affinity for skirts and skill at sewing, is only too happy to play at dressing her up.

"Kairi?"

No answer.

Aerith jumps to her feet. She has brought Kairi here before and taught her the safe places to go – the places where no rubble will fall on her, and there are no suspicious beams or crumbling stonework waiting to fall on her. Kairi is peculiarly good at remembering that sort of thing – perhaps a throwback to being threatened so many times by bad things. Or maybe it's some instinct buried deep within her. If Kairi is told something is dangerous she's fastidious about staying away from it – which once resulted in a tearful evening of trying to convince her the automatic can opener Cid gave Tifa wasn't going to hurt her, after Kairi heard Yuffie remark how it was 'a dangerous death trap and freaking ugly besides.'

"Kairi?"

A muffled reply is enough to ease the sudden clutch of fear in Aerith's stomach, but she can't figure out where Kairi could be to be so barely audible. She doesn't sound in pain or frightened. Aerith paces around, calling her name, tracking her location by the answering noises.

"Kairi?"

"Aeris!"

There! Aerith pulls back a faded red drape to reveal a door at the very back of the church. She drops to her knees and pulls at the pile of rubble in front it. Rather than the haphazard piles around the rest of the church, this one seems almost like it's been stacked here deliberately. The door itself is locked, but the hinges have recently come away and that side hangs open, allowing Aerith to peer into the dark room beyond. The gap is enough to admit a small body, but nowhere near large enough for Aerith to pass through until she tugs and the door squeals open wider in a flurry of wooden splinters. She squeezes through, feeling the edges scrape against her as though trying to hold her back.

"Kairi?"

Kairi shoots out of the gloom to wrap herself around Aerith's legs. She's absolutely fine. "Aeris! Look!"

Relief washes through Aerith. She bends to take Kairi by her shoulders, staring sternly into her face. "You must _never_ wander off to where I can't see you. Do you understand? _Never. _I was _worried_."

Unperturbed, Kairi just keeps pointing behind her. "Look, Aeris! Look!"

Aerith raises her eyes. They're becoming adjusted to the dimness, lit only by the sliver from the doorway and a tiny hole in the ceiling. The hole casts a single, watery ray of sunshine into the middle of the floor. It's small room, possibly some kind of vestibule, with a floor of stone slabs and dark wood shelves along the sides that have been long since emptied of their books. It's actually in much better condition than the rest of the building, Aerith reflects – right before she spots what Kairi means and gasps.

Kairi grins. "Pretty fevvers." Her on-again off-gain lisp reappears. "Pretty, _pretty _fevvers."

There are so many feathers Aerith doesn't know where they could've all come from. They're all huge; all snow white, and gathered together on top of …of …

"Oh my -" Aerith picks Kairi up and backs towards the door.

"No! Pretty fevvers!" Kairi protests, struggling to get down and add to the handful she's already clutching. She must have gathered them while Aerith was searching for her. "Want fevvers!"

"No, Kairi." Aerith's throat feels smaller than it did when she came in. There's a name, carved in the stone by the tip of something sharp and metal, below the carefully arranged pile of feathers that Kairi has dislodged. "We have to go now."

"No -"

"_Yes_."

* * *

"Rinoa's grave?"

"It was more of a … crypt."

Yuffie's eyes widen. "Cool."

"_Yuffie_," Aerith says sharply. "It is not cool."

"Yes it is. If Teef hadn't already found all this out, you would've totally solved the mystery of where this Rinoa chick is. Unfortunately you're a day late and a munny short. Them's the breaks, Ponytail."

Aerith wraps her hands around her cup of tea. Tifa made it, and it's just as sweet and pleasant as Cid's best batch. "Someone had been tending it. They'd put all these white feathers on top, like a wreath of flowers."

"I suppose feathers wouldn't wilt and die like flowers," Cloud reflects. "Do you think it was Leon?"

"Or Merlin," Zack interjects. "Or even Cid. They were closest to her, after all."

Tifa frowns. "Cid would've told me when he chewed me out about experimenting with my chi. He knows I'm interested in Rinoa after what Leon said about me looking like her. Merlin … I don't know about him, but Leon wouldn't so something so sensitive," she says decisively. "He's not the sensitive type."

"Do you really think so?" Yuffie does a passable job of keeping her voice blasé, but nobody's fooled.

"Yes," Tifa replies, but somehow Aerith doesn't believe _her_ either.

"But Leon did keep Rinoa's clothes," Cloud points out, and nobody can think what to say about this uncharacteristic bit of behaviour.

Aerith drains her teacup and sets it in its saucer. Then she stands up decisively. "I'm going back. I was a little shocked the first time, and I wanted to bring Kairi home, but I want to see it properly."

"Why?" Zack asks.

"Because I have a feeling it's important."

"We already know what happened to her," says Tifa. "What more can you learn from looking at where she's buried?"

"I don't know, but I still want a better look at it." Aerith wonders if she should tell them about the strange pull working at her, drawing her back to that little vestibule. It's like a half-lidded memory; a song lyric, book title or name of a plant teetering just out of reach in her mind. There's something there she knows she needs to see, and she wants to know what it is.

"I'll come too." Yuffie propels herself off her perch on the back of the sofa and stretches until her spine pops. "Things have been mega quiet lately. I could use something to take up my attention before it wanders away and does something stupid without me. I've never been to your church, Ponytail. I'll bet you've been storing all sorts of cool crap in there – apart from the dead bodies of old girlfriends, of course." She looks around at their appalled faces. "What?"

"Don't pull your punches, Yuffie," Zack says with a wince.

"I never do." It's unclear whether she just missed the sarcasm or is pretending not to have registered it.

"I'm coming with you." Unexpectedly, Cloud also rises. He has barely touched his tea, but doesn't seem to notice the flash of hurt on Tifa's face when she glances at his brimming cup. He's too focussed on Aerith and Yuffie.

"Why?" Yuffie wants to know. "Not that I'm complaining about having you around, you big hunk of man flesh, you. Sizzle! You get cuter every day, Cloudy, and I noticed the other week that when you smile you get dimples. Do you understand exactly how attractive a man with dimples can be? I just didn't realise ogling crypts and graves and mausoleums was your kind of thing. Are you hiding some actual kinks in that innocent head of yours?"

"I thought you could perhaps use the company."

Aerith is grateful to him. Yes, she feels she needs to go back and look again, but she doesn't really want to do it alone. Having both Cloud and Yuffie there will make the whole experience less creepy.

"Thank you."

"Hero, you're on babysitting duty." Yuffie points an imperious finger at Zack, then jabs it at Tifa. "Teef, you're on babysitting duty for the babysitter. I left a slice of pie for later. Don't let him eat it."

* * *

"Wow, I could get some brilliant swing going from those chandeliers." Yuffie whistles, admiring the church's vaulted ceiling. "And those statues would be great to practise my tumbling. Why've I never been here before? This is a major oversight."

Aerith brushes past her, heading straight for the hidden doorway. "It's this way." Cloud is right behind her, with Yuffie following them, eyes still everywhere but the way in front of her. "Don't step on the flowers."

It quickly becomes apparent that Cloud isn't going to fit through the gap. The three of them work at widening it for a few minutes, until the lock snaps and the whole door swings crazily outward. They catch it before it can flatten them and prop it against the wall.

There's now far more light to see by. The feathers seem to shine in it. Aerith can now see that they're not as clean as she first thought; they're old and one or two are blackened around the edges, almost as if they've been burned.

_Why would someone put __**burned**__ feathers here?_

"That's it?" Yuffie isn't impressed. "I was expecting something showier." She trundles around and then hunkers down beside the stone rectangle. It's the determined grey of a thundery sky, barely as high as her knees and long enough for her to lie on without her feet jutting over the end. "What are we looking for?"

"Aerith?" Cloud looks expectantly at her.

Aerith can't answer, mainly because she doesn't _know_. At the apartment the urge to come back was irresistible, but standing here now she feels silly and a little weird for making a second visit to a dead body – to _this _dead body. She didn't know Rinoa. She barely knows anything about her, just that she came from Hollow Bastion when it was still Radiant Garden, that she and Leon were once in love and that she died tragically because of her own magic.

Maybe that's the real reason she wanted to come back – not because of any persuasive force, but because she wanted to remind herself of what could happen if she isn't careful with her powers. Looking at the humble marker, Aerith feels suddenly close to this dead girl she never knew. Like her, Rinoa also grew up with her powers and tried to use them for good, even though she was frightened and unsure of them. Like her, Rinoa was expelled from her own world and left to try and survive in this one. And like her, Rinoa was expelled alongside people who were dear to her. However, unlike Aerith, Rinoa's story didn't have a happy ending.

So is this marker a warning? Was she _meant_ to find it?

"Aerith?" Cloud gently shakes her shoulder.

"Hm?"

"You were spacing out." Yuffie peers up into Aerith's face, startling her with her proximity. "Anything interesting going on that head of yours, or did you just tie your ribbon too tight?"

Aerith is prevented from answering by a sharp hiss from behind them. They all turn to see a silhouette framed in the open doorway.

"What are you doing in here?" Leon demands. His fists are clenched. His voice coils around a snarl. He sounds like when he's discussing Heartless, but with an extra jagged edge that slices into the suddenly tense atmosphere and leaves it to bleed out.

Guilt suffuses Aerith, as does the sensation that they're trespassing. "We found it by accident. We didn't know what it was at first -"

Leon's gaze flicks to the disturbed feathers. "Get out."

"Hey, we weren't -" Yuffie starts, but he cuts her off, voice low and menacing.

"I said get out."

"All right." Cloud steps in to play mediator. "We'll leave. There's no need to get wound up."

Aerith is glad of Cloud's reassuring bulk. Leon is far more intimidating than she would've thought possible, given his recent openness with Tifa. There's no trace of that side to him now, just barely suppressed rage burning in his eyes. He takes a step into the room, forcing them to either go around him or back further into it, towards the burial marker.

"Go."

Something flickers in the depths of Aerith's mind. She blinks, distracted, and trips over a chunk of rock. Trying to keep her balance, she ends up toppling forward. She throws her hands out in front of her and falls against Leon. He shoves her off him. He isn't gentle, although Cloud catches her before she can hit the shelves.

"Hey," Cloud says indignantly. "There's no need for that."

"You shouldn't even be here," Leon spits, advancing as if to check they haven't damaged anything. "This is private." He pushes past both Cloud and Aerith, his entire back so tense it's a wonder his muscles haven't cracked open his ribcage like a ripe fruit. His shoulder catches Cloud, propelling him backwards a couple of steps. It's entirely unlike Leon, who can carry a giant gunblade on his shoulder through an apartment full of people and furniture without hitting a thing.

"_Hey!_" Cloud says again. "Watch it."

It only takes one spark to light a fuse. Leon, possessed of some strange mix of grief and anger and … something else, but Aerith isn't certain what it is yet, turns and socks Cloud in the jaw. There's no warning. There's no _reason_. Aerith lets out a startled cry as Cloud's head ratchets back like his neck is about to snap.

However, rather than fall down, the punch only rocks Cloud back on his heels. He rocks forward again and brings his own fist up in an equally unusual act of violence. Leon ducks, avoiding the punch, and lands a second one of his own in Cloud's stomach. Air whooshes out of Cloud's mouth, but his knee comes up just as fast to crash into Leon's chin. Leon pitches backwards, sets his feet and abandons all finesse. He throws himself at Cloud, wrestling him to the ground like a wild animal bringing down prey. It's as if by stepping into this room the layers of Leon's self-discipline have been stripped away, leaving him a seething mass of raw, unpredictable emotion.

"Stop!" Aerith yelps. "Cloud, Leon, stop this right now!"

"You heard the lady, boys." Yuffie bounds into the fray, or at least she tries to, but they're too close and thrust her away again, hands fisted in each others' shirt-fronts.

"Cloud, stop it!" Aerith shouts, since there's more chance he'll listen to her. "Don't fight him. Cloud, stop, this isn't like you!"

Leon's expression frightens her. He hasn't brought out his gunblade, but that's not to say he _won't_. Until now she never would've said he and Cloud could be in a fistfight, let alone such a dirty one, so all bets are off.

They swivel around and Aerith's cries die on her lips. Cloud's face is just as frightening, but for an entirely different reason. While Leon's is creased up with sudden, uncontrollable emotion, Cloud's brow has smoothed and his expression is blank. It's as though someone has punctured the swollen balloon of his heart and there isn't enough pressure left for any feelings to rise into his face. He looks alien, like a stranger.

He catches Leon's fist in his palm, twisting the whole arm around until Leon gives a yelp of pain. Even this doesn't summon anything to Cloud's face except a slight frown of effort when Leon yanks out of his grip, clutching his wrenched elbow. Leon lashes out with a side kick to Cloud's solar plexus, slamming him against the wall. Cloud responds by grabbing Leon's foot and yanking it towards him. Leon's balance is broken. He hop-skips onto Cloud's waiting fist. The crunch of bone heralds a spurt of blood from his nose as it breaks.

The sight of Leon's blood spurs Yuffie to act with more dynamism. The room isn't big at all, but there's enough space for her to run at the opposite wall and takes a few steps up it. She uses the momentum to flip backwards and land exactly between the two men like a nail sliding into a pre-drilled hole. Sticking out her hands, she grabs a handful of each shirt and shoves both Cloud and Leon backwards to arm's length.

"Time! Out!"

"You shouldn't be here," Leon spits, mumbling through the snot and blood flowing down his throat. He coughs, still glaring, scarcely resembling the Leon they know.

"Back off," Yuffie snaps at them both. "I'm all for watching you two get sweaty and grapply, but actually kicking the shit out of each other? _Not_ in the game plan. Now back off, shut up and calm the hell down."

Leon coughs some more. It's a wet, gurgly noise that brings up a lot of bloody phlegm. Aerith instinctively moves towards him, wanting to heal his painful nose. Yuffie releases his shirt and Leon bends double, apparently choking, bracing his hands on his thighs. He's not looking at her, so Aerith touches him to let him know she's there before releasing her power on him.

However, the moment her fingers get within touching distance some instinct of Leon's kicks in and he whips upright. He knocks her away from him. It's not a punch, his fingers aren't even curled into a fist; in fact it seems more reflex than anything, but there's still enough force behind it to propel her into the wooden shelves. She glimpses his sudden dismay as she yelps, the sound of a female voice raised in pain bringing him out of his irrational fury faster than all the punches in the world.

Not so Cloud. When Aerith cries out he surges forward, possessed of something terrible. Despite all his protests that his hand-to-hand skills are dreadful, he twists out of Yuffie's grasp, ducks past her and strikes Leon in the face with the heel of his hand, shoving upwards and forcing Leon's head so far back there's no way he can keep his balance. Cloud follows this with a savage backhand that completes Leon's journey to the floor – and sends his skull crashing into the corner of the stone block.

"Leon!" Yuffie rushes to his side as he lays, unmoving, where he fell. There's a rapidly spreading pool of blood under his head and what looks like a piece of scalp caught on Rinoa's marker.

Aerith, pulling herself upright, stares aghast at the scene. The whole thing has taken less than three minutes. Cloud is breathing hard and stares, bits of himself trickling back into his expression like jelly finding the tiny crevices in a mould. He looks in horror at his hands, at Leon, and then at her, as though he can't believe what he's just done.

"I – I –"

"Ponytail," Yuffie says urgently, "get over here, quick. He's bleeding. He's bleeding a whole bunch and … shit. Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshittyshittums -"

Aerith scuttles over. Yuffie never overreacts. She's genetically incapable of it. Her unusual panic infects Aerith, making her magic snake out before she's truly ready. The magic finds the gash on the back of Leon's head and links her to him when she's still halfway across the room and can't even see the cut with her eyes.

White light blossoms above him. It erupts like a mini sun, but there's something wrong. It's too much. It doesn't open smoothly like it should. The edges of the upside-down flower ripple and change from white to yellow to pinkish red. It half opens, closes again, and then splays wider than ever before. Aerith's worst fears come true, as power gushes out of her like a broken water pipe.

There wasn't time to prepare herself, she's not set, it's too much – too _much_! Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an 'o' of alarm as she tries to stop the tide of power. She feels like she's connected to everything, can see bolts of energy between her and the floor, the ceiling, Yuffie, Cloud and everyone beyond this building as well. The connections are latent now, but she can still feel them, ready to be used if her friends and family ever need her. Those links will be able to channel devastating energy that will stir their organs to cook from the inside out, stimulate them to swell and fix what isn't broken, over and over, until bones crack and can no longer contain their insides if she doesn't stop the raw magic from going every direction at once. Magic wrapped in emotion, wrapped in even more magic; all of it streams from her into Leon, sparking his cells to regenerate and fix the devastating wound that will surely kill him if she doesn't _do _something –

_Help_, she thinks. _I can't do this. It's going wrong. He's gong to die. I'm going to kill him. _

It's like a password, but she won't realise this until later. In that moment Aerith's magic connects with something long-dormant and everything explodes in a wash of colour.

Images streak past her like sleet; but, like sleet, some of them stick. She sees the interior of the church, unbroken. She sees someone like Leon, but younger, hair cut short and no scar on his face. He's turning, murmuring something she can't hear,_ smiling_ at her. She sees yellow eyes under the pews. She sees dozens of soft black explosions. She sees his face again, but this time through eyes she knows are black all over, as though they're all pupil. She sees a detonation of light, a splash of red, the stripe of tears down sooty cheeks as he shakes his head. She sees a burst of white feathers like a bird being shot out of the sky and feels a sudden, heavy pain in the centre of her chest.

She _feels _her mouth forming words she never said –_, please, please, oh gods, please help me, before it's too late, you've got to help me, you've got to_ – just like she feels pain welling in her veins as they threaten to split open to let the power out faster. She _smells_ the musty odour of dusted Heartless, like old attics and mothballs. She _tastes _unrefined magic leaking from under her fingernails as they peel back and bleed sparks. She feels her own dripping blood become scales, talons, fins, and then give way to raw bone, all her flesh incinerated. She feels raw energy sear into the church's walls and floor and ceiling, changing and destroying and morphing. Beams crash and become twisting vines. Tiles skitter off the roof but twist into smoke before the hit the ground. Wooden floorboards become soil. Raw magic crackles along her skin until her ribcage feels like it's caving in under the pressure.

"Help … me …"

Cool green light floods Aerith's thoughts, dragging her back from the images.

"… _Not your memories … different bloodline, rival people, they have their own magic … you are not one of them, you are not for their mysteries, you are one of us … you are Cetra, not Timber … come back to yourself, little one, come back with us to the body __**our **__bloodline gave you … we will not let that one's memories take you, the last, the only, our sole heir … "_

The green light recalls and reclaims her like a thousand clasping hands. A thousand layered voices call to her, warm and sure and achingly familiar. Aerith allows them to pull her back, allows them to wrap around her and push her consciousness back into her own head.

"Ponytail!"

"Aerith, no!"

Aerith feels herself falling as if from far away. She's aware of Leon's warm chest against her cheek, and her head lifting slightly as he takes a shuddery breath, and then … nothing.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	29. The Consequences of Violence

* * *

**28. The Consequences of Violence**

* * *

_Let me apologise to begin with.  
Let me apologise for what I'm about to say;  
But trying to be someone else was harder than it seemed,  
And somehow I got caught up in between._

-- From **In Between **by Linkin Park.

* * *

Everything feels like a dream to Cloud. He can't quite believe what's happening. Even more, he can't really believe what he's _done_. It all feels too unreal.

"What were you _thinkin'_?" Dr. Sweet bends over Leon but talks to Cloud. Anxiety and anger sharpen his usually mild accent. "You realise a couple millimetres more and he coulda had nasal bone fragments in his brain? Aerith's good, but ain't no healin' gonna be fast enough to stop a person dyin' from that. He woulda been dead before he hit the _floor_!"

At the mention of her name Cloud glances at Aerith, apparently asleep except to those who know better. Her crinkled forehead and deathly paleness make Cloud's stomach sink even further.

"I wasn't …" He fumbles for words that won't come. "I couldn't help …"

He can't explain what was going through his mind when he fought with Leon. It was like some icy blanket descended over his senses, starting in the centre of his chest and his brain, rippling outwards until he was taking damage without registering it, making moves he didn't even _know_ he knew, and doing things he never thought himself capable of. He only snapped out of it when it was too late and everything was already going to hell faster than he could stop.

He remembers Leon's nose being suddenly, miraculously fixed, and whatever other damage Cloud had also done to him also healed by Aerith before she slumped like she'd taken it into herself and it was killing her instead. Cloud remembers the different sort of cold that suffused him then – the cold of fear that froze him in place until Yuffie told him to make himself useful and stop Ponytail compressing Leon's freaking chest, damn it. Then Yuffie was gone, vaulting over pews and across rooftops to fetch Dr. Sweet while Cloud held Aerith in his arms, pleaded uselessly with her to wake up and apologised in garbled half-sentences to Leon's prone form.

"I wasn't … myself," Cloud says. It's not the right answer but it's all he can come up with.

Dr. Sweet looks hard at him before turning back to his two patients.

Cloud has never met the man before this. He only knows the doctor from what Aerith has told him. According to her, Dr. Sweet is pleasant and competent, with a sense of humour that borders on cruelty and a penchant for coffee so strong it's like an oil slick. Cloud can see his competency in the way he moves between Aerith and Leon without once having to stop and think what to do next. His hands are steady and work with reassuring confidence – unlike Cloud's own, which feel like they will never stop trembling.

What came over him? Why did he go off the deep end like that? And how did he not only fight but beat _Leon_?

"You done starin', bucko?"

Cloud blinks back to reality. "Bucko?"

"Seems to me like he's fine, just nappin'." Dr. Sweet nods at Leon. "Aerith done healed any little thing wrong with him. Clever girl, though I'd still like to get him back to my surgery for a more thorough examination. Aerith's sufferin' from acute exhaustion, so for definite she's comin' with. She needs a saline drip at the very least."

"She's just … tired?"

"'Tired' would be the pansy way of puttin' it, and there ain't no 'just' about it. Girl's runnin' emptier than a gas tank in the middle of a desert with no map, no oil, no end of buzzards and no oasis for miles."

"Uh … what?"

"Never mind." Dr. Sweet scoops Aerith into his arms and looks expectantly at Cloud. "Well?"

Cloud realises what he's waiting for and recoils. After beating him so soundly, he now has no desire to even touch Leon. At all. Leon may be 'just napping', but he's still pale and smeared with his own blood. It has all dried into browny-black clumps, giving his face the impression of a corpse. Resting so close to Rinoa's grave only completes the image. Cloud shivers.

"We ain't got all day, bucko; or don't you care about her?" It's a low blow, but it works. Apparently Dr. Sweet isn't above emotional blackmail.

Cloud awkwardly hauls Leon up off the floor, slinging one arm over his own shoulders and grabbing his waist to steady him. He takes a few steps before realising this isn't going to work and pulls Leon up further into an even more awkward fireman's lift. "Ngh. Ready."

Dr. Sweet raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Together they leave the church without looking back at the sad pile of feathers that scatter in the draught of their passing.

* * *

Zack pounds through the streets without seeing anything. His mind thrums with a single manic intent. If anything is foolish enough to get in his way right now it's likely to find itself either run over or on the business end of the Buster Sword. Heartless, monsters, grandmothers bearing trays of cookies, a plague of vampiric winged monkeys – nothing could stop him from getting to Dr. Sweet's surgery.

He had Kairi in his arms when Yuffie burst through the front door, panting and gabbling even faster than usual. In amongst the run-on sentences and typical Yuffie-ish digressions he gleaned enough to make his blood turn to concrete in his veins.

"… bad shit went down and there was yelling and Cloudy and Leon had a fistfight, only Cloudy was weirder than Weirdy McWeirdo, a real nutjob episode, and Leon got injured and Ponytail collapsed while she was healing him from, like, this majormajormjor head wound, and there's was blood, like, _every-freaking-where_, and I think he might be okay now, but she's hurt bad, Hero, and we don't know what's wrong with her because there aren't any marks, but she won't wake _up_ …"

After that things get a bit hazy. He recalls thrusting Kairi at Tifa and dashing out after Yuffie. The pair found nobody at the church, surmised that they must've gone to Dr. Sweet's and took off – Zack through the streets while Yuffie flung herself across roof tiles and chimney pots to beat him and get there first. It took a lot for her to leave the others and come find him. The sight of Yuffie actually panicking is one Zack won't forget in a hurry.

She's still up there now. He can hear her feet and see her shadow out the corner of his eye. It's all sharp enough for him to realise the Buster Sword must be enhancing his senses, since he's on the ground and his heartbeat is loud enough that it should be blocking any sound as faint as Yuffie's accelerated breathing and muttered curses. He marshals the sword's power back, thanking it but not wanting to risk losing control when it's so important he keep his cool. He's already struggling not to do something stupid. Blowing up right now would be a Very Bad Thing and not helpful to anyone.

That doesn't mean he doesn't feel like it. The urge to pound something is strong, as his mind conjures images of what state he might find Cloud, Aerith and Leon.

His head has never been completely right again after José's party – not just the incident where he freaking _died_, which was enough of an kick in the teeth on its own, but the bit before that, when he was painfully aware of how red satin can cling like a second skin and how long Aerith's hair actually is when she lets it down. In the aftermath, mind all full of his own mortality and making sure magic wouldn't overwhelm him or anyone else he cares about, those inklings (because that's all they were, he swears it, just inklings, because Aerith is one of his _best friends,_ someone who has seen him at his worst and his lowest and his most _embarrassing_, and because it'd be like fancying _Cloud,_ for pity's sake) were shelved. He had other things to concentrate on, he reasoned at the time. They all did.

Zack hasn't really given over much time to think about it since, but imagining Aerith covered in blood, even though Yuffie said Leon was the one bleeding, somehow unites with the red satin, creating a horrible patchwork of soft curves, torn flesh and wide green eyes. Cloud acting out of character is just as disturbing, and lends wings to Zack's feet.

Yuffie lands in front of the surgery door moments before him. They both push inside to find … Cloud sitting in a plastic chair, looking demoralised and staring at his hands like someone cut his off and lent him a pair that don't fit properly.

"Cloud!"

His head jerks up. Zack sees a welter of differing emotions flit across his face, but dominant is such deep shame that it momentarily drives the red-red-red satin from his mind. Here is his other closest friend, uninjured except for a swelling jaw but obviously hurting badly.

"Zack. Yuffie." Cloud gestures. "Dr. Sweet is just examining them both. He says they should be fine."

Relief swamps Zack so hard it very nearly knocks him onto his butt. "And you?"

"I'm fine too." Cloud looks away, so awful at lying it's not even funny.

Yuffie hops from foot to foot, a bundle of adrenaline with nothing to channel it into. Twice her hands stray to her belt pouches and the tiny silver shuriken inside, but both times they drop back to her sides, clenching and unclenching into fists. Her movements are aimless. Eventually she spins on her heel and runs out the front door without explanation, banging it open so hard that it judders on the rebound.

Cloud and Zack look at each other.

"Is she okay?" Cloud asks.

"Less than fine, but better than she was earlier," Zack says uncertainly. Maybe she's just gone to run off some nervous energy before they go in to see Aerith and Leon. He swivels back to Cloud. "Are _you_ all right?"

"I said I'm fine -"

"Liar."

Cloud meets his eyes, knowing he can't lie to Zack. Zack knows him too well to be fooled. "I nearly killed him, Zack. He hurt Aerith, but it wasn't on purpose, not really, and I still … I went for him like some … some rabid attack dog. Leon was just upset because we were at Rinoa's grave. He didn't know we were going to be there. He punched me, and this … I don't know how to describe it. It was like this red mist just kind of descended and then I … I don't know what I was …" He licks his lips and says hoarsely, "I almost _killed_ him."

Despite everything, a tiny part of Zack is impressed. He figures it's allowed to be, since Leon _didn't_ die and isn't going to today. Leon is a trained warrior and taller than Cloud by a good few inches. Cloud's strong from working with heavy animals and hauling deliveries, but Leon's strength is sinewy; the kind that makes him more dangerous in battle than a muscle-bound eight-feet-tall prize-fighter with a grudge and a two-by-four. Only Cloud's palpable regret stops Zack from feeling proud.

"He was _grieving_. You could see it – he's still grieving for her, even after all this time. Us being there without permission was … I guess it was like we were defiling the place or something. He said it himself; we weren't meant to be there. It isn't ours. And I nearly _killed _him for it. If only he hadn't walked in at that moment …"

"Coincidences are all well and good, but sometimes, some things are just meant to be," Zack says firmly. "There's no point in beating yourself up about it. What's done is done and everybody's still alive, which is the main thing."

Cloud doesn't look convinced.

"What happened to Aerith?"

"I don't know. One moment she was healing Leon, the next she froze up and started shaking like she was having a seizure. Then she collapsed. Dr. Sweet said it was just exhaustion, but I think it was more than that."

"When can we see her? Is she awake?"

"No. Neither she nor Leon have regained consciousness yet." Cloud's face plumbs new depths of misery and self-reproach. "This is all my fault."

"How the hell do you figure that?"

"If I hadn't gotten into that fight with Leon none of this would've happened."

"Bull. You might as well say if Aerith hadn't discovered Rinoa's grave this wouldn't have happened, or if Kairi hadn't wanted to go with her to her church this morning, or if Yuffie crayoning flowers with her last night hadn't inspired Aerith to want to go there in the first place. It was a bunch of things and you'd better not try and take all the blame yourself or I'll put hot sauce in your dinner – the kind that blows out the roof of your mouth and flays your throat."

Cloud opens his mouth to answer, but then closes it again.

"You said he threw the first punch," Zack points out.

"Because we were _trespassing_. That's a private place and we just wandered in like we had a right …"

Zack huffs slightly, pursing his lips and belatedly realising that's exactly what Aerith does when trying to reassure one of them that the world's ills are not their sole responsibility. "Well it's all out in the open now."

There's a clatter from the closed door to the examination rooms. Seconds later Dr. Sweet emerges, headband askew and white labcoat hanging off one shoulder. "Could y'all please tell your friend it's customary to use a door?"

"Huh?" Cloud and Zack exchange glances. "Yuffie."

* * *

All things considered, that could've gone way better. Yuffie's not embarrassed, because being embarrassed is for pussies, but she's casually mortified that she landed on top of the doctor instead of in the empty space she was aiming for. Leon makes entering buildings using windows and skylights look so easy, and besides, she's a freaking _ninja_. Breaking and entering is a snap for her. She blames the fact she was distracted by the sight of Leon and Ponytail laying so cold and still. Hard to avoid landing on people, even people as big as Dr. Sweet, when you're all sidetracked and unfocused and junk. Even tiptop super-ninjas can have their aim thrown. Yeah. Totally.

Leon is silent. Usually Yuffie doesn't mind this. With other boys she's hung out with, including Hero and Cloudy, it's always about words. She throws them around like they're going out of style, and people around her are forced to do the same or drown in a sea of letters and bobbing punctuation. With Leon it's never been like that. She shoves and he shoves back, but he does it in a different way than everyone else. With him, he just has to look her way and it feels like he's inside her skin looking for the off switch to her mouth. She's never had that with anyone before.

Trust her to fall for the guy devoted to his dead girlfriend.

This silence from Leon is the wrong kind of silence. Likewise Ponytail. Yuffie isn't cold-blooded; she doesn't want either of them to be hurt or, worse, to _die_. Just because she's forever playing power games with physical contact doesn't mean she, y'know, wants touchy-feeling people like Ponytail or touch-me-and-I'll-turn-your-hand-into-a-jaycloth-to-clean-my-gunblade-with Leon to snuff it. She hates the idea of losing either one of them – any of her friends, for that matter – she's just inept at showing it. Or, actually, not inept because the Great Ninja Yuffie isn't inept at _anything_ … but slightly inexperienced.

Yeah, inexperienced. Good word. It brings up connotations of virginal young maidens, which is always good for a giggle.

"Man, Leon, you look like complete shit," she says. "Is that the fashion now?"

Dr. Sweet comes back in, closely followed by Hero and Cloudy.

"Howdy," Yuffie greets them. "I got tired of waiting for permission. Sorry about the boot to the head, Doc. Although you really shouldn't have been standing right under the skylight like that _anyhow_. You could get sunburn on that bald head of yours, standing right under a big ol' magnifying glass like that one, and then what would you do? I'll tell you what – you'd have to slather all that gunky grease onto the top of your freaking head to keep your skin from drying out and cracking and coming off in giant ugly cakey lumps – yuck with side order of blech! And you'd have to walk around with everyone pointing and laughing and saying 'there goes the guy who makes ogre snot into a fashion statement'. You mark my words, it'll happen." She wags a finger at Dr. Sweet, who looks bewildered.

"Is she always like this?"

"Yup."

"Always."

"I can prescribe some sedatives. You could slip 'em in her food."

"Tried that," Hero replies without missing a beat. "Didn't work." He's so convincing that even Yuffie wonders whether he's telling the truth. Only the sparkle in his eye – part relief, part humour, part pure _Zack_ – tells her he's doing his usual trick of trying to lighten the mood. Yuffie brings her own humour and crams it into situations, but Zack tries to find whatever sliver is already there. This time, apparently, it means lying through his teeth to make a good punch-line.

She grins. She's rubbing off on him at last.

Zack and Cloud edge toward Aerith. Yuffie sighs inwardly and steps towards Leon, not because she doesn't care about Ponytail, but because someone has to show willing to be the first thing the cantankerous bastard sees when he wakes up. It's a sacrifice she's willing to make, and very selfless of her, even if she does say so herself.

It's always been Aerith, Zack and Cloud. Even in the midst of their sprawling, constantly growing circle of friends, it always comes back to those three. They're bonded in ways nobody else can hope to break – nor even understand sometimes.

When Aerith first bought Yuffie a toothbrush and left it sitting on the side of the sink with toothpaste already on it Yuffie thought she was taking the piss. But no, it's just something she'd done for Zack and Cloud since they moved in together. Likewise Zack's habit of constantly trying to make pancakes because the other two like them, always getting it slightly wrong but trying again next time like he's never failed before in his life; or how Cloud always brings home a tiny bag of their favourite candies on Fridays when his customers settle their tabs – and never once has to ask what their favourites are. They can make each other smile with a look, ease a frown with a gentle squeeze, and soothe any kind of pain because if one of them is hurting they all are. They're full of little customs and deceptively simple patterns into which you _think _you can slot, but which nobody really can. Other friends add their patterns on at the edges, forming elaborate Celtic knots of interconnecting relationships, or they create whole new patterns. Still, it always comes back to those three, in the middle of it all, fastened to each other too fully and seamlessly for even them to notice.

Le sigh. Yuffie looks down at Leon. She wonders whether, now this whole Rinoa thing is out in the pen, he'll become a proper part of their circle. After all, there's nothing more for him to hide from them anymore.

Which is when Aerith sits bolt upright as if from a nightmare. She stares around her, wide-eyed and obviously disoriented. And well she might. She conked out in the church and in between blinks she has changed location and her audience has increased.

"Good morning," says Zack. "Glad you could join us."

"We were so worried about you," Cloud adds, dampening the atmosphere a little by injecting reality into it so fast. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"

Aerith stares from one to the other. Then she puts her head in her hands and starts to cry.

Zack and Cloud are aghast. They immediately try to comfort her. Yuffie is so caught by watching Zack's hands and Cloud's elbows encircling her shoulders, fingers pressing as though they can cure her tears with acupuncture, brushing against each other in a tangle of limbs and emotion _they are still too dense to freaking see_, that she totally has her own dense moment and misses Leon's eyelids flickering.

"H-He …" Ponytail sobs. "I s-saw … her memories … th-they were still th-there, still waiting for someone suitable to c-come along so they could rep-play themselves … her last moments … her magic – it was all still _there_! It got all mixed up with mine when I started losing control and I _saw_!"

"What?" Zack is confused.

"Move over, please." Dr. Sweet tries to reach her.

"Aerith?" All thoughts of Cloud's own guilt are wiped away by fresh concern for her.

"I _saw_ it. I s-saw …"

"What? What did you see?"

"… Rinoa …"

"What about her?"

"I killed her."

They all whip around.

Leon drags himself upright on his cot. His face is flinty but his eyes are raw like unprocessed metal ore.

"I killed her," he says again. "I killed Rinoa."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	30. Leon’s Guilty Secret

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* * *

**

**29. Leon's Guilty Secret**

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* * *

**

_We all begin with good intent  
When love is raw and young.  
We believe that we can change ourselves;  
That the past can be undone.  
But we carry on our back the burdens time always reveals  
In the lonely light of morning,  
In the wound that would not heal.  
It's the bitter taste of losing everything  
I've held so dear._

-- From **Fallen** by Sarah McLaughlin.

* * *

"This really is quite remarkable." Merlin strokes his beard. "Quite remarkable indeed."

Personally, Cloud thinks it's anything _but_.

The old wizard had appeared suddenly and unexpectedly in the doorway of Dr. Sweet's surgery like it was an extension of his own home, plunking himself down at Dr. Sweet's desk and effectively curtailing any conversation following Leon's shocking words. Merlin said something about sensing a huge magical disturbance and tracking it here, then produced a pot of tea and a cup for everyone – literally.

"It may not help to solve any problems, but it will at least help to calm the nerves," he said, his words cutting a chunk out of the heavy, disbelieving silence.

That wasn't so long ago, but it may as well be a lifetime. Time seems unreal right now – seconds stretch into hours. The whole room vibrates with such nervous energy it's amazing the walls don't bulge.

Dr. Sweet looks bemused and keeps shooting Leon suspicious looks, as though he has come across crazy people before and recognises their traits in this disturbed young man. Aerith sits on her cot with a blanket drawn up to her waist, Zack and Cloud beside her like knights apparent. Merlin just sips his tea, asking questions and nodding as he learns what happened at the church.

"It really is a remarkable coincidence, the heirs of two allegedly obsolete ancient races landing in the same world like this. It's almost as though it were predestined for you to come here, my dear," he says to Aerith. "And there was I thinking I was lucky just to know the last remaining Timber. And now you as well. Not bad for a barmy old codger in a silly hat. Remarkable."

"I don't…" Aerith starts, gaze sliding between him and Leon.

Leon clammed up the moment Merlin arrived and has said nothing more. Nobody can really process what he said. _He_ killed Rinoa, the girl he purported to love. Until he said that, they'd all assumed Rinoa died from her own wild magic. His confession, if it's true, throws all their preconceived ideas into the air like a set of jacks, and they're still waiting to see where each piece falls.

Cloud tightens his grip on his teacup. He's vaguely surprised the delicate handle doesn't snap off in his hand.

"Your Cetra blood was perfect for Rinoa's Timber blood to react with," Merlin goes on blithely. "When _your_ magic connected with her remains it unlocked the magic built into _her_ cells in a psychic phenomenon. I've heard of such things occurring before, but to actually meet someone who has experienced one -"

"Cetra?" Zack's head jerks up. "Weren't they the ones you said made the Buster Sword?"

"Indeed I did."

"But they're all dead."

Merlin sighs as though talking to a slow child. "Not as gone as one might think. Pureblood Cetra may have died out millennia ago, but strains of their bloodline remain. Just as Rinoa could trace her ancestry back to the Timber, another historical race of powerful magical people, I'd speculate that Aerith here has some Cetra in her family history."

"I'm not human?" Aerith asks in alarm.

"You're perfectly human. You're exactly who you've always been, and exactly who you always will be, you just happen to know more about yourself than you did when you greeted the sunrise this morning." Merlin thumps his staff like a schoolteacher telling a pupil the importance of accurate spelling. "Your magic is your birthright. It's a gift from your ancestors."

"My … ancestors." A curious light comes into Aerith's eyes. Her gaze drifts in thought. "'The sole heir'. I'm the last one. The last Cetra."

"Perhaps," Merlin says gently. "Certainly, Rinoa was the last Timber. Your magic sought out hers and interacted with it, which is how you were able to see through her eyes. Her final memories were literally resting with her as a piece of free-floating magical excess."

"Excuse me?"

"It's rather complicated to go into. Higher theory of the influence of particularised paranormal fields and ambient energy on resonant soul matter. Very convoluted. It's probably easier if you think of it as a magical echo that only you and others descended from early magical races are capable of hearing."

Aerith doesn't look very comforted by this.

Cloud struggles to understand it as well. Zack told them all about the Cetra; how they made the Buster Sword and how they may have had a hand in the creation of the keyblades. Cloud's brows pull together. "Were the Timber … did they help to create the keyblades as well?"

Merlin obviously approves of this question. "Possibly. There were five races that had a significant influence over the development of our world's magical structures at that time – the Cetra, the Timber, the Spira, the Viera and the Espers. Any or all of them could have had a hand in creating the keyblades. They were all quite powerful in their own way. The Cetra were healers, the Espers were telepaths, the Viera were innately connected with the natural world, the Spira were ocean-mages, and the Timber were bodily magic users."

"Bodily magic users?" Aerith echoes.

"Meaning they could change their shapes and use their own bodies to channel elemental magic – earth, wind, water, fire and suchlike." Merlin sighs. "Which is probably conjuring some things in your mind, my dear, about poor Rinoa's final moments. Am I correct?"

Slowly, Aerith nods.

"Leon?" Merlin looks at him. "This isn't my story to tell. I can explain the theory and the history, but this portion of the tale is yours, and yours alone."

Leon says nothing. He just stares straight ahead like he's wearing blinkers nobody else can see.

"There's no shame in them knowing." Merlin glances at Aerith. "Not now."

Leon's throat convulses. Beside his bed, Yuffie quivers with a palpable need to be up and doing something, but she forces herself to stay still. The effort clearly costs her, though not as much as Leon's effort costs him. His smokescreen is dissipating, as though someone opened a window to suck out the grey pall obscuring the truth of who he is and what really happened – to Rinoa _and_ to himself.

"No shame?" he mutters. "What world are you living in, old man?"

"She didn't blame you." Aerith is quiet. "She … told you. When she was still lucid, she told you to do it."

"She was wrong. _I _was wrong."

"She forgave you. She loved you and wanted to protect you from herself. She was … grateful that you did it."

Something in Leon breaks at this. Cloud swears afterwards that he heard it shatter. The pieces of Leon's resolve land in his lap, by his sides, catching in the collar of his jacket and glittering in his hair like broken glass. He looks suddenly smaller, younger, and Cloud reflects that they don't actually know how old he is. Leon always radiates a kind of hard-bitten maturity. Well, it's gone now, scorched away to reveal a surprisingly vulnerable and _young_ man underneath.

"She was out of control," he whispers. "We went to the church because she said it was beautiful there. She wanted to show me the stained glass windows. The Heartless … they came out of nowhere, but she destroyed them all. Really easily. Stupidly easily. I'd barely got my gunblade out and they were already gone, but … she couldn't stop her magic afterwards. It took over. It … _changed_ her. She didn't look the same, didn't act the same, didn't even think the same. Her wings … she could grow beautiful … big white wings. She learned how when she was a kid. It was the first shape-shifting she ever got completely right; the only one she ever seemed to truly _enjoy_. But they were different – her wings, they weren't _right_. _She _was different. She kept screaming. She just … kept … screaming …" His throat convulses again.

The air in the room has gone eerily still. It's like being trapped inside a sigh.

"I still hear her. Every day. Every night. Whenever I close my eyes I see her face, all twisted, only half human and sometimes not human at all. And she's always screaming -" His voice catches. "My gunblade carries six rounds. Six enchanted shells. They can cut through any magic to hit a target. She knew that. We worked together, back in Radiant Garden. I was her commanding officer, even though we were the same age. I always said everyone had to know about the weapons of the rest of their unit, so she knew my bullets wouldn't be turned away by her magic even when it was getting out of control and destroying the whole damn building."

Cloud can see where this is going. He can see clearer than if he was there that day. He can see it written in the way Leon's knuckles blanch and in the jumping muscle in his cheek.

"I refused." One hand rises to touch his scar. "I kept refusing. I'd rather have shot myself. But she was afraid. She was so afraid. If she broke out of the church with that much power … she knew she'd go on a rampage. She was fading in and out, becoming something else, something _evil_, but she knew and she kept … kept begging me …" He shakes his head. "She was screaming in pain. I could see … the things happening to her … her whole body was in agony, but she was thinking about other people. Too fucking selfless for her own good."

"She forced your hand," Aerith says in horrified comprehension. "You really would have put her life above the rest of Traverse Town's."

Leon doesn't reply.

"You refused to shoot, so she attacked you. She got control enough to make you think she was going to be okay, enough that she could get close to you, and then she attacked. She didn't give you time to think. She made you react instinctively. Leon -" Aerith pauses. "No, _Squall_. You were Squall in the memory."

"I stopped being Squall when she died," he says gruffly. "She called me Leon because it pissed me off and made me smile at the same time. Nobody else could do that. Nobody else could get away with it, but for some reason I let her. You can say she forced my hand, but I've been over that day a thousand times and I've come up with countless ways I could've stopped myself when she flew at me. After I pulled the trigger I couldn't be Squall Leonheart anymore. Without Rinoa there _is _no Squall. Just Leon. Just half a name. Half a person. Just … me."

And Leon cries. He actually _cries_; big anguished sobs, like someone has tipped back his head, reached down his throat and dragged up the tangled mess of putrid emotions that have fermented inside him since the day he killed his lover. Even more than the shards of his resolve, they can see these oozing from him. Cloud hears the sticky dripping, like thick black poison welling up from a wound that has been left untreated for too long, and which has begun to rot. It's embarrassing and excruciating for Leon to feel, and for them to watch.

Cloud looks away. From the corner of his eye he can see Yuffie. Unlike everyone else, who is twitching or fidgeting, she has gone totally still, her face a complete blank. She stares at Leon, but Cloud can't even begin to wonder what she's thinking. He doesn't think he has ever seen Yuffie immobile before.

Aerith throws back her blanket. When Cloud looks back she's already at Leon's side, wrapping her arms around him like Cloud and Zack wrapped their arms around her when she was crying.

"She forgave you," she murmurs brokenly. "She'd already forgiven you when she asked. She wanted you to forgive her for _having _to ask. She hated that she had to make you do that, but she loved you and she knew it had to be done. She was so in love with you, right up to the end. It was what kept her coherent enough to do what she did. She was in so much pain and you gave her peace, you stopped her from doing things she knew she'd regret. You stopped her from killing _you. _More thananything, she was grateful to you for that. She never wanted you to hurt so much because of her. Oh, Squall …"

"It's Leon," he replies, anger burning in his eyes even through his tears. "It's only Leon…"

"Not to her."

"You just don't _get it_, do you?" Leon shoves her hard. She refuses to let go. He tries to prise her arms from around his neck. She clings to him in a way that would've been unimaginable only a few hours ago. "Let go of me."

"You're not a murderer," Aerith says.

"It didn't mean anything when they," he gestures at Merlin, "said it. They weren't there. _You_ weren't there."

"But I _was_," Aerith insists. "Or she was, and I've seen what she saw. I've felt what she felt."

"But none of you felt what_ I _felt!" Leon shoves Aerith again. This time her grip does break. She falls back. Cloud jerks forward instinctively, but there's a blur of movement to his left.

Suddenly Yuffie has broken from her stupor and launched herself onto Leon's bed. She scoots behind him, making room for herself and shunting him forward so she can fit. She pins his arms to his sides by wrapping her own around him from behind and holding her own wrists.

"Get a grip," she says fiercely. "Stop treating us like the enemy, you moron."

For a second Cloud thinks Leon is going to twist from her hold the way he twisted from Aerith's. It wouldn't take much. He has a lot of weight over her, almost all of it muscle; but instead of breaking her grip too, he freezes. He shudders once, all over, and then slumps, neck bent and hair obscuring his face. Yuffie may be the smallest person there, but she has done what Cloud is fairly sure nobody else could: she has brought Leon's rage and pain to a shuddering halt.

"Did you love her?" Yuffie's voice is strangely harsh and grating.

It takes a second. "Yes," Leon eventually replies.

"More than anything?"

"Yes."

"Will you ever forget her?"

"No."

"Then quit being such a moron and keeping her hidden away like some dirty little secret. That's not what love is supposed to be like. Love is all shouting from the rooftops and stuff. It's being proud of the person you're in love with. It's not being able to help how you feel, but you got it backwards and all screwed up, because you seem to think it's about not feeling like you can ask for help. You're miserable without her, aren't you?"

This time Leon just grunts.

"That just proves how much you loved her – and still love her. She's a part of who you are. How the hell can you say you're not the same person without her? Seems to me you're still the same person you always were – even more than you were then. Which doesn't make a lot of sense to hear, but does when you think about it. You aren't living without her, you twit. You're living _because_ of her. You're alive because of her. You get up each day and breathe in and out because of her. You do everything you do because of her – she, like, _informs_ who you are. Tell me I'm wrong. Go on." She waits for him to reply, but he doesn't. "She _is_ who you are now. So the name doesn't really matter. It's just packaging, y'know? Just something people can call you to get your attention across a busy street. What's important is knowing how much she's a part of you and not forgetting how much she gave up so you could go on living. You live your life like a miserable hermit and you're just flipping her the finger every time you take a breath."

Leon tenses. Cloud watches, unable to move, unable to do _anything_ except wait for his response. Finally Leon half turns his head, not enough to see Yuffie behind him, but enough that it's clear who he's talking to.

"My name is still Leon."

"If you say so. It's still just packaging to the rest of us. Maybe I should start calling you Fluffer McKitty just to prove it. Now are you gonna let us be friends with you, and care about you, or are you going to pretend nobody else is allowed to think you're human just because you have tragedy in your past? Because, you great big idiot, if you'd just look around at the people who have been worriedly waiting at your bedside and nearly had coronaries when you were so badly hurt they thought you might die, we already got plenty of tragedy to go around. And, strange as it may seem to you, we all still manage to care about each other in spit of that. If all you're gonna do with your heart after Rinoa saved it is turn it to stone, then maybe you don't care about her as much as you say you do."

The air ripples with Yuffie's stark words. Cloud actually flinches, recalling the exchange between her and Zack before they went to the church earlier.

"_Don't pull your punches, Yuffie."_

"_I never do."_

"So what's it gonna be?" she asks now. "You gonna choose to live, or are you gonna choose to pretend like you're living?"

The loudest sound of all is Leon's whisper. "I choose …"

"Yeah?"

"I choose to think you're a pushy, upstart kid with a big mouth."

Yuffie's grin is strained but wide. "Hey, it's a start."

* * *

Time is a strange thing. Sometimes it passes so slowly you'd swear ice ages have gone faster, and sometimes it goes so quick that you blink and everything has changed by the time you finish raising your eyelids.

The first time Tifa goes back to work, Cid looks up at her, mumbles, "Ah shit," and his cigarette droops. "The kid told you, right?"

Tifa can smell Merlin in the workshop – that mix of incense and ink that overlays even motor oil. "No. Aerith told me." She remembers the strain in her friend's eyes, dealing with the news about her own heritage as well as Leon's … Leon-ness. "She told me a lot of things. Did you know all of it?"

"Know it? I helped bury her." Cid looks sad and depressed – or as sad and depressed as he _can _look. Mostly he just looks frustrated. Or like he's constipated. "It was a fucking terrible business from top to bottom, and it screwed the kid up so badly Merlin and I have been looking out for him ever since. He tell ya he used to be Captain of the Royal Guard back in Radiant Garden? Youngest ever to get the job. A real prodigy. One of them natural born leader types."

"I'd heard that."

"Couldn't lead his own dick to the bathroom for a piss after Rinoa died. Practically had to have his mouth and ass wiped for him or he'd forget to do it."

Tifa winces, but supposes she shouldn't expect any less from Cid. If he started pulling his punches she'd be worried.

"He was a mess. Changed his name and got real mean when we slipped and called him by the old one. When he did talk it was half-baked shit about her trying to save the town from him. We figured he was just crazed with grief, but then he started going out alone at night, keeping weird hours and looking for things to beat up. It was like some fucking crusade or atonement or something. Good thing I know triage. The number of times I had to patch him up from knife fights until the dumbfucks he went after got smart enough to run when they saw him. There used to be crime in Traverse Town. It's a big place, and anywhere big enough for people to fall between the cracks is big enough to have a seedy underbelly dirtier than a dog's asshole. But the kid took care of that. He was a fucking _tornado_ on that shit, a regular one-man army. He made the streets safe and kept them that way. And then, after that, he waged war on the Heartless because it was a good way of punishing himself while pretending he was being so fucking righteous."

"He killed her."

"She died," Cid corrects fiercely. "And he was there. It fucked him up. End of story."

Tifa can't imagine what that must be like, to know the only thing standing between the one you love and their worst nightmare is you, and the only way to stop them falling into darkness is to rip them away from your side forever. She tries to picture Cloud, wracked with pain and about to kill innocent people if he isn't stopped; and herself pointing a weapon at him in more than idle threat. She can't go past that point her head. The images won't come and she doesn't want to force them.

Then she tries picturing him with Yuffie, or Zack, or Aerith, and it's impossible to even get to the first image. They'd all die together before they'd let themselves be pulled apart. Or they'd find a way to save the one who thought the only way out was death; they'd _demand_ the universe provide a third option. They're good at pulling miracles out of thin air.

Tifa sucks in a strengthening breath. She needs more than a few of those around Cid, chiefly because she's getting better at recognising things she knows will piss him off. She still needs to ask this one, though.

"Did you agree to hire me because I remind you of Rinoa?"

"The fuck-?"

"I look like her. You were fond of her."

"And you think that's why I-? Fucking fucktards in a fuck-basket, girl!" Cid thunders.

It's testament to how much he cusses that she doesn't even flinch. "That's not a real answer."

"Then how's this for a real answer – fuck _no_!"

"No what?"

"You are seriously trying my patience, Tifa -"

"No _what?_"

Cid's strengthening breath rasps between his teeth like sandpaper over untreated wood. "No, I never hired you 'cause of Rinoa. I hired you 'cause you got in my face and damn well demanded that I hired you. Happy now?"

No, actually, but she does feel better. Tifa has never lived as two people before, and she doesn't like it. It's nice to know she doesn't have to do it for _everyone_ who knew and loved Rinoa.

* * *

Aerith doesn't have another Green Dream. She's disappointed. She wants to talk to the voices now she fully understands who and what they are, and what she is in relation to them.

It's surprisingly easy to accept that she's Cetra. Or part-Cetra. Or whatever. It was harder accepting the death of her mother and the advent of her powers. At least this time there aren't any huge consequences to what she's learned – except that Merlin keeps looking at her like she's a prize-winning chocobo and trying to talk to her about Ifalna. When he realises she doesn't have anything more to tell him he's disappointed, but too wrapped up in his delight at her very _presence_ to let it keep him down for long. A true scholar, Merlin is happiest when he has a research project to work on, and she has suddenly become a part of his favourite – the nature of the fabled keyblades.

Bizarrely, Cloud and Zack react more than she does. Zack keeps looking between her and the Buster Sword, and for a few days is on the verge of saying something, but always shakes his head and backs off again. He mutters about how stupid he was not to realise it earlier, and more than once mentions the bat-monsters that attacked them when they were fifteen, but he doesn't make much sense. Eventually Aerith forces him to tell her what's on his mind and he asks, falteringly, whether she'd like to hold the sword. She's never done so before, and if her ancestors _made_ it them perhaps … she might like to make friends?

Aerith doesn't know how to respond to this. The idea should be an absurd one, yet in the impossibility that is their lives, it's actually one of the most reasonable things she's heard. Maybe she should be more bothered by that than she is. She's willing to do what Zack suggests, but nervous about mixing the sword'spower with hers after losing control in the church. Zack compromises by keeping his hand wrapped around the hilt and letting her hold it just below his reassuringly confident grip, so the sword's burbling presence is in both their minds at once, and quietened by the feel of his mind while it explores Aerith's.

"It likes you," Zack murmurs, as a sensation like a sneeze curls through Aerith's head; not invasive, but lissom as a thought just before dropping off to sleep. "It _respects_ you," he corrects at an idle flick, like the tip of a snake's tongue or the irritated twitch of a mouse's tail.

Cloud still feels guilty over his fight with Leon and setting up the situation for Aerith to lose control of her powers in the first place. She tries to tell him it was all for the best in the end. She doesn't blame him.

She doesn't mention how he frightened her when _he _lost control, because he's doing a fine job of hauling himself over the coals, as usual, and her energy is much better spent pulling him out of his funk than forcing him further in. They wouldn't have found out about Rinoa and Leon if that hadn't happened, she reminds him, poking Zack in the ribs to make him back her up. It takes a while and a lot of insistence, but eventually Cloud's guilt alleviates, or at least stops showing so much in his face.

And there's the crux of the whole thing, really: Leon. Nobody has any idea where to go next with him. Apparently he doesn't have any idea either, because despite the talking-to Yuffie gave him he shuts himself up in his apartment for a week and doesn't speak to anyone, or even leave it to do such mundane things as get food or empty his garbage. He even stops patrolling for Heartless. Zack picks up the slack, but that's always been a core part of Leon. His sudden disinterest sends a spike of alarm through everyone.

Eventually Yuffie takes it upon herself to break in, but her urge to break and enter is curtailed by Merlin's spare key and its sudden presence in his hand – indeed, the sudden presence of his hand – as she makes to ram her shoulder against Leon's door.

"Yoo-hoo! Leeeeeeon!"

"You did say he'd locked himself in here." Merlin looks around at the lack of anything Leon-shaped. "Didn't you?"

"Give me a break, grandpa; my memory hasn't deteriorated with age like yours."

"Unspeakable little wretch," Merlin mutters, but refrains from turning her into a toad because she's here and looking for Leon despite the very real fact they don't know what they'll find.

Leon was a wreck when they saw him last, humiliated and broken in both new ways and old ways only just being allowed to show themselves. Merlin has known him since he was Squall, and has charted the changes in him, including how he alienated everyone except those with more loyalty than sense – those like himself and Cid, who refuse to leave him alone. Merlin is impressed with Yuffie's tenacity. Not that he'd ever admit this to her, of course. Yuffie's ego, so far as Merlin (and Cid, which makes this one of the few things they agree on) is concerned, does _not_ need the boost.

They find him in the bedroom. The wardrobes are empty and Rinoa's clothes are scattered around him, not flung but organised into neat piles according to colour and item. He's folding a long blue sleeveless cardigan when they come in, calm as a millpond. He looks at them a little challengingly, and before they've even exchanged a word, both Yuffie and Merlin understand that Leon is still Leon, not Squall. Perhaps he always will be in his own mind.

He doesn't, however, throw them out or snarl at them for entering without permission. And when Yuffie idly tosses a balled up pair of socks from hand to hand he doesn't snatch them away or tell her to put them down. He's still Leon, but perhaps _Leon_ is different than he was.

"So what's this in aid of, Squall?"

_That _gets a narrowing of his eyes. "It's Leon."

"Whatever." It's neither, actually, and both at once, but it'll be a long time before he's ready to accept that. Yuffie has already decided to call him Squall because that was the time when he was happiest, and damn it, he needs more happy in his life. "I'm your happiness fairy," she tells him at a later date, to which he just raises an eyebrow and she does some mental air-punching because it's not a scowl.

But that's in the future, and this is the now. "I was just sorting out a few things," he replies, laying the cardigan down on a pile of other blue clothes. Rinoa, apparently, liked blue. A lot. And also feather motifs, because they're everywhere; although if she could grow and use a pair of wings then that's understandable.

They rented the top apartment because she had a habit of opening windows and just flying out of them when she needed to unwind. She did silly, reckless things like that all the time, and seemed to enjoy giving Squall-Leon near-heart-attacks with her antics. She had her own special weapon, like he has his gunblade. It was a bladed boomerang called Blaster Edge, which fired from a holster on the back of her wrist. It used to knock her onto her backside with its recoil when she first started training with it. She fed strays even when they tried to claw and bite her. In Radiant Garden she became especially attached to a ragged little puppy, which she called Angelo, until it died of parvo virus. The tiny body had to be cremated so the virus wouldn't spread, but she kept the ashes in a box on the mantelpiece and said good morning and goodnight every day.

Leon starts telling them things like this, fleshing out the story of Rinoa into a real person. It takes a long time, and they don't push him (well, apart from Yuffie, but she only pushes as far as he can take, and then maybe a _little _bit more). The dynamics between he and the rest of the group have changed, are still changing, and will continue to change for years to come. Every nod, incrementally less curt than the last, every not-frown, every deviation from his previous frostiness is a little inroad into something new and precious.

He's still not their friend, but when he looks down at Kairi, holding out an unidentifiable crayon squiggle for him, and he doesn't breeze past her, they guess it's only a matter of time before they can count him as more than just an ally. When he not only doesn't breeze past, but bends awkwardly to take it from her (awkward because she's so tiny and open and happy to see him, this little person who doesn't understand or care what he's done, or how he's failed, as long as he has arms to hug with, and he's apprehensive of hurting her by accident or letting down her simple childish desires like he's already let down so much and so many people in his life), and without being asked or told to he _puts the drawing in his pocket_, the perceptive ones guess he'll one day be counted as a member of their extended family.

He's never truly _warm_, but there's an approximation of warmth that grows there. He still doesn't smile, but unlike before there's the potential for smiles now. Sometimes, when Aerith invites him over for dinner and Yuffie bullies him into accepting; when he walks through the door and Kairi runs at him and hugs his knees, or Zack gives him a friendly punch on the shoulder, or Cloud stops whatever he' doing long enough to nod a greeting, Leon gets a look that indicates there may be dormant smiles in the vicinity.

It flickers and dies when Tifa appears, because she's still so much like Rinoa and he's still too caught up in that to see her first and his dead lover second. He'll learn, but it's one of the things that takes longest, and which he has to fight hardest to overcome. Rinoa still follows him around, hovering behind Tifa's shoulder and making them both uncomfortable around each other.

All this takes time, but time is a strange thing. It doesn't, actually, run straight. It wanders off the path, stops to sniff flowers, rushes around in circles and collapses, breathless and tied in so many knots it has to sit and untangle them all. They slide from one event to the next and clamber over these knots, so that whatever order they learn their lessons in, they often go back and look at things again to help them understand what comes after that.

Aerith, Tifa, Zack and Cloud go to clean up the vestibule where Rinoa is buried, and find a whole new door already attached. Tifa recognises Cid's handiwork, but it's Leon who instigated the changes they find behind the pulled-back curtain and unlocked door. The blood has been cleaned up, the rubble cleared away, and the burned feathers are gone. In their place is a small bunch of yellow lilies. They've been cut from the soil inside the main hall of the church, where Rinoa's magic allows things to grow where nothing should be able.

Aerith nods in a satisfied manner when she sees this. "Good. It's better they're useful than just pretty."

"Didn't you once say lilies mean something?" Zack says pensively.

"They're Talking Flowers, yes."

"What do they mean?"

Aerith casts her mind back to Elmyra's lessons. "Actually, _yellow_ lilies are really appropriate for this."

"They are?"

Aerith smiles and looks at the grave. She's not frightened to be here, no matter that she saw terrible things in this room. The calm that initially drew her to the church and kept her coming back is more understandable now. She feels a connection she can't explain because the others don't know what it's like to brush against the thoughts of a grateful spirit and imagine you have wings.

"They mean 'I'm walking on air'."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_You're perfectly human. You're exactly who you've always been, and exactly who you always will be, you just happen to know more about yourself than you did when you greeted the sunrise this morning." _

-- I'd be lying if I said Kevin Smith's screenplay for _Dogma_ didn't influence this.

Merlin obviously approves of this question. "Possibly. There were five races that had a significant influence over the development of our world's magical structures at that time – the Cetra, the Timber, the Spira, the Viera and the Espers. Any or all of them could have had a hand in creating the keyblades. They were all quite powerful in their own way. The Cetra were healers, the Espers were telepaths, the Viera were innately connected with the natural world, the Spira were ocean-mages, and the Timber were bodily magic users."

-- 'Spira' was originally the name of the oceanic world in which _Final Fantasy X _and _Final Fantasy X-2_ take place. The Viera are a race of people from _Final Fantasy XII_, where we also find Espers, although they're creatures that can be called mentally and controlled by the player. The more common definition of an Esper in the wider world is that it's a derivative of the term ESP (Extra-Sensory Perception), and refers to a person capable of telepathy and other similar abilities.

"_If you say so. It's still just packaging to the rest of us. Maybe I should start calling you Fluffer McKitty just to prove it."_

-- Fluffer McKitty was the name of a pet from the _Animorphs_ series of books by K. A. Applegate.

_In Radiant Garden she became especially attached to a ragged little puppy, which she called Angelo, until it died of parvo virus. The tiny body had to be cremated so the virus wouldn't spread, but she kept the ashes in a box on the mantelpiece and said good morning and goodnight every day._

-- In the original _Final Fantasy VIII_ game Angelo followed Rinoa into battle and actually became part of her attacks.

* * *


	31. Break and Enter, the Ninja Princess

**A/N: **I'm running a fanart contest over at my LiveJournal, if anyone's interested - obabscribbler. livejournal. com/481180. html

* * *

**30. (Break and) Enter, the Ninja Princess**

* * *

"Once upon a time there was a beautiful but cruel woman who married a king. The king had a daughter, a girl even more beautiful than the woman who had become her new stepmother. The princess had hands as slender as candle flames, eyes like sapphires and a smile that set birds singing whenever she strolled through her father's forests. The new queen became jealous of the girl's beauty and youth. She wanted the princess shut away where nobody could compare her glow, which was as the sun, to the new queen's own, which was as a clear midwinter night under a full moon. The queen persuaded her doting husband to lock his daughter in a castle deep in the forest, convincing him it was for the girl's own safety against the advances of unworthy men."

"Yo, Cloudy." Yuffie leans her arms on the crown of Cloud's head, flattening his spikes. "Whatcha doing?"

"Reading to Kairi." Cloud holds up the book, but Kairi pushes it back into his lap by pressing both hands flat against the pages.

"No!"

"I'm not gonna steal it, Small Fry." Yuffie affectionately ruffles Kairi's hair, knocking Cloud's head forward with her midriff as she leans over both him and the back of the sofa to reach the little girl. Cloud grunts, but she takes her sweet time releasing him. "Hey, is there any of Tifa's rice left? Y'know, the spicy stuff Chicha taught her how to make?"

Chicha is due to give birth any day now. Aerith is ready to rush over at a moment's notice. A small bag sits by the front door, full of fresh towels and other things Cloud doesn't like to think about. His mother explained the 'miracle of birth' to him when he was young and he decided back then that it's far stickier and messier than he wants to be involved in. Just the thought of where Aerith will have to put her hands makes him vaguely nauseous.

"I think so. Why don't you check?" He settles back, gently prising Kairi's fingers from the edge of the page in case she rips it. He finds the place he left off and resumes reading. "The princess sat in her tower for many years, and with every passing day she became more beautiful. The queen sent her only lemons to eat, to dull her beauty, and then only soup made from nettle leaves. She took away the princess's comb and washbasin, leaving her hair to tangle and her face to become dirty. She ordered her to sit and do nothing but needlework at her window, so that her limbs would become wasted and frail like an old woman's. Yet no matter what the queen did, the princess's loveliness couldn't be blunted.

"One day, a prince from a neighbouring kingdom rode by. He saw the princess in her tower, but he was unable to reach her. He was so taken with her beauty that he decided then and there he wanted her for his bride. The court wizard, who also doted on the princess but was less gullible than the king, brought her books to read when the jealous queen wasn't looking. He tricked the princess's ladies-in-waiting into giving her a very special book. When she ruffled the pages forward, the prince turned into a canary, and when she ruffled them back he was restored to his human form."

"What's that?" Tifa asks, crossing the room with a towel around her wet hair, then going back to the bathroom when she realises she hasn't turned off the light.

"A fairytale called _The Canary Prince_," Cloud replies.

"You're a pretty good storyteller."

Kairi shoves her elbows backwards into his stomach. "More."

Cloud obliges. "The princess has never met a prince before. When she was locked away from the world she was too young to have met men apart from her father, the old wizard and the fat nobles at court whose jowls quivered when they talked. When the prince told her that princesses always married princes, and that he wanted her to be his bride and to take her away from her tower, she immediately fell in love with him for his generosity and agreed to wed him.

"However, when the queen learned that a handsome young man had been spotted by the tower she flew into a jealous rage. She put pins on the window sill so that if the princess leaned on it to flirt, she would be stabbed. She did not know of the enchanted book or the spell. The pins stabbed the prince in his canary form when he landed on the sill and he tumbled to the ground far below. His travelling companions caught his tiny body, but even when the princess restored him, he lay bleeding in their arms and they had to bear him back to his kingdom, leading his empty horse behind them."

"What a nasty piece of work," Tifa remarks, rubbing furiously at her scalp.

A key rattles in the front door. It opens to reveal Aerith and Zack carrying groceries.

"Any word on Chicha?" Aerith immediately asks.

"Shhhh!" Kairi says, utterly absorbed in the story. She gazes up at Cloud with adoring eyes and asks, "More?"

Tifa mouths that there hasn't been any call for a midwife yet.

"Even though he was terribly injured and falling unconscious, the prince called for the princess to follow them. She escaped by tearing up her bed sheets for a rope to lower out of her window. She desperately used her teeth and bare hands on the tough cloth, which made her gums and fingers bleed like she had scurvy and spotted the white linen with red. Alas, the sheets were too short and she had to jump the last part into a clump of thorny bushes. The thorns were sharp as serpents' teeth. They cut her face and scratched her skin into angry red welts, but she pulled herself from them so she could reach her prince. However, she'd taken too long and the prince's party, worried he would die without the care of the royal physicians, had left without her. She had only soft slippers from her sheltered life in the tower and cut her feet on sharp stones running after their horses, but it was no good."

"Who left without whom?" Zack asks, backing through the doorway because to better drag a large sack of potatoes into the apartment. Tifa tosses back her hair and helps him, channelling a tiny amount of chi into her arms and lifting the heavy sack onto the worktop with one hand. Zack looks a bit put out but nods his thanks, shakes out his aching muscles, snags an apple and rubs it against the front of his shirt to clean it.

"The prince left without the princess he was supposed to be rescuing, apparently," Yuffie replies, a trifle acidic. "Git."

Before Zack can bite into his apple, Aerith takes it from him and washes it properly under the faucet. "What's a git?" he asks Yuffie, accepting the apple back again without a flicker of irritation.

"It's a new word I learned from Cid. It means a selfish person who gives a trapped young girl hope, spins her a pack of lies about how she has to marry him because she's grown up gullible, and then leaves her in the lurch in the middle of a forest with no shoes."

"No it doesn't." Tifa frowns and makes as if to cuff her, but Yuffie dances away. "Don't you go teaching Kairi bad language."

"Who, me? I'm a model of virtue. I'm virtue in freaking human form."

Kairi glares at them for interrupting. It's like a kitten trying to roar, but they shut up anyway.

Cloud's tone rises and falls, weaving the story into a rich tapestry with his voice. He's a surprisingly good storyteller injecting life into the staid characters. If Kairi wasn't sitting in his lap his hands would be moving as well. "The princess walked blindly through the forest, her tangled hair catching on branches stretched out like crooked fingers, running around in circles and crying out for her prince until her voice was hoarse. She soon became utterly lost. Just as the trees began to look as though they would uproot themselves and chase after her like goblins, she stumbled upon three witches dancing with shadows around their cauldron."

"Wait a second; didn't she stroll in those forests when she was a kid?" Yuffie demands. "And now she's got herself _lost _in them? That doesn't make any sense."

"Not everybody has a photographic memory of places, Yuffie. It _is _just a story."

She wags her fork at Zack. "That doesn't mean it has to be dumb."

"The witches knew how to heal the prince of his terrible wounds," Cloud continues, "but they wanted payment for their services. They had no use for money, but they shivered and their ancient bones clacked in the cold. The princess thought hard and then gave them the hair from her head, which they spun into beautiful cloaks for themselves, and the royal blood from her poor cut soles, which they used to make sturdy boots for their own gnarled feet. In return they gave her a potion and set her off on the correct path to the prince's kingdom.

"When she got there the palace guards would not let her in to see the prince. She was ragged and filthy, so they turned her away as a peasant. The princess then remembered the enchanted book. She gave her dress, which was tattered but still made from the finest fabric, to a beggar woman as payment for her help. The woman ruffled the pages forward, turning the princess into a canary so she could fly in through the widow of the prince's bedchamber. Once inside she tweeted to the woman, who ruffled the pages back again, returning the princess to her human form.

"The princess gave the potion to the prince. He was instantly healed. He bounded out of his deathbed with a happy cry and danced a jog around the chamber. When he saw the princess he reproached her for his injury, saying she should've seen the pins and warned him. He asked what had become of her hair and clothes, and told her she no longer looked like a princess, but like some commoner from a hovel. However, she was so sorry for the pain she'd put him through that he overcame her changed appearance. He bought her a beautiful wig, had the royal physicians dress her wounds, and they were married the very next day. The princess finally revealed to her father how wicked her imprisonment had been and the jealous queen was punished to only eat lemons and nettle soup for the rest of her life. With that, the two kingdoms were united, peace fell on the land and they all lived happily ever after."

A forkful of bright orange rice still halfway to her mouth, Yuffie snorts so violently it all falls back onto her plate.

"Something wrong, Yuffie?" asks Tifa.

"He left her behind, she lost her hair, gave away her own blood, walked on injured feet through a dangerous forest to get to him, gave up the _clothes_ on her freaking _back_, and instead of saying 'come here saviour of mine so I can kiss your face off', _he_ rags on _her_ for _him_ not seeing the frikkin' pins on her window sill, and then has the nerve to tell her she's butt fugly? What happened to gratitude? What happened to the 'thank you for saving the life I endangered through my own stupidity and poor eyesight?' I'd have punched him in the mouth, not married him."

"It's a fairytale."

"It's bull, is what it is. And what kind of pathetic princess was she, anyhow? You wouldn't catch me getting lost in my own dad's forest, or sitting around for years on my hiney stabbing my thumbs with needles without even, y'know, _trying _to break out, let alone marrying a guy as obnoxious as that prince. Stupid ass. I hope they had mutant babies."

"Yuffie, it's not real," Aerith chides as she puts the groceries away. "It's just a story."

"I don't want Small Fry getting any twaddly, hogwashy, claptrappy ideas. You want her to grow up without a potty mouth, and I want her to grow up being kick-ass. You hear that, Small Fry? Don't be like a princess in a fairytale. They just wait for the hero to come along and rescue them. You rescue yourself."

Kairi pats the book and looks up at Cloud, not listening to Yuffie's words of advice. "Again! Again!"

"Hey, Small Fry, I'm talking to you."

"Leave her alone, Yuffie," says Tifa. "Every little girl wants to be a princess when they grow up."

Yuffie actually puts her food down before she's finished and goes to crouch in front of Kairi. "You listening, kid? This is important, so open your lugholes. Don't be a storybook princess when you grow up, okay? It's totally overrated and so not worth the trade-off. You grow up to be a strong woman who knows her own mind and can kick a guy's tail if he tries to boss you around or take your hair, okay? And you learn to read a map and carry a compass, so you never get lost in any dumb old forest. And if you really gotta play at being a princess like every other little girl in the history of the universe, you learn to be a ninja princess, like me, 'cause I'm a way better role model than that garbage." She stabs a disgusted finger down on the book.

Kairi tips her head, all Yuffie's indignation bypassing her. "Again?"

"You're actually putting yourself forward as a good role model?" Tifa gapes. "You?"

"Why not? I'm _practically_ a princess. My dad was leader if the Wutai Clan, so I'm the Wutai Princess. And _I _sure wouldn't ever let any evil queen lock me in a tower. I'd be out of there faster than a greased weasel. And as for marrying the first guy who'll have me – puh-lease. I'm a modern, empowered princess – ooh yeah, watch me fly, baby." She stands up and strikes a heroic pose. "Who the heck writes these dumb fairytales anyhow? Probably hairy men with halitosis and sweat stains under their arms. The kind of men who only know what women look like from rude pictures and graffiti on bathroom walls."

Nobody quite knows how to respond to this. When Kairi demands that the story be told again, Cloud diplomatically directs her to one about a pixie trapped down a well.

"Oh!" Yuffie suddenly dashes to the breadbin. "I totally forgot. This came today – by _carrier pigeon_! How cool is that?" She produces an envelope and brushes the worst of the crumbs off.

"Why is it in the breadbin?" Zack wants to know.

"Because I wanted to put it somewhere I'd remember," Yuffie replies, as if it's the most logical thing in the world. "It's addressed to you, Ponytail."

"Me?" Aerith takes it but doesn't recognise the loopy handwriting. She slits open the envelope with a butter knife and pulls out a letter written in the same script. "It's from José!"

"José! José!" Kairi gasps delightedly, twisting around to look for him until she realises he's not actually there. Crestfallen, she perks up when Zack bites off a piece of his apple and gives it to her to gnaw on.

"So what does it say?" Yuffie demands.

Aerith scans the letter. "Just that he and Panchito are fine and doing well in Wander Harbour. You can read it yourself when I'm done."

They dissipate after a while. Tifa convinces Aerith to experiment with her drying hair and they retreat to their room with a hairbrush and a collection of hairslides and scrunchies that make Cloud and Zack roll their eyes at each other. Yuffie declines to join the other two girls. Instead she finishes her rice and sprawls, full-bellied, over the couch next to Cloud and Kairi. Kairi giggles and grabs for her hair. Their tussle knocks the storybook onto the floor and makes Cloud nervous for the safety of his lap. Zack picks up the book on his way past. Since Cloud is shifting Kairi onto Yuffie to play, he deposits José's letter on the vacated lap.

"I'll read it later," Zack says, tossing his apple core into the trash. "Right now I need a shower."

Yuffie turns onto her back with Kairi balanced on her stomach and peers at Cloud upside down. "Go on. Read it, then."

"You could always read it yourself," says Cloud.

"But you're a good storyteller," she shoots back in a perfect imitation of Tifa's voice.

Puzzled, Cloud nonetheless dutifully opens the letter. Yuffie listens, but he could swear he sees her roll her eyes at Kairi, even though there's nothing in José's letter for her to roll her eyes at.

* * *

"You can't read."

"So?" Yuffie says, not at all defensive. If her neck prickles it's because it's cold, not because her hackles are rising. Her favourite yellow scarf is getting threadbare, but she refuses not to wear it, just as Aerith refuses not to wear that tatty old pink ribbon.

Leon folds his arms. "Godo was a smart man."

"That's debateable and completely depends on what angle you're looking at it from. In the secret ways of the ninja? Tota-freaking-lutely. In the ways of the teenage girl? Not-a-freaking-clue-a-lutely. What's your point?"

"He wouldn't have allowed his only daughter to grow up illiterate."

"Shows what you know." She sticks her tongue out and goes back to sharpening her kunai on the cleaver she found in his kitchen drawer. He used to glare at her when he came home to find her sitting at his table, but by now he's gotten used to it and only throws her a light scowl that couldn't scorch a burning forest in the middle of a heat wave. "You're blocking my light."

"You need to learn."

"Like hell I do. I don't do the whole school thing."

There's only one school in Traverse Town, so it doesn't have a name; it's just 'the school'. Considering how sizeable Traverse Town actually is, there are surprisingly few children, so they all cram into the same building every morning and spew out again every afternoon. Yuffie's seen them at it, screaming and whooping like uncaged beasts. The upper school is a mishmash of different ages groups shoved together in two rooms. She has vetted them from a tree outside the building and has no desire to get mixed up in their midst. The boys look at her in fear and the girls look at her like they're honestly trying to figure out what she's _for_.

Well, screw that for a game of blitzball.

Yuffie's ego couldn't take competition from other skinny teenage girls, though she'd pierce her own eyeballs with a kunai and drink the jelly before she'd allow that thought to linger long enough to be acknowledged. And schoolboys seem so immature after Cloud, Leon and Zack. Living with that degree of hotness and buff biceps really spoils a girl – ooh baby, ooh baby, yadda-yadda-yadda. And then there's always the part where the teacher would be explaining what modal verbs are while Yuffie idly, and totally without malice, is thinking 'I could drive your ribs into your liver using just my heels'. The life experiences of a ninja, even one who never completed any formal training and doesn't really ant to think back on some of the things she _has_ done, doesn't lend itself to normal things that girls of her age do; like sitting still and giggling in a classroom of zits and cliques. School is more than just academia. So is Yuffie.

"You need to know how to read," Leon says stubbornly, not getting this at all. Did he even go to school? No, he was probably born aged twenty-one, perfectly formed, with intractable morals and ethics already in place.

Yuffie ignores him. It's surprisingly easy to do, considering how she used to follow him everywhere with her eyes. Ever since the thing about Rinoa came out, she has fallen into a rhythm with Leon that allows her to treat him more like Hero or Cloudy without feeling the same kind of sisterly affection. "Yeah, right. Done okay so far without knowing. You gonna give up your precious time to teach me?"

"Yes."

His reply startles her. It takes a lot to startle her, so this is a very startling kind of startled.

Despite the rhythm, Leon doesn't seek out her company. For the most part their time together follows her seeking him out, or accidental meetings. He can only cope with Yuffie in small doses – she winds him up him with her enthusiasm, with her constant talking, and _especially _with her tactlessness. Yuffie can find the right words in a crisis, but in an everyday situation she's a conversational nuke. She knows Leon is often overwhelmed by the sheer force of her carefully built personality, never mind that he has one of his own to fend her off with. She has spent a lot of time on this personality, making sure it can weather the storms that plagued her first one, but that's not something she likes to think about if she can help it.

Like, ever.

Shudder.

Yuffie defies description in a lot of ways. Recently she has turned those ways full force on Leon. She doesn't wait for him to offer her pieces of himself, the way the others do, but interposes herself so she can pick and choose which bits of the man under the mask should be out in the light. Leon can't stand not being in control and Yuffie can't stand being controlled. Consequently, the fact she keeps coming back to him anyway confuses him, and she knows it, so now she's fairly flummoxed. Offering to teach her how to read is tantamount to Leon shutting his own crotch in a door.

And then slamming it a couple of times.

"You sure you want to make that offer?" she asks.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

"Why?"

"Because you need to know how to read."

She eyeballs him, searching for hidden meanings. He has entered Mr. Moralistic mode, all crossed arms and heroic jawline. Which has just a hint of stubble on it today. Very rakish. Mmm…

But still; _reading_! And probably writing, too, because you can't have one without the other.

She doesn't _want_ to learn. It's never been a problem before because she's canny enough to manipulate situations so she doesn't _have_ to read. Yuffie isn't dumb. She knows she probably _could_ learn, and in no time flat because she's just that awesome, but even so. So. Much. _Effort_. And it'll be boring. And difficult. And involve a lot of sitting still.

Sitting _still_! Like some mangy _target_ just waiting for a kunai to the heart!

"I'm not taking no for an answer."

Sitting still …

Sitting still next to him.

Next to Leon.

Maybe _that_ wouldn't be so bad.

Yuffie grins. "Okay. But this means you have to spend time with me – voluntarily. You sure you're up for that?" Ha! Double entendre! Sadly, as ever, it whooshes over Leon's head like a flock of invisible geese.

"We'll start tomorrow morning, and every morning for an hour. You're to come here and not whine at me for that hour. From nine until ten you're my pupil."

Pupil, eh? Maybe she should wear a schoolgirl outfit like the ones in the photos on Zack's mantelpiece back in Hollow Bastion. Aerith's uniform was pretty conservative, but Tifa's skirt wasfairly short. Then again, even as a teen Tifa had hips and boobs like watermelons –

"Yuffie?"

"Sure, sure, whatever."

* * *

Chicha's baby arrives one rainy night when the wind is in the throes of an identity crisis and thinks it's an entire pack of wolves. Kuzco's hooves slip on the stairs in his haste to reach the apartment. He tumbles head over heels back to the bottom, setting the chocobo squawking in its shed. The noise summons everyone from their beds. Aerith changes out of her nightdress so fast a striking snake would still be in midair by the time she's out of the door.

Dr. Sweet is already there. Between them, he and Aerith deliver the baby without mishap, while Kuzco paces outside Chicha's bedroom. When Aerith emerges to tell him it's a beautiful, healthy boy, he takes one look at her bloody hands and faints.

"Oh dear," Aerith murmurs. "Dr. Sweet!"

From inside the room he calls, "Use the dang smellin' salts, girl, or you'll be wasted by morning."

The smelling salts are disgusting but effective. Kuzco comes round in seconds.

"Yeeuuch! What the heck are you trying to do to me?" he demands, clapping hooves over his nose like hands and punching himself in the face. "Ow! By dose!"

Aerith sighs, ekes out a little magic to clean him up, and mutters at him not to tell Dr. Sweet.

"Uh, sure. Whatevs. Just, uh … you're still all bloody and … gooey … what's that grey stuff? Is that afterbirth? I've heard stories about afterbirth. Urgh …eeew … Hey, healer-girl, do llamas have a gag reflex?"

"My name isn't healer-girl."

He blinks at her. "Ohhhh-kaaay. Um. Claire?"

"Aerith."

"I was close."

"No you weren't."

"Give me a break. I'm a teensy bit stressed right now, and you just burned off all my nasal hair."

When Chicha has been cleaned up, he's been drenched in disinfectant and is finally allowed in into the bedroom, Kuzco takes one look at the bundle in Chicha's arms and faints again.

"Anybody'd think he was the father," Dr. Sweet says as he wafts the bottle of smelling salts under Kuzco's nose again. He pauses and squints at the bed. "He ain't, is he?"

Chicha, bedraggled, exhausted and totally bare-faced, but nonetheless radiant, shakes her head. "He was human once, but no." Gently she strokes one knuckle across the newborn's cheek. The baby wiggles, scrunching up his squashy little face. He looks like he's made of mashed potato. The thought reminds Aerith of the first time she ever saw Kairi, new and pink and nestled in Anemone's arms.

Instantly, it's as if she's back there. The antiseptic smell of Dr. Rui's surgery is in her nose, and Hollow Bastion with all its inhabitants waiting outside the door, instead of a rainswept Traverse Town. She finds herself gulping back tears and shakes them off by asking, "Do you have a name already picked out?"

Chicha nods, not taking her eyes off her son. "Pacha."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_A fairytale called The Canary Prince," Cloud replies. _

-- The Canary Prince is a real fairytale, although some versions recast the old court wizard as a conniving witch, who later turns up to take the princess's hair.

_Well, screw that for a game of blitzball. _

-- Blitzball is a fictional game from _Final Fantasy X _and _Final Fantasy X-2_.

_Chicha nods, not taking her eyes off her son. "Pacha."_

-- Pacha was Chicha's husband (and Kuzco's surrogate father-figure by the movie's close) in _The Emperor's New Groove_. I wrote this fic before ever seeing an episode of the follow-up TV series, _The Emperor's New School_, but apparently, according to that, the baby's canon name is actually Yupi.

* * *


	32. Complications of the Heart

* * *

**31. Complications of the Heart**

* * *

_A person's actions depict the heart, not the words they say. _-- Brian Lee.

* * *

"It's Kairi's birthday soon."

Zack stops with his shirt rolled halfway up his chest, arms crossed one over the other and hands under the edges. "Really?"

"Mm." Aerith flips over a page on the calendar and circles a box. "Time flies. We'll have been here a year, soon." She taps her lips with her pen. "Did you ever think we'd get to this point?"

"Of course."

"That was a quick answer."

"Why wouldn't we have made it?"

"You don't seriously expect me to answer that, do you?"

Zack concedes that this was perhaps the wrong way to put it. "What I meant was we've stuck together and supported each other, and we've always believed in each other, so there was no way we _weren't_ going to make a success of our lives here once we'd put our minds to it." As ever, he's the eternal optimist – even in the face of such petty things as facts and reality.

Aerith glances up at him and immediately looks away again. "For goodness sake, Zack!"

"What?"

"Put a shirt on!"

He looks down at himself, puzzled. "It was filthy. I wore it while I was sparring with Leon this morning and it's got sweat and oil from his gunblade all over it. And one of the arms tore off when I didn't dodge quick enough. I meant to ask if you'd sew it back on for me."

"Sew it yourself."

"Don't be mean."

"Don't be presumptuous. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm automatically in charge of housekeeping."

Zack blinks at her. "What rattled your cage?"

"Nothing."

"Are you having that thing with the letters? The four-weekly thing?"

"If you mean 'PMT' then I suggest you go right back outside before I help you on the end of my boot."

"The hell? Aerith, what's wrong? You're not usually this pissy."

She frowns. It isn't quite a scowl, but it hints that there are unexploded scowls in the vicinity. "There's no good reason for you to strip in the kitchen."

"I was just going to leave my shirt to soak in the sink. You're the one who told me oil doesn't come out unless you soak it straight away. I've done this dozens of times before – on _your _orders."

So much for her not being in charge of housekeeping stuff. "Yes, well … but I never … I've always been … Look, you're still all shiny and yucky with sweat, and you smell bad. Just cover yourself up before you catch a chill, will you?"

Arching a suspicious eyebrow and pointedly not muttering about monthly cycles and female hormones, Zack puts his shirt in the washing up bowl with some soapflakes and pours water over them from the kettle he has just boiled for this specific purpose. There's enough water left over for a cup of tea, so he offers to make one for Aerith in the vain hope it might return her to a better mood, but she shakes her head and stares fixedly at the red circle on the calendar.

"Suit yourself," Zack mutters, unable to help commenting just a little.

He's just collecting the Buster Sword to clear a space next to the couch when Cloud and Kairi arrive. Kairi beams, holding onto the largest lollipop Zack has ever seen. There's sticky, sugary spit all over her face. Her fringe is spiked with it, giving her a curiously manic look as she marches in with the lollipop held out like her very own sword.

"We're hooome!" she sing-songs, as she always does.

"Hello Kairi." Aerith moves with a speed that would give lightning a nasty shock. She sweeps the little girl into her arms, eliciting a giggle. Kairi returns the hug tenfold, getting spit in Aerith's own hair and smearing the lolly across both of their chests. "Oh!" Aerith exclaims. "I guess that's what I get for not waiting for you to put that thing down."

"Kiss!" Kairi puckers up.

What was once just fondness has blossomed into a kind of love that would be eclipsed only if Kairi was Aerith's biological daughter. Even so, Aerith's expression when faced with this sticky offering makes Zack laugh.

"Kiss!"

"Cloud, what were you thinking?"

"Don't blame me. We'd been to see Tifa and were just minding our own business when Dr. Sweet appeared out of nowhere and gave it to her. He said he was stocking up for when he has to inject people against flu."

That sounds like something Dr. Sweet would do. It doesn't make Kairi any less sticky, though; nor does it reduce the gleam in her eyes. Zack is abruptly glad Yuffie isn't around. She wouldn't miss the opportunity to wreak a little havoc with a sugar-crazed toddler.

He glances at the ceiling. Yuffie has surprised them all with her dedication to her studies. Then again, given whom her teacher is and her Worst Kept Crush in the World, perhaps it's not surprising at all. Yuffie, like many ordinary teens before her, wants to impress the object of her affections and have him praise her – though if Zack ever tried to say this to her face not even the Buster Sword would keep him safe. Yuffie hates the idea that any part of her could be considered ordinary.

Aerith sighs. "Let's get you cleaned up, missy."

"Got a lollipop." Kairi thrusts it under her nose in case she hasn't noticed.

"It's very nice," Aerith says distractedly. "Was Tifa okay?"

Cloud shrugs. "Sure. Cid's teaching her how to use a computer. Apparently he's aiming to teach her how to repair a Gummi Ship, and she needs to know all about the guidance system and stuff like that. She's really excited about eventually learning how to fly one -"

"Got a _lollipop,_" Kairi interrupts.

"Kairi, it's rude to butt in Aerith chides.

"Got," Kairi says with as much exaggerated patience as a nearly-two-year-old can muster, "a lollipop."

"Do you think she should be talking more by now?" Aerith is obviously thinking about the impending birthday and their ignorance about how fast children are supposed to develop.

As far as Zack is concerned, Kairi is fine whatever happens. However fast she learns to use full sentences or get potty trained, her adoptive hodgepodge of a family will adore her, but right now Aerith is being afflicted by the curse of all first-time mothers – worrying that _her_ child is slower than the rest. Nobody wants to think their kid isn't perfect.

Truth be told, Zack's surprised Cloud isn't the one asking this question. Cloud has taken so fully to his role as one of Kairi's many ersatz parents, and Kairi's most devoted to him out of all of them. Cloud is probably closer than even her real father was back in Hollow Bastion. The same gentle compassion that gave him a special bond with animals while they were growing up, allowing him the magic touch from nervous foals to vindictive chocobo roosters, has bonded him with Kairi in a way that makes Zack a little jealous. Cloud makes it look so _easy_. Cloud probably never had to try nine times to apply one diaper, or resorted to trying to walk on his hands to tire Kairi out so she'd go to sleep when she was wakeful.

Kairi peers over Aerith's shoulder. "Zack!" she squeals in delight, cutting off any reply he might've made. "Got a lollipop! Got a lollipop, Zack!"

"I can see that," he says, reflecting her smile as inescapably as a mirror. He may not be a natural at the whole parenting thing, but when Kairi smiles that way only someone who's had all their facial muscles severed would fail to return it. "Just don't bring it anywhere near me."

Cloud sees Zack's bare chest and the pink spots on Aerith's cheeks. He frowns slightly. He has seen Zack's chest before, since they share a room and compete for the bathroom every morning. Living with three girls means there's always a scrabble for the remaining five minutes. Cloud used to be jealous of Zack's muscles, until Zack pointed out Cloud isn't exactly weedy himself, especially since he started sword-training in earnest. They're each powerful in their own way, though neither of them has Leon's lean strength. They've bulked out as they've gotten older. Zack wonders whether Cloud could still pass for a girl like he did on that fated Yule when Yuffie sacrificed Aerith's dress and created Miss Cloud.

Actually, that's a good point. If they've nearly been here a year then Yule can't be far away. It falls just before their twelve-month anniversary. Zack wonders whether they celebrate it, or something like it, in this world. He resolves to ask Merlin. If not, it's probably high time someone introduced the idea. Zack wonders who, of their new friends, would be likely to overdo the eggnog.

"Cloud, could you please tell Zack to take his sweaty, smelly self away to get cleaned up?" Aerith says promptly.

Zack snaps back to the present. "You act like I'm the ugliest thing you've ever seen."

"It's unhygienic to stand like that near where we prepare food." Aerith still refuses to look at him. The spots on her cheek darken from pink to red.

Red like satin.

Zack's brain turns over an idea that once upon a time would've been too ridiculous to contemplate, but before anything can take on coherent form, Kairi speaks. Or, to be more accurate, she shrieks.

"Hair! Hairhairhair!"

"Oh dear." Aerith attempts to extricate the lollipop from where it has become tangled. Thin lines of spittle trail back to Kairi's scalp. Aerith puts it aside, now inedible, murmuring, "Although I can't say I'm disappointed. You've had quite enough sugar, young lady."

"I think someone else needs to get cleaned up more than I do," Zack suggests. "Do you two want to use the bathroom first?"

"No. Yes. No." Aerith obviously debates whether Zack's body odour is worse or better than Kairi's stickiness. She examines Kairi with a critical eye. "Yes. If I don't then every speck of fluff and dust in the whole apartment will find its way to her, I just know it. But don't," she adds, "think this lets you off the hook. You still smell awful."

She has just closed the bathroom the door when the front door opens again, as if on cue. Yuffie bounds inside. "Ooh, Hero, if I'd known you were going to greet me looking like that I would've worn less."

Zack knows better than to take this sort of comment seriously. Sometimes it seems like Yuffie makes an extra effort to be lewd just to distract people from talking to her about sex. If he didn't know her better, he'd say it's almost like she's overcompensating for something. She is, after all, not even in her mid-teens yet.

"How did your lesson go?" he asks.

"Squall Leonheart is the biggest asshat who ever stuck his ass in a hat and invented the word. Hey, lollipop!" Yuffie seizes it from the counter and picks off Kairi's hair. Not even the abundance of someone else's spit is enough to deter her. She lets out a groan at the taste. After a few moments of curling her tongue around the edges she leans back against the counter so she can see both Zack and Cloud at once. "You know, it's really depressing that I'm evocatively licking a freaking _lollipop_, watched by virile, buff men with pectorals like throw pillows – you're even standing there with your freaking _shirt_ _off_, Hero – in their sexual prime, and yet not even this is enough to break the trend of nobody ever trying to jump my bones. I mean, c'mon, suggestive much?"

Cloud's cheeks darken like Aerith's. "You say the most ridiculous things sometimes, Yuffie."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I'm tired of playing the Little Sister to you two Big Brothers." She licks the lollipop a little too aggressively.

"What did Leon say?" Zack asks with a sigh. He doesn't mention her age compared to theirs. Despite all her big talk, the idea of Yuffie ever being sexually active seems faintly absurd somehow.

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about. But if I did, I'd be completely within my rights to say that he has absolutely _no_ sense of humour. He's had it, like, surgically removed or something. If you took off _his _shirt you'd find a great big gaping hole and a sign above it saying 'Insert Sense of Humour Here'. Asshat." Yuffie bites off a splinter of candy and crunches it up. "He was all: 'Rar, you must dedicate yourself to your studies!' and I was all: 'Studying sucks when you've already been at it for an hour!' and he _totally_ didn't appreciate the sheer wit and cleverness of my double entendre, even when I really, really subtly pointed it out. He just told me I wasn't taking this seriously, and I was all: 'I'm here when there are plenty of kids who've asked me to teach them how to be ninjas, aren't I? Only I gave up my time with them to come and _study_ instead, because I'm all committed and junk,' and he got all 'dot-dot-dot' on me and didn't even say goodbye when I left. I didn't freaking well ask for him to tutor me. He can scrunch his stupid 'take this seriously' into a ball and shove it up his hat-wearing ass. I'm never going back. Squall can go rot. He can poke out his own eyeballs on his stupid gunblade and beg me, and I still won't go back. I wouldn't _spit_ on him if he was on _fire_. Asshatasshatasshat."

"When's your next lesson?" Zack asks.

"Tomorrow morning."

He and Cloud smirk at each other.

"I can see that look you're flinging over my head."

"What look?" Zack asks innocently.

"The 'let's indulge her' look. I know that look. I'm on first-name terms with that look. I've thrown shuriken at that look and watched it bleed out from its severed artery. It's a crummy look."

Cloud catches Zack's eyes again and shrugs. "Whatever you say, Yuffie."

Yuffie bites another chunk off the lollipop and chews so belligerently she nearly dislocates her jaw. "I take it back. _All_ men are asshats."

* * *

Cloud surprises everyone by announcing he's going to run a delivery out of town. The furthest any of them have gone from Traverse Town is the wilderness just outside it. Yuffie has travelled to the edge of a neighbouring township during her nightly excursions, but never into it.

"It's for Madame Medusa," he says when asked.

"That skinflint employed you?" Tifa boggles.

Cloud shrugs. "She's got some deal going with another dressmaker in Mosey City. Some kind of mentoring thing, I think. Madame Medusa's name is pretty famous outside Traverse Town, from what I hear."

"From what _I _hear, Madame Medusa's a legend in her own ego," Tifa mutters.

"I'm supposed to bring back the sample dresses they designed, and then take them back again with her notes. She broke her ankle and can't go out there herself."

"How the heck did she break her ankle?"

"Chasing an intruder."

"An intruder?"

"Apparently someone broke into her house. She went to confront them but tripped on a pierce of rucked-up carpet and fell down the stairs."

"That's awful," says Aerith, even though nobody likes Madame Medusa and Tifa is doing some mental chuckling at the irony.

"She was too mean to have that carpet repaired. Now _that's_ what I called divine justice."

Nobody can argue that it serves Madame Medusa right for being so miserly, though they each think this with varying amounts of guilt. It also serves as pretty good payback for those times she has dropped into Cid's shop and tried to glare holes through Tifa's skull, right through to her brain, so she can implant the thought 'Stay away from him, you young hussy'. Tifa cares for Cid, but not _that_ way. Yet no matter how many times she says this, Madame Medusa never believes her. With the same tenacity that makes her chase Cid in the first place, she is convinced that Tifa is turning him into her Sugar Daddy in exchange for ssexual favours delivered under the workbench. Tifa has heard old women she doesn't even _know _talking about it on market days, hiding behind their hands and whispering until she feels like making a sandwich board declaring 'I am not sleeping with Cid Highwind and you're all sick for saying so'.

"Yes," she says aloud. "It's awful."

"What's awful?" Yuffie appears and peers at them with interest. "Small Fry's down for her nap, Ponytail. She was real agitated, though. If any of you make too much noise and wake her, I swear, you're just _asking _for a shuriken to be shoved up your -"

"Madame Medusa broke her ankle falling down the stairs," Aerith interrupts.

"Really? She made a freaking huge crash, but I never realised she'd busted anything."

Cloud, Tifa and Aerith all frown.

"Yuffie," Cloud starts, "were you-"

Yuffie backs towards the window. "Oh boy, will you look at that? Sorry, gotta go, late for my, um, lesson. Yeah, my lesson." She leaves in a flurry of fierce, secret little smiles and regular babble designed to throw them off track. The fact she uses the window as her exit isn't as telling of her guilt as it should be, since she often goes out that way. She shimmies down the drainpipe, gets her foot caught at the bottom and spends a few seconds hopping gracelessly until she's freed herself. Then she strolls off, the picture of nonchalance, like she always meant to do that because only the coolest ninjas get stuck in drainpipes.

They know Leon is out at Merlin's with Zack, and that the pair are going to patrol the far side of town afterwards. Leon received reports of two Heartless that were recently spotted – and dispatched – by a vigorous housewife with a meat tenderiser.

Tifa wonders whether Leon will try to recruit the housewife for his cause.

He's a lot better than he used to be, acknowledging to himself as well as the rest of the world that his life needs to revolve around more than just finding Heartless to fight and atoning for Rinoa. Even so, with Leon, Fighting the Good Fight seems an integral part of his DNA. He has genuine problems understanding anyone who canfight, has good reason and motivation, and yet doesn't. He understands fear but he doesn't fully grasp the nuances of cowardice.

"What do you think she broke in for?" Tifa asks, distracting herself from unpleasant thoughts, of which Leon is still most certainly one.

Tifa says, "Probably that dagger." Madame Medusa confiscated it as punishment for Yuffie breaking her window while climbing her drainpipe; trying to simultaneously impress and intimidate some boys who called her a freak. Yuffie swears up and down that Madame Medusa reached out of the window and plucked the dagger from her belt instead of trying to rescue her from a splattery fate as street-pizza, and has even been heard muttering about the woman taking a swing at her exposed belly with her 'own freaking blade!'

"Shouldn't we be reprimanding Yuffie for this?" Cloud wonders. "The whole thing did start when she was provoked."

"And Madame Medusa _did_ take the dagger from her, which is _technically_ stealing," Tifa puts in.

Aerith's expression is stern. She doesn't wag her finger, but there's a definite sense that there are finger-wags lurking in the tall grass. "She damaged someone's property, broke and entered that same property because she didn't like her punishment, then frightened and caused a middle-aged woman to badly injure herself."

"But it _was_ Madame Medusa," Tifa points out, thinking that if Madame Medusa is capable of being frightened by _anything _then Cid is made of strawberry blancmange. Nothing is scarier thasn Madame Medusa on the could take down a charging chimera with her glare alone, and browbeat a Buggane to death with her screeching. Even so, Tifa feels her own shame blossom. She really shouldn't be encouraging Yuffie to act like a reprobate, after all. She's supposed to be one of the responsible adults around here.

"That's no excuse. Yuffie needs to learn once and for all that stealing is wrong, and not to respond to every situation with violence." Aerith seems like she's going to say more, but exhales heavily in a very 'who am I kidding?' kind of way. She turns back to Cloud. "When are you leaving, and how long for?"

"Just a day there to pick the stuff up, a night in Mosey City, and then a day to get back here. It's a simple journey and a straight route across the foothills. Plus there aren't any savage monsters along the way that I need to worry about. This isn't Barren Region." He's trying to reassure her and only doing a partial job of it, judging by Aerith's expression.

"I just worry about you. It's silly when you think about it – after all we've been through, a trip out of Traverse Town is nothing. We should've done it ages ago, but …" She leaves the sentence hanging.

But this town has become their refuge, Tifa fills in. Traverse Town is like a tiny world all to itself, where they can live and be safe and happy. There's a whole world outside it, and they know this, but there was a whole world outside Hollow Bastion once you got past Barren Region. They're used to living in a raised town edged with walls. Aside from Yuffie, they all lived pretty sheltered lives in Hollow Bastion and just transplanted this instinct to nest and stay there when they were dumped in Traverse Town. Like newly hatched goslings, they fastened upon the first protection they were offered and haven't ventured outside its reassuring sphere since.

Aerith nods to herself. "It's good that you're going."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No, but you can tell us what Mosey City's like. We can decide whether we want to plan a trip out there."

"What, like a vacation?" Cloud sounds dubious. "Mosey City is supposed to be pretty nasty."

"Perhaps, but I meant more like a tester outing. We've stuck close to Traverse Town because we thought it was the safest place to be, but we can afford to branch out a bit more now. It's not fair to Kairi for us to keep her cooped up in one place. She's not a doll, she's a little girl, and she should learn there's more to living than sticking within your own borders. We can't expect her to spend her whole life in Traverse Town."

"It worked okay for us with Hollow Bastion."

"Mm." Aerith makes a noncommittal noise, thoughts clearly elsewhere. "You'll need travelling clothes," she muses in a low voice, talking mostly to herself but just loud enough that they can also hear. "And some food you can carry that'll keep fresh on the journey if the sun comes out. Toothbrush, a flannel, something to keep water in…" She trails off, lost in her own head. Cloud and Tifa are about to leave when she raises her gaze again. "Cloud, you will be careful, won't you?"

"I already told you, it's a straight route and completely safe."

"I didn't mean just that part."

He looks steadily at her. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

She wraps her arms around him in a fierce hug that makes the pit of Tifa's stomach prickle horribly. _Best friends_. _They're best friends. And Aerith is my friend too. It's not good to be jealous of your friend when she hugs your-_ Tifa has to end the thought there because she can't think of an applicable noun for what Cloud is to her anymore. Still a friend, she eventually picks, though the word tastes vinegary.

"I trust you to not do something idiotic. That's Zack and Yuffie's job. You're the sensible one."

"Should I be pleased or insulted by that?"

"Both." Aerith pecks the end of his nose. Cloud looks shocked.

"What was that for?"

"What do you mean? I've done it before."

"Yeah, when we were little kids."

Aerith shrugs, but when she lowers her shoulders they sit a touch higher than before. "Do I need a reason to be affectionate?"

Cloud remains unconvinced. "It's just weird, that's all. Out of the ordinary."

Aerith is tactile, but casually so. She thinks nothing of resting a palm on someone's shoulder, patting them on the back, holding their hand to drag them along the street, or leaning into them when she feels they need comfort that words alone can't give. It's always so unceremonious, though. Cloud's questioning sits uncomfortably with this, making the peck seem like it's worth more when it wasn't meant to.

"Honestly, Cloud, I think you're overreacting. I do that to Kairi all the time – so do you. If it bothers you that much I'll never do it again."

Tifa watches Cloud's expression intently, and so doesn't miss the faint pulling-together of his brows. He makes a typically male grunty noise, but offers no further comment, and the three of them drift apart, each more uneasy than they should be.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_Cloud shrugs. "She's got some deal going with another dressmaker in Mosey City._

-- A side-fling to the fact that in the original FF7 game, Cloud genuinely utters the words "Let's mosey!" without irony.

* * *


	33. Cloud’s Eventful Send Off

* * *

**32. Cloud's Eventful Send-Off **

* * *

_We've got to learn hard things in our lifetime, but it's love that gives you the strength. It's being nice to people and having a lot of fun and laughing harder than anything, hopefully every single day of your life. _-- Drew Barrymore.

* * *

"C'mon, Cloud. Live a little."

"But I don't want -"

"Cloud! If _Leon _is willing to make an effort then _no way in hell_ are you getting out of this."

"But -"

"You're having a going away drink and that's final. Geez, anybody would think we were trying to drag you into a pit of poisonous imps. And stop walking all stiff-legged like that. Show some willing."

Cloud sighs. "It's not like I'm going away for _weeks_. Two days, tops, and I stay in a hotel when I get there. It is _not_ worth making a big deal over."

"Nonsense." Zack waves a hand and continues dragging him down the street. "Aerith was right; this is a momentous thing. You're the first one of us to venture out of Traverse Town properly since we got here. You're like our own intrepid explorer."

"You don't even like alcohol!"

"True," he concedes. "But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a night out with the guys. And if we're being honest, I don't _know _whether I like alcohol or not, I just know I don't like the headache it brings."

The Buster Sword disapproves of alcohol and can be very insistent of what is disapproves of. To a sword, which has never known the tingle of being tipsy and can never know the warm glow of bourbon on a snowy day, or the bittersweet tang of tequila in Summer, voluntarily muzzing up your own head is a Very Bad Idea. The sword thinks, inasmuch as it _can_ think, that a clear head is important in case a battle should arise. Its raison-d'etre is to fight, so it will always try to map this onto its wielder.

When they were fourteen Zack and Cloud broke into Angeal's complimentary wine stash (made up of the grateful but unimaginative gifts of Hollow Bastioners), and hid in his garden to try their first taste. Cloud found he has quite a high tolerance before the world got blurry and everything started striking him as _incredibly _funny. Zack, however, was sick as a dog – not because he drank too much, but because the Buster Sword's displeasure battered him from so many sides he threw up before the first mouthful had even hit his stomach. He valiantly tried to match Cloud swig for swig, but by the third rainbow-yawn he gave up and sat holding his head until Angeal discovered them.

Cloud slides his eyes to Leon's austere profile. He still can't figure out what Zack said to get Leon to come along tonight. Probably this is part of Zack's contribution to the 'make Leon more sociable' movement. Whatever the reason, Leon is here and his expression tells Cloud exactly nothing about whether he actually _wants_ to be or not.

"There aren't many drinking establishments in Traverse Town." His flat voice tells them even less about his willingness.

"Good, because we only want one. This isn't a bar crawl. We just want to give Cloud a good send-off, not make him paralytic. You falling out of your saddle tomorrow is _not_ the idea." Zack punches Cloud lightly on the shoulder. "Don't look so worried."

Cloud can't help it. Zack has that glint in his eye that says chaos could be lurking in the wings, just waiting for its cue. Mostly Zack is responsible, but he has an irrepressible sense of fun that isn't totally in line with everyone else's definition of the word. Sometimes it can be terrifyingly Yuffie-esque. It was more pronounced when they were kids, but now and then it rears its head, as though all Zack's good behaviour has plugged a steam valve that has to blow or risk his body exploding like an overfull balloon.

They find a bar, but it turns them away when Zack refuses to take off the Buster Sword. He could've left it at home, but the threat of attack by Heartless is unpredictable and it's better to have your best advantage to hand. Plus, as Zack told Cloud when strapping on the harness, if he did leave it at home so he could go out and get drunk, the sword would have its equivalent of a temper tantrum when he finally _did_ put it back on.

"You make it sound like your spouse," Cloud remarked.

"The logistics of that don't even bear thinking about. Look, it's just not worth the hassle," Zack said, and Cloud couldn't help thinking the same of the 'going away drink'.

Leon leads them to another bar, but the same happens there. Traverse Town's third and last is seedier than the other two and reeks of something bittersweet that makes Leon scowl like the lawkeeper he is, but even more like the Royal Guard he used to be. Even Zack doesn't like the look of the place, and trundles disconsolately away with Cloud's wrist still clamped in his hand.

"The tavern," Leon says simply, taking the lead.

The tavern here isn't like the tavern in Hollow Bastion. There, it was the only place anyone could go for a drink and so became easily rowdy with the blend of personalities and ale. Traverse Town's tavern is a huge wooden building criss-crossed with black beams on its front and sides. It's a subdued place, given over to quiet drinks, doleful stares and muttered conversation, which has never contemplated the thought of a happy hour or quiz night. Its one concession to entertainment is a moth-eaten dartboard, though the numbers have rubbed off and the darts are all blunt. People go there to marinate themselves in the atmosphere – morose, melancholic, gloomy. Its clientele enjoys nothing better than perching on stools, sipping pints and lamenting about how miserable they are while doing nothing to make themselves ore cheerful.

"We must be desperate," Zack sighs, following Leon and dragging Cloud behind them.

When they reach the tavern, however, the cherry glow of a cigarette outside the door is more interesting than the building itself.

"Cid!"

Cid looks up. "Aw, shit."

"So you _do _actually smoke those things." Zack pulls Cloud to a halt in front of him. Leon lingers a half-step behind.

Cid does a passable impression of not caring, but Cloud can see he's not exactly pleased to see them.

"I thought they were just to make you look tough. You never smoke them in your shop."

"You ever tried to rebuild a place after smoking a cigarette around oil and petrol fumes?"

"No. Have you?"

Cid just mumbles something that might be words. The tavern is habitually filled with a pall of smoke, so he can't have stepped outside for a moment to light up. More likely he was just on his way in – a guess proved right when Leon holds open the door and Cid lumbers through it with very bad grace.

The barmaid, a woman of indeterminate age with hair the colour of whisky and a face like butter left too long in the sun, rolls her eyes when she sees him and calls through to the back.

Zack approaches the bar with gusto, intending to order for everyone. However, when he can't decide between the upended bottles with their upended labels, and has spent a full minute trying to twist his head to read them upside down, Cid tuts, shoves him aside and barks out an order with a few stabby glances behind him to ascertain what they're going to have – not to ask, just to _tell_ them. Cloud half expected Leon to step in when Zack had difficulty, but Leon looks like he's even more inexperienced than Zack in this sort of situation.

"I ain't much in the way of having drinking buddies," Cid grumbles.

"So you should start. Then maybe you wouldn't look so grumpy all the time."

He blinks at Zack. "I prefer my own company, kid -"

"I thought Leon was 'the kid'. And anyway, we're in here and we're being served, so obviously we're not kids."

"I ain't staying long-"

"So share just one drink with us. You can tell us about your Gummi Ship if it'll make you happy. C'mon, we're giving Cloud a send-off. You should join us. It'll do you good to have some male company after spending all your days with Tifa. And Madame Medusa."

"I – wait, you know about her?"

"Hate to break it to you, but most of Traverse Town knows she's got the hots for you and hangs around your shop like a bad smell. The shuddering causes earthquakes if too many people think about it once."

"Fuck. Look, kid, I'm out for a quiet evening to _forget_ about her."

"We're very good distractions."

Cid looks between Zack, Cloud and Leon, focussing slightly longer on Leon before puffing out a breath around his cigarette. The plume of smoke obscures his expression. "I guess I should expect you to be pushy if you live with Tifa." He sidles into a shabby booth and barks, "Well?" when he isn't followed.

Their drinks arrive. After all Tifa has told them about Cid, plus his own limited experiences of the man, Cloud thinks he shouldn't be so surprised when the barmaid brings out a barrel of tea with a handle on the side trying to masquerade as a mug. She plunks a tiny bottle of brandy next to it, presents Cloud with a pint of something orangey-yellow, and both Leon and Zack with cordial of some description. There are wood shavings floating on top.

Cid immediately unscrews the brandy and stirs it into his tea. "You would've preferred what he's got?" He nods at Cloud's tankard.

"I prefer to keep my head clear," Leon replies, not touching his glass.

A few minutes pass in awkward silence, until Zack opens his mouth, but Cid cuts him off. "What's this about a send-off?"

Cloud explains about the trip to Mosey City. Cid nods, smiling darkly when he hears about Madame Medusa's accident. Cid's smile is an unnerving thing to see close-up. There are entirely too many teeth, and his abundant stubble makes him look like a porcupine that's been slashed and had white pebbles pushed into the wound. Leon looks disapprovingly at him and the smile fades into its usual grim frown, albeit with a sulky edge. The wordless communication impresses Cloud. He doesn't realise he and Zack do the same sort of thing on a daily basis.

Cid sips his tea thoughtfully. "Watch out for pickpockets while you're there. Mosey City's not like Traverse Town. It's bigger, and meaner, and uglier. Sounds to me like you'll be sticking to the good quarter, but don't get tempted to go exploring without a damn good guide. And watch out for thieves – the good quarter is still shitty for them. There's a big pick-pocketing ring, and they're so slippery they get every-damn-where."

"You've been to Mosey City?" Zack raises an eyebrow.

"Just 'cause I settled in Traverse Town don't mean I didn't check out other places besides. Plus it's difficult to run a successful business without communication and doing _some_ travelling." Cid looks hard at Cloud. He has a penetrating stare and a chin that curves slightly upwards, as though he's constantly daring people to try and punch it. "Keep your money in your underwear, stay alert in crowds and avoid Miracle District. It sounds nice, but that's where the Thief Lord camps out, though nobody's been able to prove it. Any raid on the place turns up only dust, but any sane body still avoids it."

"I'll remember that." Cloud stores the information away alongside Aerith's commands that he not drink the water until he's sure it won't give him cholera. "Wait, my _underwear_?"

"Bags get sliced open. Pouches too. Any fool putting valuables in his socks is asking to have the tendons cut. Some of those kids are desperate."

"Kids?"

"Mosey's full of runaway kids and orphans. Like I said, it's a shithole under the surface, and the surface is like an oil slick."

"It sounds like a pretty depressing place."

"Only if you ain't got family or a home, and in that situation anyplace is fucking depressing." Cid takes an emphatic gulp of his tea, and doesn't wince as the brandy slides into his stomach. "It's actually easier for the kids. They're skinny and crafty enough to make fantastic thieves, so the Thief Lord takes care of 'em – he has safe houses with proper heating, regular meals and company from all his other waifs and strays."

"So why are the kids desperate enough to injure people?"

"He demands tribute. If you can't pay your way, you're out on your ear. Mosey City ain't kind to those with no place to go but the gutter. It breeds rat bastard cunning faster than a blocked instigator valve breeds snapped cam-belts."

Cloud has no idea what an instigator valve is, or a cam-belt, but Cid speaks with such forcefulness that he can't _not_ believe him.

"You sure know a lot about it," Zack remarks, drinking his cordial but looking longingly at Cloud's untouched beer.

"Like I said, I've been there a few times."

"Did you ever meet this Thief Lord?"

"Nobody ever meets the Thief Lord that the Thief Lord don't want to meet. Mostly he wants to meet people who can work for him, that he can get something from, or that he wants to kill. He definitely doesn't like competition, and there's all sorts of rumours about him having magical powers he uses to flambé his rivals. Load of bullcrap, if you ask me."

"Why? It's not like magic is unusual in this world."

"It's hogwash because why would any magician like _that _live like a common criminal when he could just magic up a pile of cash and live the high life?"

"It's not really as simple as that. Merlin says -"

"If you mention that fucker I'm leaving."

Zack looks taken aback. He has spent a lot of time around Merlin, beyond just investigating the Buster Sword. Zack will never be organised in the traditional sense, but recently he's helped the wizard sort out his scrolls, books and loose-leaf papers regarding what Merlin refers to as only 'the darkness'. Zack has obviously forgotten that he and Cid don't get on. "Ohhhkay."

Cid grunts.

Cloud tactfully changes the subject. "Tifa says you're teaching her how to fly a Gummi Ship."

Another grunt, but of a higher pitch. Cid, apparently, is a very eloquent grunter. This one has a touch of approval in it. "That girl," is all he says, shaking his head. Nobody's quite sure what he means, and he doesn't elaborate.

Silence falls again. It's the type of silence into which well-meaning chatter falls and sinks without trace. Zack drums his fingers on the tabletop, rests his chin on one fist and looks around.

"This isn't what I envisioned for tonight. At this rate, Cloud, you won't want to come _back_."

"Don't be dumb." Cloud at last takes a sip from his glass. It's bitter and sweet at the same time, but leaves a rank aftertaste that Cid, seeing his face, assures him you get used to after a while.

"I don't see you drinking it," Zack quips.

"I said you get used to it. It's still gerbil piss and motor oil festering in a dirty bathtub. Molly – the barmaid – cleans silverware with it. She once got some on her head and the next morning she had a damn bald spot."

Cloud looks dubiously at his glass and pushes it away. "I'm done."

Zack looks put out. His fingers twitch a half-inch forward. Then his eyes take on that slightly unfocused look that means his mind is suddenly swimming with Buster Sword magic – Cetra magic, Cloud thinks suddenly, and that's still all new levels of strange.

He always knew Aerith was special, but as for _how_ special … he doesn't even know who his dad _is_, and she can trace her family line all the way back to a race so ancient and powerful that even _Merlin_ is awed by them. Aerith is more nonchalant about it than he would be, he's sure. She treats the whole thing with kind of cool serenity that makes Cloud appreciate having her in his life. For all she can be playful and Zack can be serious, Aerith is still the calm to Zack's storm of energy, and Cloud feels nicely balanced by them.

Usually, anyway. He's not sure he likes the reappearing 'fun' gleam in Zack's eye. He's looking across the room, at the dartboard, and Cloud can tell from long experience that there are dangerous thoughts going on behind that grin.

* * *

Aerith is reading when the boys come in. She didn't mean to be. She meant to go to bed ours ago, but when tidying up after Kairi went to sleep she found the fairytale book open on the floor and became engrossed before she could stop herself. It contains a lot of stories she's never heard of. The childish tales of derring-do, evil villains in black cloaks and true love occupy her mind far longer than they probably should. She doesn't even look up when Tifa retires to bed, or when Yuffie goes out to do whatever it is she does on the rooftops at night (Aerith is beginning to suspect every stray cat with a mangled tail, since there seem to be more of them than usual). She does, however, raise her head when the lock rattles and the door swings open with the exaggerated slowness of someone – two someones – trying to be quiet.

"I _still _can't believe you did that."

"Like I knew what would happen?"

"I can't _believe _you did that."

"C'mon, you have to admit it was funny."

"Funny? _Funny_?"

"Did you two have a good time on your manly night of manliness, having a manly drink with the manly men and talking about manly things?" Aerith asks, half-quoting Zack's parting words for why only he, Cloud and Leon were going. She twists to look at them … and stops. "What are you _wearing_?"

Cloud blushes. So does Zack, but he also plants his hands on his hips, as though challenging her.

"Don't you recognise a fashion statement when you see it?"

"Fashion _statement_? That's more like a fashion _screaming match_. Where are your real clothes?"

"They were too badly burned to wear," Cloud admits. "It would've been obscene."

"And cold," Zack adds. "Very, very cold."

"Burned?" Aerith finally marks her page and closes the book, turning fully to get a better view of them. Her throat ripples but she clamps down on her urge to laugh. "Okay, what did you do?"

"What makes you think we did anything?" Zack asks with a poor impression of indignation.

Aerith just stares at him. Zack looks away first. Cloud never even looked up; too busy fiddling with his sleeves.

Zack sighs. "They were all Molly had to lend us."

"Molly?"

"The barmaid at the tavern. She lives in the rooms upstairs and she was the only one left when we needed something to wear. Everybody else had cleared out while we fought the blaze."

"Okay, leaving aside the fact you two somehow lost your clothes while fire-fighting – which I'm going to come back to, don't worry about that – just clarify the bit where you took _Leon_ to the _tavern._ I thought you were trying to cheer him up with your … manly company." _Don't snigger. Do not snigger. Poor Cloud looks like he's about to burst into flames himself_. Aerith stops herself by turning her thoughts to the severe building full of dark corners, tucked away in its own dark corner on the other side of town. The tavern eats good feelings the way Yuffie gobbles … well, anything edible that's not soy.

"We _were_. We were trying to cheer him up by reminding him we're his friends. Which is one of the reasons for this." Zack gestures at himself. "Everything was so po-faced and boring. Leon barely said two words and Cid was grumpy enough for both of them -"

"Wait, Cid was there?"

"Can I finish the story, please? So I decided to lighten the mood a little. You know, with my heroic wit and charm."

"He played Frisbee with the dartboard and nearly set the whole place on fire," Cloud mutters.

"Only _nearly_. And it was only because they had candles in bottles on the tables that were in my way. Our clothes were the only casualties in the end. And Leon's jacket, but I'm pretty sure Yuffie said he's got a wardrobe full of them."

Cloud just stares at him. "I think she was making that up because she was angry with him again, Zack."

Aerith tries hard to stifle her giggles. Honestly she does. However, she can't contain herself any longer and snorts so loud they both turn to stare, and she's surprised Tifa doesn't rush out of the bedroom to investigate. It sounds like a large rock rolling down a corrugated iron roof.

"Miss Cloud," she giggles, pointing to the identical dresses Cloud and Zack are wearing. They're shapeless things with saggy tops where a much larger woman's bosom has stretched the fabric, and hang loosely, like tents with no guy-ropes or support poles. Cloud has mostly concealed his, but under an equally feminine cloak, and Zack doesn't even have that. The Buster Sword and muddy black boots provide a bizarre counterpoint to his outfit. "A-and … and Miss _Zack_. Oh, Yuffie's going to be so sorry she missed this …"

Unable to take any more, Cloud stalks to the bedroom. Zack follows, still trying to placate him while Aerith dissolves into paroxysm of glee on the couch.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	34. Goats, Dressmakers and Monster Zits

* * *

**33. Goats, Dressmakers and Monster Zits – Oh My!**

* * *

Mosey City is a hellhole. However, as hellholes go, it's a fascinating one: dirty, crowded, noisy and utterly mesmerizing. After the perfect peace and quiet of the foothills and open plains, the city batters Cloud's senses from all angles. He's overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and (he wrinkles his nose) smells, as he watches scabby cows wander down the street, threading between people of every shape and size, and a mad, one-legged man in orange robes chase a rickshaw and shout that the end of the world is coming.

"Easy, boy." Cloud soothes the chocobo beneath him. "Easy now."

The giant bird paws the ground uneasily. It perks up, however, when it spots an equally large bird walking past. The bird isn't a chocobo. It's much thinner, shorter and less brawny, and carries only a well-dressed little girl on its back while an adult leads it by a set of reins. The girl has the prim bearing of an aristocrat and the bird doesn't seem much better. It has glossy black plumage, white-tipped wings and a long bald neck. In its head sit disturbingly intelligent and vicious, pebble-like eyes. Cloud's chocobo warbles admiringly and tries to follow, heedless of the noise that only seconds ago had it trembling like a hatchling on its first trip out of the nest.

"Hey, no you don't. We have an appointment." Cloud consults the map he copied from Merlin and Cid's. He tugs the reins in the opposite direction. The chocobo makes a disappointed noise. "Next time."

The noise it blows at him could almost be: _Yeah, right_.

They arrive where they're meant to be without much difficulty. Cloud reads the sign aloud. "Esmeralda's Modiste Shop and Haberdashery. This is the place."

"Wark!"

He has grown used to talking to the chocobo, soothing it with the sound of his voice and using it as a third party to air his own thoughts. On the journey here he discussed the embarrassing incident at the tavern, Aerith's inability to stop giggling whenever she sees them, and Kairi's artistic abilities with a crayon on the Good Luck card she and Tifa made for him. He admitted how he never thought he'd become a father, not really, which eventually opened out into musing about his friendship with Tifa.

Cloud can be dense, but he's not stupid. He has seen how she looks at him sometimes – the way he used to look at her when he was a kid. He doesn't have a spiteful bone in his body, but part of him is still resentful that the universe couldn't get its timing right and make their feelings coincide. Just as he thinks he's grown out of his crush she does this and his whole head spins away into uncertainty. He can feel himself being tugged in another direction, though where that path leads seems filled with even more uncertainty.

Chasing these thoughts away, Cloud hops down and spends a moment wondering what to do with the chocobo. There's no handy rail to tie the reins to. It's still watching the spot where it last saw the black and white bird.

A tanned hand thrusts itself under Cloud's nose. "Hold that for you, mister?" It's a kid in good quality clothes that are nonetheless raggedy. He has stains on his clothes and dirt on his face, plus a strangely sharp look that puts Cloud in mind of Cid's warning.

"Uh -" he starts, but at that moment the door to the shop opens and the most beautiful woman he has ever seen comes out.

"Are you trying to take my customers' money again, Vaan? If you make them pay you they'll have nothing left to buy clothes with."

The boy smiles easily. The edge in his expression is considerably less sharp than before. "Would I do that to you, Ez?"

"Don't call me Ez."

He smiles even wider.

The woman turns to Cloud. "Don't worry, Vaan's honest. About this, at least. He won't run off with your, uh … is that some kind of albino ostrich?"

"Um, no," Cloud stammers, finding his voice again. "It's a, uh, chocobo."

"A cho-co-bo." She says the word slowly, as if running her tongue over each individual letter to savour the taste. It's far more sensuous than it should be, especially since it's clear she isn't trying to be. "I've never seen one of those before."

"There aren't any more. This is the only one." Well, in this world, at least, so it's not a total lie.

The raggedy kid's eyes sparkle, but pinned under the woman's gaze he solemnly promises not to steal the bird and roast it over a fire, sell it to the nearest trader, or joyride it into the canal. Cloud leaves with many backwards glances, worrying the rooster will try to peck the kid, but to his amazement the boy squeezes the point where shoulder meets neck and the chocobo almost melts with pleasure. It's nuzzling him like an old friend as the door shuts.

"Right." The woman, who properly introduces herself as the Esmeralda of the shop name, perches on the edge of the counter and kicks her heels like a little kid with a new friend over to play. "You must be the messenger Madame Medusa sent."

"Uh, yes, ma'am. I'm Cloud Strife."

"Just Esmeralda, please. Ma'am makes me feel old."

Cloud finds himself liking her. She fetches the dress samples and explains how she tweaked a few details from what Madame Medusa originally wanted. He doesn't look too closely at the dresses, his own time wearing one still embarrassed-red raw in his memory. He does, however, listen to the lilt of her voice and finds himself retaining knowledge about cinched waists, puff-sleeves and the importance of good hemming.

"Oh nuts," Esmeralda says suddenly, tossing a red gown decorated with gold coins onto the counter as though it's worth nothing. Even Cloud can see it's stunning, but as he glances around the shop's interior he quickly learns that all Esmeralda's creations are stunning. She's a very talented dressmaker. "Here I am, rattling on about Medusa's order when you've just trekked for ages across the open countryside. You're probably parched and hungry. Come on into the back room and I'll fix us something to eat and drink."

"That's not really necessary -"

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm due to take a break myself, so I'll shut for half an hour and join you." She flips the shop sign to 'closed' and walks through a door hidden behind a rack of delicately embroidered corsets. She jingles as she moves. She's not wearing any shoes. Her ankles and both of her wrists are layered in bangles, which glitter and twinkle from under a floor-length purple skirt that Aerith would adore. "Come on, don't be scared, I won't bite you – and I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich."

Cloud smiles and follows her.

* * *

Esmeralda does indeed make a mean grilled cheese sandwich. The cheese is far tangier than what Cloud's used to and burns his mouth with its aftertaste, though he's too polite to say so. In truth he's more focussed on the small goat that takes his plate away. It isn't like the humanoid animals of Traverse Town. It walks on all fours, grips the plate in its mouth and appears to be a regular goat, as it props its front hooves against the sink and delicately adds to the pile of washing-up.

"Thanks, Djali," Esmeralda says absently.

The goat bleats and returns to munching a pile of carrots and potato peelings. There's absolutely no hint that there is anything out of ordinary about the situation, so Cloud feels out of place asking.

"You must be one of those world orphans."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, aren't you?"

"No, I … yes, I am." It's close enough to the truth without delving into too much detail. Cloud doubts he'll see Esmeralda again after today and doesn't want to get into the complicated reality of how he and his friends came to be in this world. Some day even _he's_ not sure how everything slotted into place for them to wind up here, now, like this, and with all their limbs intact. "How could you tell?"

"Your chocobo. That creature is definitely not native"

"Oh. That makes sense, I guess." A thought occurs to him. "Will that boy be okay holding him? I've been in here a long time."

"Vaan? Don't worry about it. He's a pretty responsible kid, and obviously you'll pay him for his services, so he won't mind waiting a while." She levels a pointed look at Cloud.

"Of course I'll pay him." _Not_ paying never even occurred to him.

The look becomes a bright smile. "Good. As for me, I've lived in Mosey City my whole life." She reclines back in her chair, nibbling one of the biscuits she produced to follow the sandwiches. They're all wrapped in foil and she called them 'brandy snaps' even though there's no alcohol in them. Just the word 'brandy' makes Cloud think of the tavern, so he declines. "It must seem pretty hectic after sleepy old Traverse Town."

"Traverse Town has its hectic side."

"Yes, I suppose it does. Cid Highwind told me about those 'Heartless' things that sometimes appear there. Are they still a problem? It's been years since I spoke to Cid."

Cloud is distracted from the way she talks about Heartless like they're just another pest, like cockroaches. "You know Cid?"

"Oh good, he is still alive. How is he?"

"He's … fine. How do you know him?" He has heard the phrase 'it's a small world' but this is too much. What is it about Cid that makes women gravitate to him?

"He used to come to Mosey City a lot. I think he was setting up some kind of business? Anyway, he decided to stick to Traverse Town rather than move out here. We lost touch after that." Her voice drops. "I had a bit of a crush on him, actually."

"On Cid?" 'Too much' segues into 'ludicrous'. "_Cid_?" Cloud says again, as if testing the truth of the words and looking for a second opinion.

"What can I say? He can be quite a gentleman when he wants, and he can cuss like a sailor when he doesn't. I've never liked perfect men – though I have to admit I've always had a thing for blonds with facial hair." She shoots him a wicked grin. Cloud is so flustered he leans back and nearly topples out of his chair. Esmeralda laughs without cruelty. "Don't worry. You may be blond but you're too pretty and clean-shaven for me."

"Guh," is all Cloud can say as he finds himself on eye-level with the goat's curious gaze. It bleats, sending potato breath all over him. He shoots upright and bangs his knee against the underside of the table. "Mmff!"

"And too polite. Cid would've turned the air blue if he'd done that."

"Mff!"

"Are you okay?"

"…Yes." Cloud's eyes water. He knows he's going to have an incredible bruise later and wonders whether he could say he got it fighting off street thieves.

Esmeralda's eyes dance. "You're sweet, in a boyish sort of way. How old are you?" When he tells her he's twenty she squeals – actually _squeals_. Esmeralda is not a short woman, so seeing her draw her knees up and fling her feet out again is odd, like seeing an ironing board unfold at speed. "You're not! You look about sixteen. No, that's cruel. Eighteen." She grins at him, but her expression wavers. "Have I offended you? Sorry, I have a big mouth."

"I'm not offended," Cloud replies, trying hard not to look hurt and wondering whether he should forgo shaving for a while. Yuffie has made several comments about how Leon looks older with stubble, but then he thinks about what Aerith would say. Fastidious about personal hygiene, Aerith would probably present him with a razor and a genuine 'I thought you'd broken yours so I got you another one'. She might even just have Zack pin him down and shave his chin herself if he went too long and started getting old food caught in it, the way Cid always seems to on Tifa's day off.

"Hello?" A hand waves in front of his face. Cloud snaps to attention.

"Sorry!"

"Don't be. It looked like you were having a nice daydream." Esmeralda leans back in her chair on the other side of the small round table. "How long are you staying in Mosey for?"

"Just tonight. I'm heading back in the morning, once my chocobo's rested up."

She nods. "Where are you staying? If I know Madame Medusa she only sent enough for a hovel. You should go for the Cathedral Hotel on Hugo Street."

"That's where Cid said I should go." Cloud has brought some extra munny to make up the difference from Madame Medusa's allowance. She was willing to let him pay for his entire accommodation until Mr. Snoops pointed out that it was part of their contract. Cloud didn't want to be Mr. Snoops after the murderous look his wife shot him for that.

"He always did have good taste." For a moment Esmeralda looks wistful, until the goat gets up and gently butts her in the stomach. "Hm? Oh, do you need to go out?"

The goat gives her a withering look, and then glances at Cloud as if to say 'She can be so oblivious sometimes, but I suppose that's what you get for being born human instead of goat'. He leaves and then re-enters with the stiff-legged dignity of a thoroughbred horse.

Esmeralda gives a wicked little smirk when Cloud offers to do the dishes. "You live with a woman, don't you?"

"Several," he replies, up to his elbows in soapy water.

"I thought so. You're too domesticated, even for a pretty boy."

"I live with another guy as well. And a little kid."

"Sounds like a regular commune."

"A what?"

"Never mind. Are you all from the same world, or did you move in when you got to Traverse Town?"

"No, we're all from the same place."

"It must be nice to live with so many people." The wistful look returns, but this time aimed in a slightly different direction. "It's just me and Djali here. I used to crave privacy when I was growing up and had to share _everything_ – bathroom, food, sleeping arrangements, work, yadda yadda yadda. I guess I got my wish. I miss the company, but the trade-off to get it became too high." She blinks. "You're incredibly easy to talk to, you know that? I'll be telling you all my deepest, darkest secrets soon."

Cloud doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing.

"Are they pretty?"

"Who?"

"The women you live with."

"Very." The word comes out automatically, but he realises the truth of it as he watches it trail behind him like a pennant, stretched out for all to see. Esmeralda demands truth. Cloud can tell just by spending this short amount of time with her that she's straightforward, possibly as a result of too much previous deception souring her on it.

Aerith, Tifa and Yuffie _are_ all beautiful in their own ways. Despite her coarseness, Yuffie is the personification of gangly teenage cute, Tifa is what many Traverse Towners call 'a classic beauty', and Aerith …

It's difficult for Cloud to think why Aerith is beautiful because he's known her for so long. Her face merges with too many memories, so it feels like she's a part of him. He can't think of his own elbow, or kneecap, or scalp as pretty. She's just that much a part of who he is. Cloud has seen Aerith with teenage acne, childish with puppy fat, features twisted into a scowl, crying like a baby, frightened, happy, scruffy, coiffed, and everything in between. She's Aerith, and her Aerith-ness makes her pretty. That's all his brain can come up with.

"And how about the man?"

"Excuse me?"

"What does he look like? Is he like you?"

"No. not at all." Cloud faces the same problem as he did with Aerith. Zack is Zack. Zack is black hair and a criss-cross scar on his left cheek and a mouth always a hairsbreadth from a smile, but those are just physical things. That's not all he is, and Cloud feels especially unqualified in saying whether or not Zack is _attractive _when Esmeralda cajoles him for more information. "I don't know!"

She's instantly apologetic. "My conversation skills are rusty. I guess that's what comes from only talking to customers and Djali." The goat bleats indignantly. "No offense, Djali. I think I need to get out more."

After Cloud has finished washing up, they return to the main shop. Esmeralda tells him he should come back for the dresses in the morning before he leaves. The shop bell tinkles and she turns her radiant smile on a short fat woman with a dead fox wrapped around her neck. Cloud sees Esmeralda recoil a little at the cold glass eyes, and excuses himself to let her deal with her customer.

The boy, Vaan, is still outside. He's sitting on the floor with the chocobo next to him, cuddled up close like a chick trying to get under its mother's feathers. He grins when he sees Cloud.

"All in one piece, as promised."

Cloud pays him the reasonable amount he asks for, plus a coin extra for taking so long, and because now he takes the time to look he can see the white spots of zinc deficiency dotting the boy's nails and the dark circles under his eyes. He recalls what Cid said about Mosey City not being kind to its young, and so is surprised when Vaan gives him back the extra coin.

"Only get paid for what you do. And only do what you get paid for." He taps the side of his nose, like this means more than Cloud can understand, and ambles away. He's soon lost in the crowd. The chocobo warbles forlornly after him

"I'm not that bad as a replacement, am I?" Cloud sticks his foot in a stirrup and hauls himself aboard. "C'mon, time to find a place to stay with a nice stable for you."

"Wark!"

* * *

"Yuffie, come on."

"I'm never coming out!"

"Yuffie, we only have one bathroom."

"So?"

"You've been in it for three hours."

"So?"

"Yuffie, other people need to _use_ this bathroom."

"Let them piss out the window."

Aerith sighs and rattles the door again. No dice. "Yuffie, this is ridiculous."

"Says you! You don't have a zit the size of Barren Region on your freaking _nose_! And not even halfway up or tucked out of sight on a nostril, not but right on the very _end_! I've obviously been cursed by Merlin for calling him grandpa. Or one of those evil witches from that crappy book of fairytales heard of my incomparable beauty and decided to ruin it."

"You're overreacting."

"No, I'm reacting with the perfect balance of hellfire and damnation. Listen – damndamndamnhelldamnhellhellhelldamn! See?

"Yuffie -"

"Is she _still_ in there?" Zack appears at Aerith's shoulder wearing an expression that's three parts amused and one part exasperated.

"Yes." Aerith has been standing here since Tifa and Kairi left for Chicha's, arguing with Yuffie almost to the point of mud-slinging. Of course, Yuffie was mud-slinging right at the beginning, proving that she's been hanging around Cid's place lately. She always picks up new layers of bad language while trying to get past him and pinch stuff. She sees the whole thing as a challenge. Aerith has tried to maintain a civil tongue, but right now she's short steps from either cussing or battering the door down with a trowel.

"All this over a zit?"

"You had zits too, Hero! Don't pretend you didn't! Everybody gets zits, and if they don't then they're obviously mutant freaks with no more right to exist than those worms that crawl up your nose and suck your blood and give you blood-poisoning that eats your brain and turns it to mush and makes you into a vegetable."

"You're being silly -"

"They exist! Cid told me about them."

"That's not what I meant. Yuffie, you _have_ to come out of th-"

"If I come out of here and it erupts you'll all drown in pus. You'll be swept away down the stairs in a great yellow tide, wailing 'Oh, how we wish we'd listened to the poor misunderstood girl instead of heinously forcing her to leave her sanctuary'. And I'll be standing there bemoaning the fact I've just killed off my roommates through Death By Acne. There's no way I'm being known as the Acne Ninja."

"She can take on Heartless and monsters, and cross Barren Region by herself, but she can't handle a little zit?" Zack shakes his head. "Yuffie, if you don't unlock this door and come out, I'll break it down."

"No you won't, 'cause that's property damage, and you're too upstanding and decent and honourable and all that boring shit to do that kind of thing."

"Try me."

"You try me, doody-head! I can last a long time in here. I have fresh water!"

He blinks. "Doody-head?"

Aerith just shrugs. "That's the mildest yet. She must be running low on ideas."

"You know, it's not until times like this that I remember she's only a teenager."

"Nothing 'only' about this teen, Hero. I'm super-duper-extraordinarily-exceptionally-wonderfully-brilliantly-outstandingly-super-special-awsome! Which is why I get monster craters on my face instead of the measly blackheads that plague the rest of my hormone-driven species."

"Would telling you Leon's here make you come out?"

"No, because you'd be lying."

"He's not."

Aerith jumps. She didn't even realise Leon was behind her. He's damp with sweat, just like Zack. She can only assume they've been sparring again, pitting gunblade against Buster Sword in the next episode of their endless macho contest to see which is better.

There's a long pause from inside the bathroom, followed by a very quiet, "Aw crap." Something rattles.

Aerith and Zack exchange a look.

"The window?"

"The window."

Leon says nothing, just crouches down and pulls a small metal pin, rather like a hairgrip, from one of the pockets buried beneath his many belts. He fiddles with the lock for until it clicks and the door opens with an easy depress of the handle.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Zack peers inside. "We appear to be Yuffie-less."

The window is open. There's one boot print on the wall, another one on the toilet lid.

Aerith sighs. "Well at least we can get inside now. I'm sure she'll come back when she's hungry."

"So in about eight seconds, you reckon?"

She whaps Zack on the back of the head. "Don't be cruel. You were sixteen once. Yuffie's had an eventful life, but she's still in puberty. Don't you remember how hard it was to have regular teenage problems?"

"When I was sixteen I had other things to think about."

She bites her tongue. Zack was sixteen when Angeal died. How could she have forgotten? His face shows no sorrow though. He even reaches out to squeeze _her_ shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"I'd better go," Leon says, moving away from them suddenly.

"Hey, I invited you in," Zack protests. "You don't have to rush off so fast."

"I have things to do." Leon turns away, and then hesitates, glancing back at them. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it again after a few silent seconds. His movements as he leaves are stiff and abrupt, like a marionette with an inexpert puppeteer.

"What was that about?" Aerith asks in bemusement. If Leon has something to say he either says it or changes his mind without any indication he ever intended to open his mouth. He's decisive, or at least he prefers to be. Wavering isn't his style. "Was he trying to tell us something?" In a way it feels like Leon is_ always _trying to tell them something – something secret and painful that lodges in his gullet like chunks of vomit every single time.

"He was probably going to tell you not to stress so much, then thought better of it. You wouldn't listen."

"Excuse me?"

Zack smiles, but it's kind. "You've been like a cat on a hot tin roof ever since we said goodbye to Cloud."

She could try and fight the accusation, but that'd make her a hypocrite. She's not ashamed of her concern – even though it makes her a total mother hen, and like she's already fifty and looking back on her youth. She sighs, cupping her elbows with both hands. "I asked Dr. Sweet about Mosey City. He said it's a city where it's easy to get lost between the cracks. I just worry about Cloud being there all alone."

"You do realise he's not a little kid, right?"

"Of course I do."

"He's more than capable of taking care of himself, and he has his pride."

"So I'm not allowed to worry in case I dent it?"

"No, but you're giving yourself wrinkles. They're right here." He touches the outer skin of her left eye. "Forget crow's feet, you have chocobo's feet."

His gloves are tucked into his belt. His hands are always too hot after sparring, and the insides smell like Kairi's old nappies. Aerith has been meaning to get him a new pair, but leather is expensive. She was intending to make them a gift for his birthday. That's far from her mind right now, however, because the skin where his bare finger has just been pressed is tingling like she's been burned, and she can't figure out why her stomach has decided it doesn't like her midriff and is trying her throat for size.

"Hey, are you okay? You've gone really pale."

"I'm fine. I think … I think I must've just been avoiding thinking about Cloud. He's not exactly …" She stops, unable to finish the sentence in a way that isn't cruel. "I know it's embarrassing for him when he thinks people don't respect him, or treat him like he's weak. He's proud, but … but he's gentle. Maybe too gentle for Mosey City if some of the things Dr. Sweet told me are true." She shifts uneasily.

The hint of an ill-defined suspicion glimmers in the very back of her mind. She shoves it away. Then, for good measure, she thrusts it under a pile of painful memories she doesn't like to touch very often.

"Don't let Cloud fool you. He's not the soft little kid he used to be. He can take care of himself."

"Maybe." Aerith looks away, still hugging herself.

"Hey." Zack catches her chin and pulls her back to look at him. "I know telling you not to worry is like telling the sun not to rise in the morning, but there really is no need. I've had a hand in training Cloud how to defend himself, and so have Tifa and Leon. He may not be up to our standard, but he's no pushover. Just let any pickpocket or street thief try to rob him."

"It's not him being robbed that bothers me."

"You," Zack puts that same tip of his finger against the end of her nose, "worry too much. You're like a worry machine. Cid will have to take your schematics so we can figure out where your off switch is."

"I …"

"Cloud. Will. Be. Fine." He stares at her, willing her to believe it too, but this close-to she can see in his eyes that he's just as worried as her.

She can read Zack like one of the fairytales from that book. She now keeps it by her bedside, for when she wakes in the small hours and doesn't want to disturb anyone else. Like the fairytales, Zack is deceptively simple, but when you look below the surface, beneath the once-upon-a-time and happily-ever-after, you start to see the darker corners and the human parts – the terrible frailties that come from being alive, and human, and mortal.

A smile tugs her lips. "Do you think we should shut the window so Yuffie has to use the door?"

"She's a ninja."

"You're right; she'd get it open again."

"Actually, I meant we should lock it."

* * *

Cloud is thoroughly lost. The chocobo spotted another giant bird, this one a dull brown with a rounded back, black legs and pale blue skin on its head. Despite Cloud's protestations, the chocobo followed, panicking the other bird, which bolted. By the time Cloud managed to pull up and apologise to the frightened child on its back, they'd left the main boulevard and entered the maze of side-streets. The child didn't stay to listen to him, kicking the other bird and taking off with a certainty that said _she_ knew where she was going, and leaving Cloud to puzzle it out for himself.

"I always defend you to Yuffie, but you really _are_ a stupid featherbutt."

"WARK!"

"Don't take that tone with me. If I get in trouble, do you think they'll leave you alone?"

"WARK!"

"I think we turned left here before, so if we turn right now…" They enter an even narrower alley. Cloud's heart sinks. He doesn't recognise anything. "Great. Lost in a strange city. Zack is never going to let me forget this."

He hears voices and heads towards them, hoping he can ask directions. When he gets closer, however, he realises they're raised in anger. Beneath the shouts is a thin wailing, like a child in pain. Cloud frowns and presses his knees into the chocobo's sides, urging it to go faster.

Three large men surround something on the floor. The crouched figure has its head covered and knees drawn up to its chest against their kicks. As Cloud approaches he sees one man reach down and punch it in the side, aiming for its kidneys.

Cloud remembers being cornered in alleys by kids who were only brave in packs. He remembers them calling his mother a whore and a slut, plus anything else they could think of, just to get a rise out of him so they could justify beating him up. Zack or Aerith would find him and either patch him up or drive them off, and while he loved his friends for that, somwtimes it was the worst thing they could've done.

Anger washes through him at the scene. "Hey!" He plunges the chocobo amongst them and kicks out with one stirruped fot. He catches the punching man in the back, sending him sprawling. "Three against one? How about we make the numbers more even? Three of you again him, me," he raises the chocobo's head, "and _him_."

The rooster does a pretty good impression of a rabid-dog growl.

The two men who are still standing hesitate, but only until the one Cloud kicked crab-walks out of the chocobo's shadow. His eyes are wide with terror where before they were slanted with loathing.

"What the fuck are you playing at?"

"What are _you_ playing at?" Cloud replies. "Besides who can win the hundred-metre sprint – you or me?"

"What?"

The chocobo takes a step forward, showing its wide foot and wicked claws. That foot could crush a man's head or open his guts with a single swipe. There's a reason ancient cultures went into battle on chocobos more than horses. Get a chocobo's blood hot and it fights as hard as a trained soldier.

"Fuck!" The man scrambles to his feet. "Let's go. We've already taught the freak a lesson."

"WARRRRK!"

They run away like the cowards they are.

Cloud pats the chocobo's neck. "You just redeemed yourself for getting us lost." He can feel it tensed to follow them, but swings it around to face the figure the men were attacking.

Except there's nobody there.

"Well that's gratitude for you." Cloud sighs. "And still, I don't know where I am." With no better ideas, he decides to follow the same path as the men. "Perhaps that way leads to the main street."

"It does."

"What?" Cloud looks around. "Who's there?" There's a flicker of movement halfway up the building, but when he looks only an ugly stone gargoyle glares back at him. "Hello?"

Nothing.

"Hello?"

Nada.

Eventually Cloud sighs and moves off, conscious of the encroaching evening and how much he _doesn't_ want to be lost in Mosey City after dark.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_Goats, Dressmakers and Monster Zits – Oh My!_

-- Side-fling to the 1939 _Wizard of Oz_ line "Lions and tigers and bears – oh my!"

"_Are you trying to take my customers' money again, Vaan?"_

-- Vaan originally appeared in Final Fantasy XII, where he was the main playable character (www. ffinsider. net/final-fantasy-12/vaan. php)

"_Just Esmeralda, please."_

-- Esmeralda first appeared in Disney's 1996 animated feature _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_, where she was voiced by Demi Moore (disney. go. com/vault/archives/characters/esmeralda/esmeralda. html).

"… _Cathedral Hotel on Hugo Street."_

-- Side-fling to Victor Hugo, the original author of _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_.

* * *


	35. The Thief King

* * *

**34. The Thief King**

* * *

Cloud wakes and stretches, then spends a few seconds contemplating the day ahead as the world trickles back to him through sleep-fug. He yawns and automatically glances to his right, but he's in a single bed and so locks eyes with the lamp on the wall.

It was strange, sleeping without Zack's warmth at his back. Like always, Cloud slept on his left side, where he would usually be facing outwards from the centre of the bed. Zack would usually sleep on his right, also facing outwards, and they would stay that way until morning or Zack turned over and accidentally socked him. Cloud is an incredible shot with a pillow because of this.

He and Cloud developed this right-left combo quickly after moving into the Traverse Town apartment. At first the thought of having to share a double bed with another guy made Cloud uncomfortable, until he reminded himself that it was just Zack, and the alternative was sharing with one of the girls. Apart from the standard burps, farts and other expulsions of air common to sleeping men, they've gotten along pretty well with sharing. They know when to give each other space and have fallen into a pattern of manners that suits them both regarding privacy. It's not something they talk about, for which Cloud is intensely glad, as his face would probably spontaneously combust if he ever had to discuss it.

Cloud gets up, washes and dresses ready for another day in Mosey City. He wants to start the journey home as soon as possible, so he can arrive before nightfall makes the landscape difficult to navigate.

Apparently ostriches, emus and other large birds are common enough in this part of the world to merit the Cathedral Hotel having its own specialised stable. Cloud was glad of this when he got there, as he'd feared having to ask for a loose box in a regular stable so his chocobo wouldn't attack or spook the horses.

He goes down for breakfast, but thoughts of the chocobo make him decide to check on it first. He's in a good mood as he crosses the courtyard from the main entrance, admiring the vaulted architecture. That is, until he reaches the stable and opens the top half of the door. Then he stops in his tracks.

His chocobo is gone.

A quick interrogation of the head hostler reveals that none of the grooms or stablehands took it out, and the man checks the exercise yard to make sure it hasn't escaped by itself. The yard is empty. The gates are all locked and the door to that stall has been bolted from the outside, leading both he and Cloud to one conclusion: the chocobo has been stolen.

"It shouldn't be possible," the head hostler chokes. "The Cathedral Hotel has the very best in security, and I always make one of the lads who sleep in the loft keep an eye out. They're on rotation. It was Victor last night, and he's got the sharpest eyes and keenest ears of anyone who isn't a bloody eagle -" He goes on this way for a full five minutes, but nothing lifts Cloud's heart from where it has sunk into his lower bowel.

The City Lawmen are called. They arrive and question Cloud for a long time, but they're hardly a heartening bunch. He gets the impression they suspect _him_ of hiding the chocobo, or just plain making it up.

"A giant _yellow_ bird, you say? Bigger than an ostrich? Shaped like a chicken with long legs? And it has blue eyes, like yours? And a fanned tail? I'll bet you're going to tell me _that's_ like your _hair_, I suppose."

"Well … yes, actually."

The constable behind the chief Lawman sniggers. "Come off it, sunshine, we wasn't born yesterday."

"No, really. I don't have a picture to show you, but that's what it looks like."

In the end only verification by the head hostler, all the stablehands, and the receptionist inside the hotel who glimpsed it through the open front doors, are enough to convince them that the chocobo _is_ real and _is_ missing. By this time Cloud is just about eating his own chin with the desire for them to go out and _look_ for it, but they stick around and make him fill out forms until they're satisfied. In triplicate.

He'd go out himself, but apart from his sketchy map of where to find Esmeralda's and the Cathedral Hotel, Cloud has no idea of the city's geography. The men compound this by telling him that Mosey is a big place, and that they'll try their best, but really, one bird in all those streets is going to be pretty difficult to find. That's if it hasn't already been killed and devoured, of course, which sometimes happens to missing birds from rich stables.

"It's because you're from out of town," the head hostler tells Cloud as they watch the men amble away with no urgency whatsoever. "That, and the Lawmen around here are all dungbrains. Personally, I think any desire to be a Lawman or a politician should automatically ban you from becoming one."

Cloud is only half-listening. He's struck with grief that the chocobo is gone, even though it was a crotchety creature that bit him a lot and looked at Kairi like she was the flesh-and-blood equivalent of a scratching post. It's the only creature that has never fallen under Cloud's spell. The best he's been able to manage is a relationship of tolerance. It was bred and raised as a working bird, so it appreciates the daily exercise and change of scenery that come with Cloud's delivery service. However, he has never been under any misapprehension that it actually _likes_ him. The others don't believe him when he says chocobos are more intelligent than dogs _or_ cats, but Cloud suspects this one has always resented him for picking it when the Heartless attacked Hollow Bastion. It probably blames him for it being dragged out of their world into this one.

He also feels guilty about losing it, and wonders how the heck he's supposed to get home _now_. When he realises the head hostler has given up and left him alone, and that there's nothing he can do but wait, he chooses to go and see the only person he knows in Mosey City.

However, when he leaves the hotel he's surprised to find her already out on the pavement.

"Cloud Strife!" Esmeralda waves and jingles over to him. She has donned shoes to go outside but all her anklets and bangles are still there. There seem to be even more today. "I got anxious when you were so late. I thought you might've gotten lost. Hey, why so glum? And where's that bird of yours – a chocomocha, was it? Surely you weren't planning on crossing the city on foot all by yourself with my dresses."

"He's been stolen," Cloud says miserably.

Esmeralda looks shocked as he relates his morning and why he's late. "But the Cathedral has _never _had ostriches or horses thieved from it before. That's why I recommended it, since you said your choco-thingy is one of a kind."

"The Lawmen said it was like whoever broke in left everything neat and tidy as an ironic gesture. It was as though nobody broke in at all, except for the fact my chocobo was gone – no point of entry, nobody saw anything, nobody even _heard _them leading him away. The bird just … vanished. It could've been magic, except there were shield charms in every corner of the stable to stop that sort of thing."

Esmeralda stares hard at the elaborate spires and domes of the hotel roof, her brow furrowing. "A theft that doesn't look one has even taken place, a thief who comes and goes like they're invisible, a rare thing stolen from a supposedly impenetrable place, all that security … a proper challenge …" She breaks her gaze and turns to Cloud, expression far grimmer than he expects. "I think I might know who took it. C'mon."

"What? But how -"

"Call it a gut feeling."

"But shouldn't we tell those Lawmen?"

"They wouldn't do anything, and anyway, my suspicions are the kind law-keepers have no business knowing. Neither should you, for that matter." She looks speculatively at him. Then she seems to come to a decision, because she grabs his hand and drags him along the street. "Follow me." Her grip is like iron and her pace emphasises the speed long legs can achieve.

Cloud can only think _Like I have any choice?_

* * *

The blindfold is difficult to get used to, but at least it's not too tight or scratchy. It's actually one of the scarves Esmeralda keeps around her waist. It smells faintly of cinnamon and goat.

"Mind the step."

"What step?" Cloud falls over it. "Ow!"

"I _said_ to mind out." Esmeralda's voice holds a tinge of irritation. She's been getter tenser the further they go, as though she fears what they're heading towards. Still, she keeps going and Cloud gamely follows.

He's not sure why he trusts Esmeralda to lead him this way, but something about her inspires confidence. He doesn't think she's taking him into a pit of vipers, or about to hand him over to a cult of cannibals. She sort of reminds him of Tifa, actually. They share the same mulish-but-principled attitude towards injustice, and the same impulse to run at it rather than wait for someone else to take care of things. Diplomacy with fists. Can Esmeralda land a punch as well as Tifa?

Wherever they are, it's cold and dank. Cloud can hear rushing water from somewhere, and the scritch-squeak of rats. He suspects they're underground, since Esmeralda brought him down a ramp not long after she applied the blindfold, grasped his wrist and asked that he just trust her.

"I can't give you any good reason _to_ trust me other than my promise that this is for a very good reason, and I won't let any harm come to you."

Now Cloud surmises they're traipsing through some sort of sewer system. He wonders whether this was such a good idea.

Esmeralda stops suddenly. "Damn."

"What? What's going on?"

"I think we've been spotted."

Rapid footsteps fade into the distance.

"Is that bad? Do we keep going?"

"We keep going." New levels of grim creep into her tone, turning it steely. Cloud tries to match this voice with the bright-eyed woman who quizzed him about his friends and ate sandwiches with him yesterday. "I suppose it was stupid to think we could get in undetected. We'll know soon enough whether we're welcome or not." She squeezes Cloud's wrist a little tighter. "Just for the record, and I don't mean to scare you, but if I say run, you have my permission to take off that blindfold and run like you're going through Hell in gasoline britches."

"What'll happen if I don't?"

"You don't want to know."

Cloud's throat tightens, but he squares his shoulders. "I can fight."

"Probably you can, but can you fight _dirty_?"

They continue on, away from the rushing water and the skulking smell of sewage. Cloud can still hear rats though. Their numbers increase with every passing minute. He feels enquiring eyes watching them, and even though it's impossible, a part of him is convinced he can hear hundreds of twitchy little noses quivering. Cloud being Cloud, he doesn't fear the rats, but their presence unnerves him because he can't see them and has to work just by his other senses. He feels vulnerable and wishes he'd listened when Leon told him to carry blades strapped to his wrists, or when Zack suggested he ask Tifa for extra hand-to-hand lessons.

"Here we go," Esmeralda suddenly hisses. "Brace yourself."

"Halt! Who goes there?"

"Just two lost souls looking for refuge."

"How did you find this place?"

"It's a sewer. You don't _find_ sewers, you find yourself _in_ them."

"Esmeralda?"

She breathes a sigh of relief. "So you're old enough for guard duty now, Kytes? Time flies when you're having fun. Or not, if you're standing where I'm standing. Put that away before you hurt yourself."

Cloud tenses, but hears a childish chuckle and the distinctive sound of a blade sliding back into its sheath. "You really have been away a long time if you haven't heard of my knife-fighting skills. I'm the best in all – hey wait, who's that with you?"

"This is Cloud Strife. He's the reason I'm down here. We need to see the Thief King."

A sharp intake of breath. "You brought an _outsider_ into the tunnels and you want to take him to the _Thief King_?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

"But he's an _outsider_, Es!"

"Don't call me Es. The Thief King has something that belongs to him."

"_What_?" The speaker's raw incredulity makes the air smoulder. "Are you _serious_? You've been living with the outsiders for too long, Esmeralda. You're starting to think like them."

"When I start trusting the pigs you can worry about me going native. Until then, are you going to grant my request or not? And let me remind you that I have immunity and guaranteed safe passage down here, which I'm extending to apply to Cloud as well."

"You can't do that -"

"Fine, go and tell him you wouldn't let me in and we'll see what he says."

There's a long pause in which Cloud wonders whether the speaker has left as silently as he appeared. "I take it back," the voice eventually says. "You _are_ still the same Esmeralda."

"Thank you, Kytes."

"Don't thank me; just get me a raincoat so I don't get covered in blood when the Thief King sees what you've brought with you."

"He's exaggerating," Esmeralda whispers to Cloud.

Cloud is only slightly reassured as they move off again, following their new guide – and guard.

They're led down a long, winding tunnel, and down a set of roughly cut steps. He stone is covered in something slimy that makes Cloud skid. Esmeralda grabs him so hard she leaves bruises. She's much stronger than her appearance suggests. Cloud's feet keep skidding out from under him and a second set of hands take his other arm.

"Outsiders," the mysterious Kytes says with disgust.

Cloud makes a special effort to stay upright after this. Kytes sounds like a kid. Being belittled by him stirs Cloud's self-respect like a metal pole inserted into his spine.

Finally they pass through a narrow entrance. Coarse stone scrapes Cloud's left shoulder and cheek. Then the feeling of being in a wide open space assaults him. Their footsteps echo and there's the kind of silence that only comes from a lot of people suddenly not saying anything.

Cloud swallows. "Esmer-"

"What the hell are you playing at, Kytes?" hisses someone – a girl, not very old judging by her voice.

"Hey, don't look at me, they have immunity."

"They?"

Another voice joins in, and then another, and another. "No outsider is allowed immunity."

"Not unless the Thief King himself says so."

"Move aside, move aside, I so wanna see this."

"Is that Esmeralda?"

"Wow, she's beautiful."

"Don't get on her bad side, or she'll high-kick you into a wall."

"That's just rumour. She only high-kicks when she dances."

"Tell that to the last guy who pulled his teeth from the brickwork."

"She once slapped the Thief King."

"No!"

"Never!"

"She wouldn't still be alive."

"I'm telling you, it's true."

"Who's that kid with her?"

"That's not a kid, that's a man."

"That's an _outsider_."

"Quick, scatter!"

"Don't be a dummy, he's wearing a blindfold."

"Does that mean we can't kill him?"

The tumult makes Cloud dizzy. Not one voice belongs to an adult. He remembers what Cid said about the Thief King's child pickpocket empire, and wonders whether Cid knew just how _many_ children are in it.

"Well, well, well," says quite different voice – slightly manic, each word rising in pitch like climbing a verbal staircase, but still recognisably adult. "Welcome to the Court of Miracles. To what do we owe the pleasure, Esmeralda?"

"Thief _King_?" Esmeralda says tightly. "So where's your throne?"

There's a sharp intake of breath from several places at her disrespectfulness.

"This entire cavern is my throne," the new speaker replies, completely unbothered. "You know I don't go in for that kind of gaudy bad taste. So tacky."

"You say that when you're wearing purple and yellow like they go together?"

"Touché. Your tongue is still as sharp as ever. Then again, I suppose where fashion's concerned you're the expert these days, aren't you? With your dinky little shop, and your dinky little customers, living your dinky little life, far away from all this."

"Give it a rest, Thief King." This time the sharp intake nearly pulls Cloud off his feet. "I'm here to parley."

"That's pirates, deary, not pickpockets. Pickpockets don't parley, they rob-and-run. They take-and-toddle. They steal-and-sprint. That doesn't lend itself to conversation."

"Pirates, pickpockets, thieves and tax collectors – they all take things that don't belong to them. And since when have _you_ counted yourself as just a lowly pickpocket?"

"Touché again. Very well, I'll grant your parley, but you have to leave your pet here. My courtiers will look after him."

A ripple spreads across the room. The hairs on the back of Cloud's neck prickle.

Esmeralda's grip on his wrist tightens. "He comes with us."

"No."

"Yes."

There's no gasp this time. Everybody's too busy holding their breath.

Several long moments creep by, dragging themselves on their bellies using just their arms. Cloud can feel each one like it's an hour.

"All right," the Thief King suddenly sing-songs. "But only because if I deny you again you'll take your toys and leave, and the cavern will seem so dull without your beauty around to brighten it."

Esmeralda's grip tightens again, but this time she says nothing.

"Vaan?"

Vaan? _Vaan_? The honest boy who watched his chocobo yesterday? Cloud's anger, difficult to light, smoulders inside him. He was impressed with Vaan's honesty, but apparently he was only casing Cloud so he could come back later and steal the rooster. Of all the dirty little…

"Yes, Thief King?"

"Show Esmeralda and her outsider pet to the Lower Grotto. I'll pop along in a second."

"Yes, Thief King."

"Oh, and take Filo with you. She can fetch a few of those chocolates for them to nibble on while they wait." He chuckles. "Nibble-nabble-nubble, let's see what's the trouble. Nibble-nubble-nabble, now for all _you_ rabble."

Cloud and Esmeralda are taken to a room that's warmer and less dank. Cloud sits on what feels like an enormous bean-bag. Tiny round chocolates are pressed into his hands by invisible fingers. Since he never had any breakfast he eats them, after first checking with Esmeralda that it's safe to do so.

"Yes, he's not a big fan of poisoning. Subterfuge, yes, but not cowardice."

"You seem to know the Thief King pretty well," Cloud says, conscious of the two other sets of ears in the room with them.

Esmeralda sighs. "I should do. I used to be one of his 'courtiers' – a part of his crew."

"You were a pickpocket?"

"Since I was twelve. All self-taught, though. I joined the Thief King when I was fifteen and the only other option was turning tricks. You don't get very far in Mosey City without money, family connections or qualifications, and I never had enough of any of those. I'd gone as far as I could go on my own. I wasn't a very _good _sneak-thief. Mostly I danced in the street and people threw coins, and Djali chewed through the bottoms of their bags while they were watching me. Even the stupid Lawmen got wise to the con in the end. The Thief King let me in and not only put a roof over my head and food in my belly, he also put me in touch with someone, who put me in touch with someone, who got me on the list of a private tutor who did philanthropic gestures like teaching street kids to read and write. I passed my exams a few years later and set myself up in my shop. End of story." She says this last part rather too determinedly.

"It doesn't sound like the Thief King was very happy about that."

"He wasn't. We have … some history. Here, have some more chocolates." She shoves them at him so roughly that he drops them all.

"I don't think any less of you for your history," Cloud says, misunderstanding her edginess.

"Oh, Cloud," Esmeralda says sadly, before she's interrupted by the sweep of someone entering the room.

"I have arrived!" the Thief King declares, like this is the best news since chocolate was invented. "Filo, bugger off. Vaan, you can stay. I have a feeling I know what this is about, and if I'm right (which I usually am), this is because of your sharp eyes and ears."

Cloud's fists clench. The chocolate he's holding squashes, covering his palm in caramel. _I thought he was so honourable, giving me that money back and not letting me overpay him. I must be such a bad judge of character._

"I see senility hasn't set in." Esmeralda's voice is back to severe.

"Ah, fair maiden, you do wound me with your words. But fear not. I am made of sterner stuff than other mere mortals, for I am the Thief King, and I am marvellous."

Cloud can almost hear Yuffie's voice, mentally replacing 'Thief King' with 'Great Ninja Yuffie'. The effect is a little unsettling, since the Thief King is most definitely not a teenage girl.

"Get down from there."

"Why? The view is so much better from up here."

"I came here to talk to you."

"So talk away. We're talking right now."

Esmeralda sighs. "You stole Cloud's chocobo from the Cathedral Hotel last night."

"Guilty as charged. Or not, as the case may be. How do you come to this sterling conclusion?"

"Because I know you, and I know you couldn't resist a challenge like that with a _pay-off_ like that. A one-of-a-kind bird locked in the most security-conscious hotel in the whole city? I'm impressed you managed it, but now the fun's over. Give it back."

"Make me."

"All right."

"Not in a fight, Esmeralda."

She goes very still beside Cloud. "I'm not coming back, Clopin -"

"Thief King while in company, pleaseandthankyou! It doesn't do to stand on ceremony. You sit on it instead. Ceremony is a warm comfort blanket."

"You know I can't live as a courtier anymore. I'm too old, for one thing. All courtiers past eighteen are encouraged to make their own way in the world and look out for the younglings."

"You'll always be a child at heart, Esmeralda."

"You know why I can't come back."

"Know? No. You never gave my offer a proper chance."

"I was flattered, but I couldn't become your queen."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not in love with you."

"Since when is marriage anything to do with love?"

Cloud feels very uncomfortable, like a spare part rattling around in the engine of one of Cid's Gummi Ships. The raw drama is extra awkward because of his blindness, but he doesn't dare remove the blindfold in case he, as an outsider, makes things worse for Esmeralda by taking liberties. He suspects he may only be in one piece right now because she stuck her neck out for him.

"You changed things between us," Esmeralda says wearily, as though she's said this before. "I couldn't go back to being just a part of your gang after you did that."

"After _you_ did that. _You_ rejected _me_, remember."

"I couldn't work as normal when I knew you didn't see me the same way as you saw everyone else. It made me uncomfortable whenever I had to be around you, especially since we worked so closely."

"Some people would find it flattering."

"I'm not some people."

A brief pause. Something thuds in front of them, making Cloud jump. He's aware of a body where there was no body before. The Thief King has jumped down from someplace to properly become part of the conversation.

"No, you're not," he says in an odd, almost regretful tone.

Vaan coughs. It doesn't sound like he's trying to break up the discussion, but that's what it does.

The Thief King turns brisk and perky again. "So tell me why, after all this time, and after all the pain and heartache and melodrama – which would make a wonderful piece of street theatre, by the way, if you're ever interested in coming back for a one-off performance. No? Well, anyway, after all that why should I do you any favours? Especially if the favour is actually for an outsider I don't even _know_."

"Because underneath that Thief King silliness, you're actually a man of honour."

"Compliments now! Flattery will get you most places, Esmeralda, but not this time. That bird is a rare prize indeed. And Madellaine seems quite taken with him, and he with her. They were getting cosy when I left them in the stable together. Why should I deny my beloved ostrich the love of her life?"

"You'll never be able to ride it aboveground. It's too distinctive. Even the Lawmen will recognise it. Keeping it cooped up down here would be cruel and that's not in your nature."

"It might be. You haven't seen me in a long time. People change."

"So did you become a despot while I was away?"

"Touché, touché and thrice touché. I've missed our healthy debates, Esmeralda."

"That's funny, I always thought we were arguing." Esmeralda sighs heavily. "I may not have seen you, but I know you've seen me. Luckily for you I presumed you were just making sure I was okay, not stalking me. Although hiding in shadows and watching me lock up the shop at night is pretty damn creepy, Cl-… Thief King. And don't think I didn't know about that mugger. You know, the one who was waiting for me to deliver my week's takings to the bank? The one who was mysteriously trussed up and left on the Lawmen's steps by somebody? Those aren't the actions of a cruel man."

"You're much more perceptive than I gave you credit for."

"And so are you. Give Cloud back his bird. You've shown you can best even the Cathedral Hotel and met the silly challenge you set for yourself. There's nothing left to prove."

"All good points, but they still don't tell me why I should give the creature _back_. I could sell it to a breeder as stud to create hybrids with chocobo brawn and an ostrich grace, or to a carnival as a curiosity. It'd still be able to run about aboveground and I'd make a tidy profit as well. That seems more appealing to me when I have so many mouths to feed."

"The children pay their own way."

"Not all of them. We've had quite a few babies and toddlers arrive with their elder brothers and sisters after that fire wiped out the tenements in Miracle Square."

"Oh. I didn't know that…"

"But you wouldn't, would you? You never call, never write, never send us cookies with a polite note. We're like the forgotten grandmother of your life, mouldering away in our Court of Miracles while you sew sequins onto silk aboveground."

"That's a low blow."

"You're a poet and you didn't know it."

"The safe houses are aboveground. You only bring the children down here when it's not secure up there -"

Suddenly there's a commotion from outside the little room. Cloud hears footsteps, and guesses Vaan has gone to investigate since he can hear the Thief King breathing nearby and feel Esmeralda's muscles tensed so hard they make the air around her vibrate.

"He's busy," Vaan's voice floats back, confirming the guess. "You'll have to speak to him later."

"I know who's with him in there, and I know why. I also know I have to speak with him _now_. It can't wait."

"Look, whatever it is -"

"This is all your fault in the first place, Vaan. You never should've told him about that bird. I know you were just trying to win his favour so he'll make you his Second in Command, but because of you a good and brave man has had a grave injustice committed against him."

"What are you talking about? He's an outsider -"

"Stop being so prejudiced. You're as bad as those Lawmen who say every thief is scum no matter what their situation. Now let me in before I just push past you and go in anyway. You know you can't hold me back."

More footsteps, and then Vaan's voice, louder and closer than before. "Quasimodo wants to see you, Thief King."

"I heard. No sense of subtlety, any of you. Well, what are you waiting for? Show him in!"

Cloud doesn't recognise the voice or the name that adds itself to the rapidly-becoming-crowded-so-that-even-a-blindfolded-person-can-tell room. Unlike Vaan or the Thief King, who stink of sewer water and ashes, or Esmeralda's goat-and-cinnamon scent, the newcomer smells of sawdust and something Cloud can't put his finger on. It reminds him of Merlin's house, especially the scrolls, books and bits of parchment he leaves any old place until someone trips over them.

"Hello, Esmeralda." The newcomer has a soft voice; one of those that instantly puts you at your ease. There's no unfriendliness, nor does it sound like there ever could be.

"It's been a while, Quasi," Esmeralda says quietly, and with such warmth that Cloud almost gets whiplash from the swift change of tone. Whoever this Quasimodo is, he's obviously very dear to her. "Too long. Of all the things I've missed about the Court of Miracles, you top the list."

"What am I, chopped liver?" the Thief King grumps.

"I've missed you too, Esmeralda. Right now, though, I'm here to do the same as you. Clopin, you have to give that chocobo bird back to this man."

"Thief King."

"The Thief King didn't give me shelter as a baby, Clopin did. To me, you will always be Clopin, and I know this man to be honest and true, so it doesn't matter if he knows your other name."

"And how do you know his nature when you've never met him before?"

A slight, awkward pause. "I have."

"Excuse me?"

"I've met him before. I went out yesterday."

"I have to wonder why you so enjoy playing with fire by not telling me when you're going to do that. You know I'll provide guards to keep you safe in public -"

"I wore a cloak and kept my face covered. I didn't plan the trip, it was spontaneous. I just … needed some fresh air. I spend all my days penned up in my workroom carving my figurines for the little ones to sell. Mostly I don't mind. I'm not a prisoner and I like being useful, since I can't pickpocket like the rest, and I'm so much older than them. Sometimes, though … sometimes I just need to see the sky. But yesterday I ran into trouble. Three men saw my face and attacked me for sport. This man here came to my rescue and drove them off. He defended me even though he didn't know who I was, not expecting any reward, and at great risk to himself since he didn't know whether they had weapons."

"How very altruistic of him," the Thief King says mildly. "A regular philanthropist."

"He's also not from this world, Clopin." Quasimodo adds, as though this is significant to the current situation. Cloud can't see how, and apparently neither can the Thief King.

"I know. I surmised as much from the 'one of a kind' thing concerning his big yellow bird. Plus he comes from Traverse Town. That place is a haven for strangeness, even compared to Mosey City. That bloody nosy wizard comes from Traverse Town."

"You, of all people, know what it's like to feel out of place; to feel like you don't fit in with regular people. You know what it's like for nobody to give you a break, and for selfish people to make your life more difficult than it has to be when you're already working so hard to make something of yourself – or to just plain survive."

"And yet I became Thief King from it." There's a dangerous edge to the man's voice, though his singsong manner of speech remains.

Cloud recalls what Cid said about the Thief King being ruthless and not above killing people to get what he wants. Then again he doesn't seen to have any magic, which was the other part of Cid's story, so maybe he was wrong about that bit too.

"Yes. Thief King, with all his waifs and strays who also need a break and someone to give it to them."

The implications of this don't ghost over the senses, settling into the brain where they can be processed and appreciated. They land like a lead weight in the middle of a rubber sheet, heavy and conspicuous. They change the shape of the silence that follows, transforming it from contemplative, to apprehensive, to expectant.

When the Thief King finally speaks again Cloud is startled. "Go on then, outsider-boy-man with the spiky hair like a wet cat in an electrical storm. Did you save Quasimodo yesterday?"

"I…" Cloud stutters, until Esmeralda nudges him in the side. He takes a breath to steady his voice. "I saved someone from three cowardly men who were ganging up on him. I don't know who it was. I never saw his face, and he left before I could check if he was okay."

"And do you want your bird back?"

"Very much."

"Why?"

Cloud gets the feeling this is some sort of test. 'Because it's mine' is what he wants to say, but common sense tells him this would be a Bad Idea, just like Zack's chilli-that-goes-all-the-way-up-to-eleven was a Bad Idea, and Yuffie's decision to eat nothing but picked onions, stinky cheese and saltbread for a week because she'd heard it'd make her breasts grow was a _Very_ Bad Idea. He thinks carefully before replying.

"Because he's a bad-tempered rooster who'll eat your hand as soon as look at you and has a mean streak a mile wide. We have an understanding that keeps the rest of the population unharmed – he kicks the crud out of me and I feed him, water him, give him shelter, take care of him when he's ill, exercise him, and don't let my ninja friend spit-roast him over a bonfire when she's sick of eating soy."

The silence alters again, acquiring a surprised edging, like a lacy collar and cuffs on a black leather trenchcoat. Then the Thief King laughs. "Well put! Very well, Mister …"

"Cloud Strife."

"What an odd name. Never mind, I'm sure your mother meant well. You can have your big yellow bird back, Cloud Strife, as a thank you for saving my friend and for providing me with the first proper challenge of my skills I've had in a long time."

"Thank you."

Strong, incredibly wide hands haul him up by his shoulders. Cloud suddenly finds himself wrapped in a sawdusty hug. "Thank _you_. I never said it yesterday, but thank you."

"Uh, you're welcome." Cloud awkwardly raises a hand to pat Quasimodo on the back – awkwardly not because he's being hugged by another guy, but because Quasimodo is shorter even than him, and his shoulders slump like something heavy once dropped on one shoulder and left it dented.

"A regular hero of the hour," the Thief King chirrups. "Such joyful joy. Such elated elation. Such noble nobleness. I think I may very well be sick. Vaan, fetch me a bucket and a bird, in that order. Chop-chop, boy, we haven't got all day, and if you really _do_ want to be my Second you need all the brownie points you can get."

Vaan scrambles. "Yes, Thief King."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_Personally, I think any desire to be a Lawman or a politician should automatically ban you from becoming one."_

-- The original comment about politicians is actually one of Billy Connolly's, but I wholeheartedly agree.

"_So you're old enough for guard duty now, Kytes?"_

-- Kytes was originally from _Final Fantasy XII_, where he was a street urchin who looked up to Vaan and also wanted to be a sky pirate someday (finalfantasy. wikia. com/wiki/Kytes).

"_When I start trusting the pigs you can worry about me going native."_

-- 'Pigs' being slang for police.

"_Oh, and take Filo with you. She can fetch a few of those chocolates for them to nibble on while they wait."_

-- Filo is Kytes's other half from Final Fantasy XII, where she lives in the Lowtown section of Rabanastre and leads her own gang of orphans (finalfantasy. wikia. com/wiki/Filo).

"_And __Madellaine__ seems quite taken with him, and he with her."_

-- Madellaine was originally a character from the Disney direct-to-video sequel _The Hunchback of Notre Dame II_ (en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Hunchback (underscore) of (underscore) Notre (underscore) Dame (underscore) (1996_film)#Sequels_and_spin_offs).

"_The Thief King didn't give me shelter as a baby, Clopin did. To me, you will always be Clopin, and I know this man to be honest and true, so it doesn't matter if he knows your other name."_

-- In the Disney film, Clopin Trouillefou is the mischievous leader of the gypsies, and acts as narrator for the beginning of the story. In Victor Hugo's original novel, however, he's a much more sinister and tragic character. He's known as the King of Truands (the thieves, beggars and criminals of Paris) and is secretly in love with Esmeralda, but loses her when she marries another man to save him from the hangman's rope after he discovers the Court of Miracles. Clopin is devastated that she had chosen someone else, especially an 'outsider', but he doesn't stop her. Near the end of the novel, Clopin receives news of her upcoming execution for the framed murder of Captain Phoebus. In order to rescue her, he rounds all of the Truands to go to Notre Dame Cathedral, where she has already been rescued and is being protected by Quasimodo. Clopin and the Truands don't know this, however, and think Quasimodo is holding her captive ready to be executed. In response to their assault on the cathedral, Quasimodo retaliates with stones, timber and molten lead. Clopin dies during the attack, although Hugo does note that he dies 'courageously'.

* * *


	36. The Meaning of Gifts

* * *

**35. The Meaning of Gifts **

* * *

_You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give._ -- Kahlil Gibran.

* * *

Leon is knocking on the door when Cloud arrives home. When the door opens he mutters about needing to speak to Yuffie, who sheepishly appears after a moment. Cloud, still unnoticed on the stairs, wonders what the heck happened while he was away. Yuffie doesn't _do_ sheepish.

Leon hands something to her. "I thought you could use this."

"Huh?"

"It's from Merlin."

"That old coot?" Yuffie peers at the blue glass pot, unscrews the lid and sniffs at the cream inside. "Is this gonna, like, flay off my skin and leave me looking like a boiled potato? Or shrink my mouth in my face so I can't dazzle him with my wit anymore? Or -"

"Read the label."

"Oh, great. So this is actually just a test of my reading abilities." Nevertheless, she peers at it. Cloud notes the colour in her cheeks with surprise. "Zit cream? You told Grampy McGrumpypants that I needed _zit cream_?"

Leon grunts noncommittally.

"How could you! Now I have to, like, flour bomb his house to repair my rep, and Ponytail made cake for Cloudy's homecoming, so we have no freaking _flour_, which means I'm gonna have to liberate _that_ as well!"

"Yuffie, you'd better not be thinking about stealing things again." Zack's voice floats towards them even though he's somewhere inside the apartment, out of the sight of the stairwell.

"I'm not thinking about it."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Yuffie pouts at Leon, keeping him on the doorstep. "You're really bad at the whole gift thing. I mean really, awfully, _super_ bad at it."

He grunts again. There might be words in there, but Cloud can't be certain.

Yuffie stares at the pot, sniffs it experimentally again, and looks back at Leon with an overbright smile, "I hate you with the passion of the thousand supernovas. Just so you know."

"Whatever."

"Hey, _I'm_ the teenager. That's _my_ line."

"Hello Cloud," Leon says without turning around, effectively ending the exchange.

Yuffie pockets the cream in one of the innumerable pouches on her belt. "I'm going to get you for this," she mutters. "You do realise that, right? That old coot is probably laughing into his teacup right this second. My mystique is in tatters."

Leon ignores her. Instead he continues to speak to Cloud. "How was your trip?"

"It was … eventful."

"I sense gossip!" Yuffie, apparently having forgotten she has just sworn vengeance on Leon, barrels past him and leaps at Cloud. "Spill or face my super-keen ninja wrath!"

"Grah!"

The thumps bring everyone to the doorway. Leon pinches the spot between his eyes, while they go past him to lean over the banister, staring down at the flight below the one Cloud was on only seconds ago.

"Yuffie!" Aerith cries. "Let go! He can't breathe!"

* * *

"She sent something extra for you girls," Cloud says when he has finished his story. Both Tifa and Aerith's backs arched a little when he said how she went to fight for him when his chocobo was stolen by the fabled Thief King.

"For us?" Yuffie bounces like a chipmunk that has drunk a saucer of coffee. "Whereisitwhereisitwhereisitwhereisit?"

"Hold your horses." Cloud unzips a special plastic jacket attached to a hangar and pulls out three items so spectacular they rob even Yuffie of her breath.

For about five seconds.

Which is a new record, actually.

"Which one's mine?" she demands in such a high-pitched squeak that Zack grabs his ears and Leon's jaw clenches tighter.

Cloud hands over a pair of brown gloves. They're made soft-as-butter leather, carefully sewn at the seams so it looks like there aren't any. They're fingerless to allow maximum movement for gripping things, and the wide ends have funnels of black fishnet attached to keep them from flapping about. They're secure and comfortable, and Yuffie immediately tosses aside her old gloves to pull on the new pair. They're practical and comfortable, but hodgepodge verging on ugly the way that only high fashion clothes can be.

"Check me _out_!" she crows, striking poses with fists clenched and fingers dramatically splayed like a gymnast after a perfect routine.

Tifa is too focussed on her own gift: a pair of black shorts with a cross between a dungaree top and a cape attached at the waist. Cloud was most dubious about this item, since he can't see any point to the extra material. It doesn't contribute anything by way of warmth, and might even be hindering to movement, but Tifa is nonetheless delighted. Maybe it's a girl thing.

"It's gorgeous," she breathes. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"Esmeralda designed and made it herself. She made all these things. They're each one of a kind. She gave them to me as repayment for all the troubles her old friends put me through, even though I said there was no need. She only makes clothes for women, though," he apologises to Zack and Leon.

Zack holds up his hands, palms outward. "I've had more than enough of wearing women's duds. I'll just settle for a handshake and a kiss from her."

"And a quick grope if she's as pretty as Cloudy says."

"Yuffie!" Aerith and Tifa exclaim in unison.

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

Thankfully Tifa doesn't strip off what she's wearing to immediately try on her gift like Yuffie, but she folds the shorts over her arm almost reverentially. "I don't have many things that aren't bare-bones practical, and even fewer that make me feel girly."

Cloud's not sure how shorts are girly, but he decides not to comment. There are so many things he doesn't understand about how females think. Instead of making things clearer, living with them just makes him even more confused.

Tifa's grateful expression, however, makes him thrust Aerith's gift out at arm's length with much less ceremony. "Here," he manages. "For you."

At first Aerith's gift looks like just a blob of pink fabric. Anyone would be forgiven for thinking it's a nightgown. A line of impractical buttons trace the front from hem to neckline. When she shakes it out and holds it up they see it's actually a dress with thin straps and slightly darker pink stitching around the edges. Otherwise it's surprisingly ordinary compared to the other two gifts.

"Wait a second." Cloud burrows in the plastic and excavates a purple leather thing studded with decorative metal circles. Rather than a buckle, each end is threaded with a length of thick twine. "I … think it's a belt."

"It's lovely. Did you tell her my favourite colour is pink?"

"No, she just said you sounded like a pinkish kind of girl when I described you."

"You described us to her?"

"I hope you made out that we're all ten times more beautiful than she is," Yuffie pipes up, still throwing shadow punches in her new gloves. "No, twenty times more beautiful. Fifty. A hundred! We're butterflies and she's a stinky old moth who tried to steal you away from us."

"Yuffie!" Tifa frowns at her. "You can't say things like that when you're wearing the gift she sent for you – a gift she sent when she doesn't even know you."

"Can too. That just means she knows when she's beat and is paying tribute to my stunning stunningness."

"Don't be so vain," Aerith scolds.

"It isn't vanity if you're telling the truth."

"Thank you, Cloud." Tifa reaches to hug him. He freezes up in shock, suddenly and horribly conscious of her breasts against him. She pulls away again.

Covering the embarrassment at his poor reaction, Cloud bends to Kairi's level and murmurs, "Hold still." He fiddles with her hair for a few seconds, and then stands up to admire his handiwork. "There you go. Esmeralda didn't want to leave you out after I told her about you."

Kairi pats the tiny embroidered butterfly threaded through a lock of her hair, tied off with a silky piece of ribbon. The butterfly has antennae that bob as she turns her head. She giggles wildly when Zack picks her up and shows her what she looks like in the mirror.

"Kairi's pretty. Pretty butterfly! Kairi is a pretty butterfly!"

"Hey, she's already mastered metaphor," Yuffie quips. "You'll be a teenager turning boys' heads and breaking their hearts before we know it, Small Fry." She digs her fingertips under Kairi's armpits so she dissolves into giggles and nearly falls out of Zack's arms. Yuffie catches her and the pair spin away, whooping and laughing like life is good and nothing bad can ever happen to them.

Zack watches them with a smile. "At least she's in a good mood now. We've had complete chaos while you've been away, Cloud. Yuffie got a zit on her nose and the whole world was ending."

"I didn't see any zit."

"Exactly. But this has taken her mind off it, and by the time her hummingbird attention span remembers she's supposed to be acting like a moody teenager, whatever blackhead she _did_ have will be long gone and we can live in peace again." Zack considers what he's just said. "Well, we can get back to normal, at least."

Cloud just boggles at him. "_Yuffie_ was acting _moody_? Our Yuffie? The girl who laughs at danger and flicks snotballs at fear? The Yuffie who, when I asked her what she wanted to be when she grows up, replied 'standing on top of a pile of shiny things and stuffing my face with chocolate cake'?"

"Yes, yes, yes and yes."

"I was only gone for two days and the universe has already stopped making sense."

* * *

"You have moogles."

Cid doesn't even look up.

"Cid," Tifa says sharply.

"Yeah?" Still no eye-contact, but he's talking, which means he isn't really working at all. For Cid, proper working is becoming deaf and blind to the rest of the world. If he's aware of what's going on around him, he's just playing around and calling it work. His fingers fly with unsuspected deftness, spinning nuts and bolts into place like this is what hands were made for and everybody else's have just forgotten their original purpose.

"You have moogles."

"So?"

"You have moogles _upstairs_."

"Fuck, Tifa, they ain't rats."

"Why do you have moogles building a second storey to your shop?"

"Easier access for me to kick their fuzzy little asses when they're late with the orders I place. You know how hard it is to grab a moogle by its bobble and hold it up to ask why the hell your sprockets are overdue and your carburettors behind schedule."

"No, I don't."

"Damn hard."

"Cid."

He sighs, or at least he'd sigh if he was the type of man who sighs when he's being henpecked. "Their place got hit by lightning in the storm last week. Burned to the ground. They were trying to rebuild and I told 'em they could shack up here and set up a new synthesising shop on top of mine. I got me a lightning rod and everything, and it's due to piss it down again soon, so they'll at least have a roof over their heads. They'd probably fucking shrink like kids' toys if they got wet, little crapworthy fucktards." He notices Tifa's silence and finally glances at her. "What?"

"Softy."

He tells her to do something even her flexible body would have trouble with.

"I'd rather not," she grins, completely unperturbed. "And you're still an old softy."

"Oh just fuck off."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	37. Zack and Merlin’s Road Trip

* * *

**36. Zack and Merlin's Road Trip**

* * *

"What the heck are you _bringing_? This bag weighs a ton."

Merlin looks up at Zack and blinks like an owl at midday. "Just a few books I've put together from my library since I saw my acquaintance last. I thought he might like to have a peep at them, so he can be fully informed during our discussion."

Zack hefts the burlap knapsack onto the table and tries not to think about how easy it would've been for Tifa. "This is the guy who you talk about your theories about the dark with, right?"

"Dark_ness_, my dear boy, dark_ness_. Also, it's whom, not who. But most certainly the dark_ness_, not the dark. The two should not be confused. The dark is what happens when you switch off a light bulb. Darkness – _true_ darkness – is not simply the absence of light, but the light on the other side of the dark. You could call it living darkness, I suppose." Merlin strokes his beard in thought. "I'll have to put that to him. Our theories are mostly based on conjecture, however. There have been experiments to determine the nature of darkness before, my lad, but they were corrupt and deplorable, and should never have taken place."

"That's how the Heartless were created," Zack says grimly, remembering past conversations that left a bad taste in his mouth, brain and heart.

"Quite." Merlin shakes his head. "The Ansem I recall was a good man, but darkness – in particular darkness of the heart – fascinated him beyond reason. I wish I could properly remember what changed him from a man of discovery to a man of destruction, but this blasted memory of mine is more full of holes about that time than a block of Gouda." He bangs his staff on the floor in frustration. "I cannot overcome the unsettling notion that I am missing something vital, but for the life of me I've never been able to determine what it is. The conundrum is most exasperating and wearisome."

Zack smothers a smirk. Merlin can never use small words if there are three others with multiple syllables available. "Maybe it'll come with time."

"I have given it time. I fear the damage to my memories may be permanent. The mind is a delicate thing and any injuries it sustains, whether physical, emotion or magical, are always potentially far more devastating than damage taken to any other limb or organ." Merlin pauses thoughtfully. "Save, perhaps, the heart itself." Suddenly he blinks at Zack and frowns. "My dear boy, where are your things?"

"What?"

"Your things, boy. Your travelling accoutrements. Your luggage. You _are_ coming with me, are you not?"

"I…" Zack wonders whether he volunteered for this on one of those days where he'd been kept cooped up for so long he would've promised his firstborn son for an escape opportunity. "Where to?"

"Not far. He's coming to us rather than me dragging my bones to him, but he's rather particular about the company he keeps and prefers not to reveal himself to every Tom, Dick and Harry. It is a great honour for you to meet him."

"Who is he?"

"A friend. A confidante. A very wise person with a smidge too much idealism, perhaps. Being wise does not always mean true wisdom. Hmm, perhaps I should write that down." Merlin scrabbles in his beard for a pen. Recently he has taken to keeping them there, forgoing quills in favour of ballpoints and determinedly ignoring anyone who brings up how he used to criticise them. He's putting together a new book about his magical theories, with whole chapters devoted to Cetra and the Buster Sword, and constantly whips out his notebook to jot down memorable soundbites.

"When did I agree to this?"

"Hm? I thought you would jump at the chance to leave Traverse Town for a while. You sounded so envious of your friend when you talked about his trip to Mosey City."

"I did?"

"Indeed."

Zack rubs at the back of his head with one hand, thinking about Cloud and how happy he sounded when describing his adventures with Esmeralda, the Thief King, and the strange underground Court of Miracles. Zack knows he'd be lying if he claimed he's not envious. He wishes he could've seen those things too. He has lived all of his life in two places, with only tiny spells outside them – Hollow Bastion and Traverse Town are fine, but recently the soles of his feet have felt itchy. He has always been content to stay put because his nature lends itself to protecting what's most important to him. He'd die before he let anything happen to his friends, but he's young enough to hear Cloud and wonder…

"How long are you going for?"

"_We_ are only going for a few days, a week at the most. I cannot be totally certain when my associate will arrive, since his mode of travelling can be somewhat erratic."

"Excuse me?"

Merlin sighs. "I shall explain while we ourselves are in transit. We shall be on foot, since we're only going to a small village north of Traverse Town."

"Which village?"

"Ambleton."

The name doesn't ring any bells. Still, Zack slaps his palms against the tabletop and leans forward. "Give me a few shakes of a lamb's tail to get my gear together and I'll be ready to rumble."

Merlin just looks blankly at him. "I'm assuming that means you need time to ready yourself and will return here presently."

"Yeah."

"Then please, dear boy, use words arranged in such a manner that the rest of the populace can understand what you're blithering on about."

* * *

Ambleton is tiny and twee and tweedy, and other words beginning with 't' that show what a sleepy little collection of cottages it is. Everything looks like it belongs on the lid of a shortcake tin, or perhaps a packet of tea.

Merlin stops outside one cottage and produces a clunky iron key, which he uses to unlock the door. He stands aside and gestures for Zack to open it, so the sudden cloud of dust hits him instead.

"Hm. I must have been away rather longer than I thought," Merlin remarks as he sails past. Zack, still coughing, watches him hold out his staff. "I think perhaps a spot of Spring-cleaning is in order."

When Zack finally pulls himself through the door there's not a speck of dust anywhere and a dustpan and brush a mop and a broom are marching their way back into the cupboard under the stairs. Merlin slaps his hands together, grabs his staff from where it hangs in mid-air and goes further into the cottage.

"Don't dawdle, dear boy, don't dawdle."

Zack looks around in disbelief. "_This_ is your place?"

"When I'm in Ambleton, yes. I used to come here rather more than I do these days, when I required peace and quiet to conduct my research and write my essays. Your presence, and that of your friends, has kept me in Traverse Town considerably longer than I would usually grace it with my presence."

Zack looks around. The cottage is as twee as the rest of the village – chintzy drapes, chintzy armchairs with chintzy cushions, an ornate coffee table with a chintzy vase of silk flowers in its centre, and standing lights with chintzy lampshades in three of the four corners. It looks like an old lady's house – an old lady who _died, _probably while sewing another horrific chintzy cushion cover, leaving behind a house nobody lives in, all hard corners, uncrushed carpet fibres and empty kitchen.

"Would you like some tea?" Merlin goes into the kitchen even though he can produce a pot with a thought. Zack realises why when he sees the only table in the place is in there, and Merlin sets up his magic quill on it to start scribing a new book before attending to anything else. He leaves the quill to its work and returns to Zack. "Well?" he says pointedly. He always fills silence with the clink of bone china. Zack knows enough not to decline.

"Sure."

Considering what Merlin said about maybe being here for a week, Zack expected to mooch around for a few days before meeting this 'associate' they've come to see. It's a surprise when, therefore, when half an hour after Merlin plunks five sugarlumps into Zack's tea and tuts at the amount, someone knocks the door.

Even Merlin seems startled. "Well this is a surprise. He's usually late for everything – sets off early but gets waylaid like the proverbial hare racing the tortoise, helping old ladies across the road, rescuing fallen nestlings, making speeches about the importance of loving one's fellows and suchlike. As I said before," he taps the side of his nose as he gets to his feet, "a touch idealistic for someone with knowledge as extensive as his."

Zack isn't sure who he's expecting; another old man in a beard probably, or someone in robes similar to Merlin's. Whatever he might've imagined, the little mouse-man in the doorway is not it.

"Mickey," Merlin says warmly.

"Hey there, Merlin. Darn it, I thought I beat you here for once." He sticks out one gloved hand, which seems ridiculously big for his tiny body. "Never mind. I'll beat you one of these days. Put her there, old pal."

"I see your vernacular is as intact as ever. Allow me to introduce my companion," Merlin says as he closes the door. "Zack Fair, wielder of the Buster Sword, my sometime-assistant, sometime-lifter-and-carrier-of-heavy-objects, sometime-meddler, and Traverse Town's heroic defender."

"Wow, that's quite an introduction." The mouse puts out his hand again. "Hey there. I'm Mickey."

"Um, hey." Zack extends his own hand to be shaken. "Zack. But you knew that."

The mouse's grip is surprisingly strong and firm, like he can tell a person's entire personality just from a handshake. He grins at Zack, little black pupils dancing as they survey him so far above his own head. Looking into those eyes is like looking into a mirror. What Zack sees looking back at him is several layers of person, and underneath that is himself and all his own secrets as clearly as if he just said them all aloud. Everything about him feels as though it's suddenly scrolling across his forehead. There's no hiding place from the gentle shrewdness that keeps pulling things out of him like coloured hankies from a conjuror's sleeve.

And then Mickey smiles properly, with his eyes as well as his mouth.

It's weird. Mickey smiles and Zack automatically smiles back – not because he wants to and he's just generally a smiley person, but because it's instinct. His brain has nothing to do with it.

"You seem a trustworthy guy," Mickey says in a bizarrely shrill voice that _should_ sound female but doesn't. "Nice to meetcha. I hope you've been taking good care of my old pal Merlin, here. He's a great guy, but a touch idealistic sometimes."

Zack instantly likes and trusts Mickey. It isn't knowledge in his mind, exactly. It's practically something he breathes in from just standing near to him. Zack feels it as a tree feels the sun: this mouse is Good People.

They sit and drink tea and chat about nothing for a while. Zack assumes Mickey must be another world orphan who moved out of Traverse Town, like José and Panchito. However, when Merlin asks how his trip was, Mickey shrugs as murmurs how Gummi Ships are always prey to atmospherics on re-entry.

"You have a Gummi Ship?" Zack interrupts. "Did you buy it from Cid Highwind?"

Mickey laughs. "That Highwind fellah reckons he's the first guy to ever invent a Gummi Ship, but I made mine all by myself before he finished his first blueprints. I gotta say, they look pretty different, but we both hit on the idea of using gummi to make a vehicle. Funny how that sometimes happens, huh? Pretty darn implausible, but it really did happen. You think you're being really original, and then it turns out some other guy thought _he _was being really original too."

"So … your world still exists?"

"Yup."

"So why aren't you in it?"

Merlin frowns at Zack over Mickey's ears.

Mickey, however, is unperturbed by the question. "'Cause I came to see my good buddy Merlin and jaw some about these theories of his." He drinks his tea and smacks his lips with a little pink tongue. "Hey, Merlin, old buddy, old pal, old friend; have you got any of those custard cream things I like so much?"

Zack frowns as Merlin waves a hand and a plate appears. "But I thought …" Zack's brows pull together in confusion. "I thought Gummi Ships can only come and go from worlds that have had their protective shells broken by Heartless."

"Huh?" Mickey pauses with a biscuit sticking out of his mouth. His eyes flick to Merlin but flick back to Zack again without resting properly on his friend. He bites off the biscuit, chews, swallows, and then says, "You're not just a pretty face, are you?"

"Depending on who you ask, and what kind of mood they're in, I'm not even that."

Zack casts his mind back to telling Aerith and Yuffie, the only ones home at the time, that he was leaving with Merlin today and wouldn't be back for a week. The results were interesting, to say the least. He doesn't even want to think what Cloud would've said if he'd been there. Probably it's a good thing he wasn't, though Zack kind of wanted a proper send-off like Cloud had in the tavern – without the cross-dressing or nearly-burning-down-a-building thing, of course. Aerith warned him that Cloud won't be happy that Zack left without telling him first, but Zack had to shrug because it genuinely couldn't be helped.

"Is he also a student of yours, Merlin?"

"No, just an interested party. He's rather amusing to have around, actually. Watching him and his comrades makes my heart feel young again." This is possibly the most sentimental thing Merlin as ever said. Zack goggles at the wizard like he's just stood up and announced he's going to spend the rest of his life as a pineapple. "I brought him along for several reasons, not least of which is because I concluded you would get as much out of his company as I do. You think about matters of state and other weighty issues far too much, my friend. Sometimes it's better to relax and remember the simple things in life."

"Which is why you called me here to discuss the darkness," Mickey says wryly, still smiling but a little forlornly now. His face is never totally without a smile, and Zack gets the feeling you can tell more about Mickey from his eyes than the rest of his expression. "You're right, Zack; only worlds that have had their gummi barriers broken can sustain inter-world travel."

"So your world has been attacked by Heartless?"

"No, the outer shell to my world was broken a long time ago, when I was still very young and naïve." Mickey's gaze wanders for a second, as though peering through those years at his younger self. Whatever he sees, it makes his ears twitch backwards a little, like a horse that has spotted a snake only to realise it's already been trampled by some other rider. Then he shakes it off and looks intently at Zack. "We _have been_ attacked by Heartless before, though. I'm pretty sure I don't need to tell you it wasn't a barrel of laughs."

Zack shakes his head.

"No world is safe until the Heartless are defeated once and for all," Merlin affirms. "And to do that we need to understand their nature, otherwise we shall constantly be on the defensive. As Leon has said many times before, the best _de_fence is a good _of_fence, especially where the Heartless are concerned."

"Yes, how is Leon?" Mickey asks with interest.

"You know Leon?" Zack says before he can stop himself.

"I've never actually met the guy," Mickey admits, "but I've heard all about him." He shakes his head. "That was a terrible business. I don't know what I'd do if I lost my wife, let alone lost her the way he lost his girl. It really cut Merlin up, too. He stayed with me for three days and didn't crack open a book once -"

"Yes, well," Merlin blusters, coughing self-consciously into his beard. Zack knows the translations for this: when Leon was n pain, Merlin responded by running away and hiding from it before going back to help him. Merlin obviously isn't proud of this, even f he won't admit it. "That was a long time ago now. In answer to your question, young Mister Fair and his friends have gone a long way to restoring Leon to his former self, and perhaps even improving on that."

"Really?"

"Their company and guidance have proved invaluable, not to mention their compassion. I really do think it was destiny for them to come to Traverse Town when they did. They've helped a lot of people. Cid has one of them working for him, though most of the time it seems more like she's mothering him in a very forceful way. What is more surprising is that he allows it."

"Now that _is_ a surprise." Mickey whistles and knocks back the rest of his custard cream. "Cid Highwind has the rottenest mouth and worst attitude I've ever heard this side of anywhere."

"Not when Tifa's around," Zack grins. "Well, he still has a potty mouth, but his attitude doesn't suck so much anymore. It may take a little while longer, but she's wearing him down."

Mickey laughs. "Cid's a good guy under all that complaining and cursing. I guess he just needed the right person to pull it out of him."

"Kick and screaming all the way," Zack concludes, getting another laugh.

"You're right, Merlin. I _do_ like him."

Zack thinks that shouldn't make him as happy as it does, since he's known Mickey less than an hour and knows precious little about him. Even so, he can't help glowing at the compliment.

* * *

It doesn't take long for Mickey and Merlin start working. They don't limit themselves to just the kitchen table, or even to sitting in the armchairs. They each wander around the cottage, murmuring to themselves as they read, opening and closing cupboards without taking their eyes from the page. Mickey even drags over a stool, climbs onto it, fetches a packet of custard creams from a high cupboard, climbs down again, replaces the stool and starts eating them, all without once pausing in his reading.

Zack stokes a fire, because even though Merlin can call flames from thin air he's too engrossed in the latest reference book Mickey brought with him to notice if ice crystals started forming in his beard. Mickey finally pauses reading to shoot Zack a grateful look as he walks past. Zack makes sure the fire is roaring before checking the coal scuttle and fetching more fuel from the shed outside. When he has poked the fire and made sure it won't go out, and when he has twice avoided being walked into, he retreats to the cottage's second floor.

The bedrooms are dinky – one room and one glorified closet. Zack spends a moment considering this and then descends the stairs enough to call, "Is Mickey staying the night?"

"He'll have the smaller room," Merlin replies, turning a page.

"And you?"

"It's my cottage."

"And me?"

Merlin finally drags his gaze away and looks at Zack. "I was under the impression you already shared your bedroom in Traverse Town. If you're able to share a bed with Cloud, surely it's not so insuperable a notion to also share with me for the duration of our stay here. I even promise not to claim more than my fair share of the blankets if you promise not to indulge in gratuitous expulsions of air."

Mickey watches Zack carefully. He looked up when Merlin mentioned Zack sharing a room and a bed. Zack holds up his hands, waggling them about like he's trying to clear a path through a swarm of wasps.

"We're not, y'know, sleeping together. It's not like that. Cloud's my best friend. It's just there were only two double beds and five of us plus a toddler, so it made sense for us guys to share rather than expect the girls to bunk with us. People might've gotten the wrong idea, y'know?"

Mickey nods but says nothing and returns to his scroll.

Merlin looks like he wants to do the same. "If you are unhappy with the sleeping arrangements, there is always the couch."

The couch, which already attacked Zack with a loose spring when he tried to sit down on it earlier, and which possessed the hardest, lumpiest seats in the history of the universe.

Zack retreats back upstairs and begins unpacking his things into the bigger of the two bedrooms.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	38. Starry Eyed Fools & Star Crossed Lovers

* * *

**37. Starry-Eyed Fools and Star-Crossed Lovers**

* * *

_I don't know if you can see  
The changes that have come over me.  
In these last few days I've been afraid  
That I might drift away;  
I've been telling old stories, singing songs  
That make me think about where I've come from.  
That's the reason why I seem  
So far away today._

-- From **Caledonia** by Celtic Woman.

* * *

The next few days pass in a haze of turning pages, scribbling quills and heated discussion. After spending the first day and a half solidly reading, nourishing their minds with fresh information, Merlin and Mickey proceed to fling it at each other as they argue (Mickey politely, Merlin long-windedly) about the true nature of darkness.

A lot of what they say goes over Zack's head. He bores easily and goes out, but he finished investigating what Ambleton has to offer within the first hour there. It's a heavy-eyed village full of heavy-eyed people who are either retired or come here to holiday when the weather's good. Very few actually _live _here. Since it's nearly Yule the weather veers between rainy, frosty and will-it-won't-it snow. Most houses stand as empty and dusty as Merlin's did when the first arrived, and Zack soon learns that they're all decorated almost exactly the same – lots of chintz, lots of light, and a pervasive sense of isolation that comes from being a near-empty village with bleak open countryside all around.

While Merlin and Mickey attempt to unravel the mysteries that will help defeat the Heartless, Zack attempts to spar with himself. It's a lot more difficult than it used to be, since he's accustomed to having at least one sparring partner now. He finds himself imagining Leon brandishing his gunblade, or Cloud with a borrowed sword, or even Tifa and Yuffie, standing with fists clenched or shuriken between her fingers like bread in a toast rack. He knows their fighting styles so well by now that his body creates touch-memories of training with them: dodging Tifa's feather-light footwork and Cloud's sometimes-awkward swings. He can almost hear Yuffie's laughter and Leon's approving rumble when one of them wins. Sometimes it seems Leon is even more approving when Zack manages to beat him.

Zack talks to Mickey more than he talks to Merlin. Mickey actually listens, whereas Merlin always seems halfway to somewhere else in his head; someplace where up is down and words can have twenty-four syllables and still make sense. Zack doesn't talk to _either_ of them very often, because they always seem so engrossed in what they're doing, and the whole thing is so _worthy_ that he'd feel like a heel for distracting them. Yet when he's sitting out on the front step, or swinging the Buster Sword through one of Angeal's old routines, and he turns and sees Mickey standing there, Zack can't help taking a break to talk.

Mickey never gives much away about himself, but his cheeriness is soothing nonetheless. He can chatter about his favourite foods, the type of music in his world, whether or not cheese tastes yellow, and then come out with startling pieces of wisdom that make Zack look at him and wonder just who the heck he _really_ is. Neither he nor Merlin say how they first met and became friends, but Zack gathers it was in the time when Hollow Bastion was still called Radiant Garden.

"But if you can travel between worlds, and you know the way to Radiant Garden, can't you take us back there?"

Mickey shakes his head with that sad not-smile. "When the overflow of magic changed it into Hollow Bastion, all my maps vanished or were made useless – it's like trying to navigate your way through the blast site after a bomb and see where things used to be. That was some pretty strong sorcery, let me tell you. It's a wonder the whole place wasn't wiped out. I thought Merlin was killed to begin with, until I found Traverse Town and Cid Highwind told me he was there."

Zack shivers at the idea of his home – not to mention himself, since he was a baby when Radiant Garden changed – being wiped out in less than a heartbeat.

He isn't used to the quiet in Ambleton. That's the worst part. Boredom bleeds in at the edges. His home life is usually so hectic that the sudden and complete _lack_ of activity makes him unable to sleep at night. He's too keyed up, full of unspent energy and thoughts that fly around his brain like a flock of disturbed sparrows. Cloud's trip wasn't nearly so tedious.

Merlin's thunderous snores don't help either, but more than that Zack stares into the gloom and imagines his friends and what they'd say if they could see him out here.

_Yuffie would have a field day about me sharing a bed with Merlin_. He instantly resolves never to tell her. _Right now she's probably still be out doing whatever she does at nights, but the others will be in bed. Kairi will have been put down hours ago, and probably Cloud will be the first to give up. He won't sleep, though. Maybe I should've told him I was going. I wonder if he's pissed at me. He probably won't tell anyone he's pissed if he is. He'll just stew about it and now I feel guilty because he won't sleep. Tifa will go to bed after that, but Aerith'll be last._

He can just see Aerith, sitting on the couch and staring out the window into Traverse Town's gloom, wondering what Zack is doing, while Cloud stares at the bedroom ceiling and does the same.

Maybe in reality they both went to bed and fell straight to sleep. It's possible, but somehow Zack's mind, fuelled by his memories of how Aerith was a tight little ball of tension while Cloud was in Mosey City, and how Cloud tossed and turned sleeplessly when Dr. Sweet kept Aerith overnight for observation after she absorbed Rinoa's last memories, conjures images of them doing the same for him now that he's the one away from home – and them.

_What was I thinking, coming out here like this? Did I expect adventures like Cloud's? Merlin said it was a research thingy, and I've spent enough time around his place to know that's dull. Maybe I thought he wanted me to defend him from being attacked by beasts on the journey, but there weren't any. And now I'm bored, bored, bored, bored, BORED._

You'd think all this wakefulness would make him too tired to get bored, but Zack still feels energetic as ever. Worse, his boredom increases even after he sets himself extra _kata_ every morning and evening, and definitely after he picks up one of Merlin's discarded books as a distraction and has to ask what the first word means. His brain feels baggy, like an old sweater. He paces around Ambleton as though this is the new domain he's sworn to protect.

_Some domain. Not even the monsters from Barren Region would want this place._

Mostly he does menial things, but even that's limited. He fetches coal, stokes fires, toasts crumpets and bread for everyone (Mickey, it turns out, has a huge addiction to carbohydrates). Zack opens and shuts windows when it rains and fixes a couple of creaky steps on the stairs before Merlin complains of the noise and enchants the hammer and nails to do it in double-quick time. Zack didn't know it was going to be like this. If he had, he's not sure he would've come.

Usually that's when Mickey appears, as if sensing he's needed. Talking to him makes Zack glad he did decide to come, even if the rest of the trip is a washout. Mickey is one of those people who can improve your mood just by existing and proving that people like him – considerate, unselfish, sincere, and so damn _cheerful_ – are still real in the universe.

"I'm just not sure why Merlin wanted me along on this trip," Zack admits to him. "I mean, it's not like I'm doing anything useful. I just putter around all day while you two read and talk and junk. I'm not contributing anything useful."

"You really think that?" Mickey asks in surprise.

"I should be back home, looking out for my friends. And Kairi. And the rest of Traverse Town."

Mickey grabs the tips of his feet and rocks back and forth on the step, like a little kid processing a particularly complicated thought – jelly, peanut butter, or both? "Maybe Merlin didn't bring you along for our benefit at all. Maybe he just thought _you_ could use a break from all that defending and heroism. Are you the only fighter in Traverse Town?"

"No, there's Leon, and Cloud, and Tifa, and Yuffie too."

"So there you go."

"What?"

But Mickey just munches on the plate of pastries Merlin left to cool while he went upstairs.

Once, after going for a jog and coming inside to change before his _kata_, Zack overhears them talking and pauses on the bottom step. They're upstairs, apparently sifting through Merlin's luggage for a scroll he forgot to unpack.

"Personally, I think it all still comes down to the keyblades," Merlin snaps, obviously irritated at himself for losing the scroll. Something bangs to the floor. The light fitting above Zack bounces. He slides sideways on cat-feet. "If only we knew where they'd all _gone_."

"We can't rely on Deus ex Machina, Merl."

_Merl? _Zack's jaw flops open like a wagon's tailgate. Nobody else would _ever_ get away with calling Merlin that. Then again, as anyone could pick up within five minutes of meeting him, Mickey is special – even if Zack's still not entirely sure of all the ways he is.

"We gotta figure out another way to lick this before it turns into something bigger than we can handle."

"I know that," Merlin barks. The banging stops. Zack wonders whether they're about to descend the stairs when the wizard speaks again, in a much different voice. "Every day we've been here I look at Zack, and I recall the goodness we're fighting for. He and his friends are some of the most virtuous people I've ever met. If the darkness were indeed to take over, they'd be some of the first it would snuff out. Their light is too bright, too dangerous; it would find them in a … heartbeat."

"So we keep looking for a way to beat the darkness once and for all. Don't worry, old pal. Remember how you kept my head above water, when I first discovered this world and found out you were still alive? The news of what Ansem did, creating all those Heartless and sacrificing his own people to do it … well, you could've knocked me down with a feather when you told me that. But you also told me that every problem has a solution, right?"

"Mrrf."

"This is no different. Think about all the miraculous stuff we've both done already. And I'm not looking to toot my own trumpet. Your ability to make the perfect cup of tea from thin air still leaves me and all my tricks in the dust."

"It's just a matter of calling the correct elements and aligning them with the magical fluctuations of inter-spatial matter," Merlin says gruffly. "But … thank you, Mickey. I knew there was a reason I keep up a correspondence with you."

"Naw, that's just for my sparkling wit and company."

"Well it certainly isn't for your good manners when it comes to my pastries."

"You're _still_ sore about that?"

Suddenly they're both at the top of the stairs. Zack has nowhere to hide fast enough for them not to realise he's been eavesdropping.

"Much as I rail against supposition without ample verification, I _suppose_ part of me will always think the keyblades have the answer," Merlin goes on.

"The legend of the keyblades isn't all you think it is," Mickey says. To Zack's surprise he looks very uncomfortable. The expression clears as he looks downstairs. "Zack! Hey there, buddy."

"Hey, Mickey. Just came to change my clothes. These are all sweaty." Well, it isn't a lie. Just so long as they don't ask him how long he's been back.

Merlin eyes him speculatively. Bizarrely, so does Mickey. There's a look in those wide black eyes like he's assessing Zack against some unknown criteria, or testing him as a candidate for a role, but as soon as it arrives it's gone again. Mickey's smile sweeps it away like a broom in the hands of a busy cleaner.

"Hey, wouldja like some crumpets, Zack?"

"Um, sure."

"Great! Me too. Not too toasted and lots of honey, please."

Ambleton's entire retail culture is based around one place: the grocery shop. Zack saunters down there every morning for a quart of milk. He doesn't go because he needs to – Merlin could probably summon all they need if he felt so inclined. Zack goes because it's something to do, and walkingto the shop is better than just walking in circles. The shop assistant assures him all the milk is from the cows that live on the fringes of the town.

"All our own products," she tells him. "Very little is brought in from outside, just canned and dried stuff, so you can be sure nothing fresh has been tampered with. Just good, wholesome milk and a whole lot of love in a glass." She grimaces as she says this, as though even she finds it too corny to believe.

"You grow the vegetables yourself too?" Zack asks. Even after all this time, he's still amazed that people can grow things that aren't sickly like plants always were in Hollow Bastion's soil towards the end. All that water pouring from the walls and still everything came out yellowed and half-dead.

The girl behind the counter is younger than he might expect, given the nature of the village. "Sure. Well _I_ don't. not personally or anything. We have an allotment, plus some fields and two cows. Well, my grandparents do. They own this shop and some of the land outside Ambleton, but they're so old they just sit in front of the hearth and sleep, or try to get me to play gin rummy." She pulls a face. "I hate gin rummy."

"You live with them?"

"For the next six months, then I am _so _out of this dump. I live with my dad, usually, but he's on sabbatical. He teaches military history at Mosey City University, but he's spending a year in some icky mountain village where any female under twenty-one risks being sold into slavery or kidnapped as a wife for some gap-toothed hermit with bad breath and body odour." She looks pensively at the ceiling. "Although some days that sounds better than being in Ambleton. This place is the pits."

"Is that your sales pitch?"

"You mean you _like_ it here?" She laughs at his expression. "Sorry, but you're under fifty and have full use of all your limbs for more than just poking the fire, drinking tea, or banging the poker for someone to bring you _more_ tea."

Zack decides not to mention his self-appointed role as dogsbody.

"Should you be out, y'know, _enjoying_ life in a place where it actually _happens_?"

"I'm here with my friend. Friends," he corrects, already counting Mickey as part of the circle. "We're not here for long."

The girl pouts and leans on the cash register with a disgruntled expression. "Lucky you."

Zack enjoys her company, but she's trapped by duty into staying in the shop all day, and despite what she says, her grandparents don't actually _stay_ in the living quarters attached to it. Once, when Zack is talking with her, there's a tremendous clatter and an old man with rheumy eyes and a walking cane bursts in. He chases Zack off, calling him a 'hooligan' and threatening to separate vital parts of his anatomy if he catches him around his granddaughter again. It's the most exciting thing that happens until the end of the week, when Mickey finally announces it's time for him to go home.

"Two and a half weeks away from home is plenty for now," he says regretfully.

"Have you made much progress?" Zack asks, stretched out on his stomach on the sofa and tracing the pattern of chintzy wisteria vines with one finger. Despite himself, he feels relaxed and a little sleepy, with a fire crackling in the grate and the smell of oat farls and honey in the air.

"We've had some interesting discussions," Merlin replies, which means no, and that his efforts have once again been thwarted, despite Mickey's eyes also examining the problem.

"Oh," Zack says, turning onto his back and pretending he doesn't see Mickey snagging the last farl. "Right."

The shop girl is sad when he tells her.

"You're leaving in the morning?" she asks, leaning on the counter with her elbows and propping her chin in her hands. "As in _tomorrow_ morning?" She has blue eyes and hair cut short at the back but long at the front, so it's constantly getting in her face. Most of the time she just peers through it, like now. Her eyes scrunch with displeasure. "Well that sucks. You're the only person I've been able to talk to since I got to this landfill-waiting-to-happen. Now I'll be back to telling the cows everything, and they're not nearly so nice to look at." Her eyes widen. She ducks her head, obscuring her embarrassment behind a curtain of hair. "Crap. I _so_ didn't mean to say that. This stupid town eats your brain a piece at a time – internal monologue first."

Zack just laughs. Despite himself, he's flattered. Or maybe she's right and Amebleton's rarefied atmosphere really does do things to your brain. Either way, when she asks him to come say goodbye at closing time, he shrugs and says yes.

"I'll have a little goodbye gift for you. to remember your time here in the armpit of nowhere."

"Thanks, um ..." He realises with consternation that she's been so easy to talk to that in two weeks he never actually got around to introducing himself.

"Elena."

"Zack."

"I know _that_."

"Oh. Um, right."

She rolls her eyes and laughs, filling in his awkward silence.

Evening is drawing in when she finally flips the sign to 'closed' and locks the front door of the shop. Zack is waiting for her. She presents him with a small package in gauzy cloth and greaseproof paper.

"Authentic Ambleton Fudge." She points. "See? It even says so on the label."

"Gee, thanks."

"Gee?" Her nose crinkles. "People actually still say that? C'mon now, let's go for a walk," she says buoyantly, already setting off down the village's single main street. "I told Gran and Grampy I'm going to check on the cows, since they broke out of their field yesterday."

"Your grandparents broke out of a field?"

Elena sticks out her tongue at Zack. It's such a Yuffie response that he wants to dodge sideways in case it's followed by something thrown in place of a shuriken. When nothing comes at him he falls into step, trying to ignore the puzzled look Elena gives him.

"Uh, did they buy it?"

"Of course. I'm a practised liar. Adults are so dreary, you have to lie just so you don't wither away and crumble to dust before they let you out to have any fun. I lied all the time back home – though there aren't any decent clubs in Ambleton for me to sneak off to like in Mosey." She snickers at his shocked expression. "Don't be such a prude. You mean you've never lied to your parents so you can go out and have a good time?"

"My parents died when I was a toddler. My uncle raised me, but he died when I was sixteen and nobody else was appointed my guardian after that."

"Oh." Elena looks mortified. Without thinking, he lightly punches her shoulder like he would Cloud, and then wonders why.

_Maybe it's the blonde hair. _"Don't look like that. There weren't any clubs where I grew up, either. So … what kinds of clubs happen at night? You can't play sports at night, can you?"

Elena laughs and explains as they walk. By the time they stop Zack's eyes are wide.

"And people go to these places for _fun_?"

"For shits and giggles. Plus there's some pretty good music in some of them, but you have to be eighteen to get in and they don't always buy the 'whoops I left my ID at home' routine."

"ID?"

"Identification. You know, those papers to say who you are?"

"People have to have papers for that?"

"Man, you really _have_ had a sheltered upbringing. How old are you, anyhow?"

"Twenty-one." Zack's not sure why telling her this makes him feel uncomfortable. Maybe it's Elena's superiority when it comes to clubbing and big city life. The conversation has gone places he can't follow. He feels inexperienced beside her, even though he's a seasoned _warrior_ with more than his fair share of battles under his belt – and especially when Elena reveals she's only sixteen.

"But I'll be seventeen in an eyeblink."

"You look a lot older," he says unthinkingly.

She beams. "You really think so?"

"Well … yeah."

"Cool." She says nothing more about it, but steers their path towards the edge of the village. "We might as well actually check on the cows while we're out here. They're not so bad. They poop like crazy, but I guess they're cute, and they nuzzle you when you milk them like they're saying thank you. They don't make me want to move to the country or anything, but they're okay for dumb animals."

Cows. Now there's something Zack understands. There were cows in Hollow Bastion, though they didn't look much like the two piebald creature munching grass in the dusk. Hollow Bastion's cows were soft brown and always moved like they were walking through syrup. They got thinner and thinner as the soil deteriorated. These black and white cows are well-fed and round, like the pictures Kairi crayons. They toss their heads and moo at each other like they're having a conversation. They look up as Elena perches on the fence and low happily, coming over to have their ears scratched.

"Zack, meet Big and Little." She points at the larger of the two and then at the smaller. "Grampy's not the most inspired guy when it comes to names. My dad's called Junior."

"Hello, Big," Zack extends a hand to be sniffed, as is common in animal etiquette. You never touch an animal without first letting it establish your scent to see whether it even wants you to touch it or not. "Hello, Little."

Little lows and thrusts her nose into his palm, licking the salt from his skin. Her tongue is rough but slimy, and tickles like crazy.

"That either means she likes you or you're lunch," says Elena.

"She's just being polite in bovine-speak. Cows are herbivores."

"Excuse me?"

"They're herbivorous."

"Gesundheit."

"They don't eat meat."

"Oh." Elena blushes. "I'm from the city, Zack; not stupid."

Eventually the two cows decide they've had enough of hanging around with humans and move off to investigate a clump of juicy grass. Zack leans his arms on the fence and stares at the distant hills. Behind him, at least a day's travelling away, is Traverse Town. To the right is Mosey City. Out there, though, straight ahead if you just keep on going, are places he doesn't know anything about.

Is this how Angeal felt when he struck out on missions? Angeal's wanderlust took him to far-flung places that practically made Zack's mouth water when he heard about them: the exotic Dazzle Islands, the kingdom of Resplendia, the rolling Brightlark Forests, and the distant sandbars and seagulls of the Glitterati Archipelago …

Elena sighs and murmurs, "Ambleton is major suckage, but sometimes … I don't think I want to spend my whole life in Mosey City. It's easy to get lost in a place like that. You fall between the cracks too easily, y'know? Plus, the Lawmen there are completely sucky. They're all _men._ Women aren't allowed to join. It's, like, total discrimination, but nobody does anything because it's always been that way."

"You want to be a law-keeper?" Zack remembers Cloud's less than flattering descriptions of them.

"Maybe. My sister joined a security force in Saunterville. It's really cool; she gets to beat up bad guys and get paid for it. Maybe I'll follow her and do the same. What do you do for a living, Zack?"

"Me?" Zack considers this. "I don't actually get paid for it, but I'm Merlin's assistant when he needs things lifting and carrying. Mainly I protect Traverse Town."

"So you're kind of a law-keeper too."

"I guess you could say that. I've never thought of it that way before."

She kicks her heels like a little kid, provoking a juddery noise and making Zack take his arms off the shaking wooden slats. When she stops he presses his palms back against the top one – bare of gloves now because his old ones gave out at the tips and he found the new pair Aerith and Cloud clubbed together to buy for his Yule gift and hid under the sink. He was considering buying a new pair until then. Now he wants to wait.

He can't think what to say. His gaze is still fixed on the horizon, thoughts meandering between Aerith, Cloud, Angeal, and a million other things; so when Elena says his name he turns automatically towards her – then yelps as her mouth fixes on his.

It's an awkward position. Even though he's the taller one when they're standing up, she has to lean sideways off the fence and her whole body is rigid to stop herself tumbling into the dirt. Zack's eyes widen, but Elena's are shut and she's made her mouth very soft. It's not his first kiss, but it's been so long that it _feels_ like a first kiss – no idea where to put his hands, and no clue what the hell is going on in a pliable, preoccupied sort of way.

A face pops into his head. It confirms a lot of things he didn't, until now, realise needed confirming.

Gently but firmly, Zack pushes Elena away.

She looks at him. She's not _heartbroken_, but there's definitely disappointment in her eyes. "No?"

"No."

"Oh." She straightens up, away from his hand. "Is it because of the age thing? Because I'm really mature for my years. Even you said so."

"It's not the age thing."

"Oh. Is it…" She nibbles her lower lip. "I never asked, did I? Do you have a partner back home?"

"No."

"Phew! 'Cause I'm not one of those hussy girls who steal other girls' men." She looks at him again, narrowing her eyes. "But there _is_ someone else, isn't there?" she asks softly.

It takes a moment before Zack replies. Putting it in words makes it real. Saying those words aloud means he can never take them back. "Yes. There's someone else."

"Nuts." Elena kicks her heels again, this time in disappointment. Zack can see it written in the tension of her limbs and the sudden curve of her spine. Even her bright blonde hair seems to droop more than before. She's pretty, like a little china doll with none of the frailty; deceptively delicate, and tough in a way that might suit the life of a law-keeper.

But she's still sixteen. Zack abruptly remembers Yuffie's crush on Leon, plus everything else that sets her apart from everyone around her – everyone who _isn't_ prey to the same whims of puberty that give her zit and make her hormones rage like a fire doused with gasoline.

"But if there wasn't -" he starts, trying to soften the rejection.

Elena smiles wanly at him. "You're a sucky liar, you know that?"

When Zack has delivered her home, he goes back to the cottage. It's dark inside and out. He opens the door carefully, so as not to wake anyone, and so is surprised to find Mickey already at the kitchen table. He's reading a scroll by candlelight. Merlin's deafening snores spell out where _he_ is in no uncertain terms. Zack can't be sure, but he thinks the walls may actually move in and out with each breath.

Mickey looks up, smiling, but the expression abates a little when Zack moves into the circle of light. "Gee whillikers, what a face. Are you okay, Zack?"

"I…" _Gee whillikers? And Elena picked on me for just saying 'gee'?_

"You look like you just had the rug pulled out from under you."

He shakes his head, but just in an attempt to clear it. "You might say that."

Mickey gestures to the chair opposite, and does so again with more zeal when Zack holds his palm up to decline. "Sit. There's still tea in the pot, I think. Would you like some?"

"I'd like a barrel of tea. Hit me over the head with the barrel, then you can drink the tea and arrange my body to look nice for when anybody comes to view me."

Mickey's brows pull together in a sympathetic frown. "It's that bad?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." Zack lets his face fall into his hands so he doesn't have to look at him. staring at his palms he says in a rush, "I think I'm in love with my best friend."

"Which one?"

The question startles him into raising his head. "Aerith," he replies straight away, no hesitation, as though there can be no other answer, and who said there could be anyway? Cloud's a _guy_, even if there have now been two separate occasions wherein he'd worn women's clothing. _And ended up looking pretty decent, for someone with biceps like his. _

A strange look flashes over Mickey's face like the sweep of a torch beam. "Ah. For how long?"

"Since about half an hour ago. Or maybe since we got to Traverse Town. Or maybe forever. I don't know. I don't _know. _I don't understand how it happened, it just … already happened. Like growing your hair, and suddenly you look in the mirror and realise it's down to your waist and you look like a hobo, only you never noticed because you were looking at yourself every day and getting caught up in more obvious stuff, like cuts and burns and scraped skin. And if you cut all that hair off you'll look like a prison inmate, and you were fine with it before, but now you've noticed how long it is you also start noticing how you're forever pushing it out of your face, or catching it in doors, or getting it in your food. Only you don't mind, because it's really great hair, except you _do_ mind, but you can't … augh!"

"That's some metaphor."

"I went for a walk around the village on my own before I came back. I did a lot of thinking. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now, and I couldn't come up with any answers. Should I tell her when I get back? Should I just shut up and not say a word? Would this spoil everything? Aerith and Cloud have been my world for so long, I don't want to jeopardise the friendship I have with them, and this could – _would_ – change everything no matter what the reply was." Zack glances out of the window. "I stood out at the edge of the village and just stared at the sky for ages, but it didn't help. There aren't any answers up there – _hey_!"

Mickey has grabbed his hand and is dragging him out of the door.

"What're you – hey, wait. Mickey!"

They go right to the bottom of the cottage's garden, to where the hedgerow creeps towards the grass, separating Merlin's property from the lane beyond. Here Mickey stops, but he doesn't release Zack's hand. Instead he points upwards with his own free one.

"Look."

"Look where?" Zack tips his head back. "Look up there? I just told you, I did that before."

"What do you see?"

"Stars. Blackness. The sky at night. The stars are really bright out here. There's not much light pollution this far out in the country, so you can see them much clearer than in Traverse Town."

"Each of those stars is a different world," Mickey says soberly. It's odd to hear his squeaky voice wrapped with such a serious tone, but when Zack tries to look at him, Mickey gestures that he should to keep looking up. "Whenever the darkness claims a world, its star goes out. All the people on it are gone. All their hopes and dreams, everything they love and care for and wanted to protect but _couldn't_ – it all just stops in less than a heartbeat. There have been hundreds of worlds whose stars have gone out since the Heartless started appearing. Every time it happens I feel bad, but it just makes me wanna fight harder to stop it happening again. I decided a long time ago not to live my life with any regrets."

Zack listens, but he isn't sure he understands. Mickey is crushing his fingers, which is also distracting. The little guy is stronger than he looks. _Much _stronger, in fact. "Mickey, you're gonna break my -"

"Hm? Oh! Sorry, I guess I got absorbed in the moment." Mickey releases him. Zack massages feeling back into his bruised hand. "My point is, there were probably a lot of people up there who did and didn't say what they needed to say before it was too late. Sometimes they knew what was coming, but a lot of times they never realised their world's days were numbered. They thought they had time. Look carefully, Zack."

Zack cranes his neck. "What am I looking for?"

"Does the sky look any different for those stars being gone?"

"I guess not. Unless you're an outdoorsy person who uses the stars to tell where they're going. It still looks like the sky at night to me."

"Exactly."

"Excuse me?" Zack glances at Mickey, but the little mouse has his own head tipped back and is focussed on one spot, as if singling out one star in particular. Zack wonders if that's the star of Mickey's home world, and then wonders how he can tell it from all the others. "Mickey, what's the point of all this?"

"The night sky doesn't change. The constellations might, incrementally, but the larger picture is still there. It's just the details you have to watch out for."

For a guy smart enough to win Merlin's respect, sometimes Mickey makes no sense at all. "What does this have to do with my problem?"

"I knew my wife for a long time before I fell in love with her," Mickey replies, still staring at that one star. "You wouldn't know it now. There's a rumour going around that it was love at first sight, but it was actually anything _but_.We were betrothed as kids. We met when we were knee-high to a grasshopper, and all I could think of at the time was how much I wanted to be off with my friends, or with my tutor, instead of greeting a dumb old girl and playing at tea parties. I wasn't even in love with her on our wedding day – I thought I had a much bigger role to play than just a husband. Even then, fighting the darkness took up a lot of my thoughts. I thought there was only room inside me to be one thing, and I dedicated myself to that for a long time, but I was wrong. You can't be just one thing. You can be lots of different things all at once, and be even more different things to different people. I fell in love with her over time, as I got to know her and she taught me that she didn't expect me to just be her husband. The fact that it took a long time doesn't change how in love with her I am now, or the depth of my feelings for her."

Zack swallows and digests this, but what comes back is still slightly acidic, like stomach juices. "I don't know if I want to change things. For so much of my life … there've been times when the only reason I survived was because of my friends. Not just them literally stepping in and saving my life, although that's happened too. Aerith restarted my heart once. I was dead for a few minutes, and she literally brought me back to life. But it's the little things as well – when she and Cloud moved in with me after my uncle was killed, or when I doubted myself during the first few weeks in Traverse Town, or when I thought Cloud was dead when we all went to the mountains and the rope bridge broke with him on it. Aerith just about stopped me jumping off the cliff after him. So much of who I am is defined by our friendship. I'm not sure I want to change that."

"Can't you be friends with someone you love?"

"I guess so."

"So if that's true, perhaps you can also love your best friend."

Zack sighs. "That's not the only problem. I have two best friends."

"And you're worried about what will happen to your friendship with both if you confess your love for just one of them."

"… Yeah."

Mickey sighs, deeply and resignedly, and finally looks away from his star. "I'm just one mouse, Zack. If these two weeks have proven nothing else, it's that I don't have all the answers, especially not about this. The best advice I can give you is to follow what your heart tells you to do. The heart usually knows what it's doing." A wry little smile curves his lips. "It always comes back to the heart in the end. Heh."

"_That's_ your advice? To follow my _heart_?" It sounds like something from a cheap card or two-bit love song, which never takes into account the messy reality of love. Adding love to real life is like adding a glowing tip to the cigarette in Cid's mouth in the middle of his fume-filled workshop.

"It's the only advice I've got to give. I've lived long enough to know that the heart is a pretty powerful thing, but it can also be fragile. You gotta be careful with how you treat your heart, and the hearts of others."

Zack stares at Mickey for a long moment, and then back at the sky. "We should probably go back inside," he says eventually. "Or that candle is gong to burn down and set first to whatever it was you were reading."

"A debate on whether the darkness contained within the soul is inbuilt or grows over time."

"What?"

"That's what I was reading. Merlin finally found the scroll at the bottom of his toiletry bag. Did you know the heart and soul are symbiotic?"

"Symbi-whosit?"

"They can't live without each other. Or so some scholars say. Some reckon there's no such thing as a soul, but I don't believe that." Mickey is so firm that Zack instantly believes him. "We're still not sure whether the darkness in hearts comes from dark thoughts, or grows in the soul and leaks across, or whether each person is born with a certain amount of darkness already in them, which is sparked off somehow and starts to spread because of some outside influence. That's what Ansem was investigating when he …" Mickey shakes his head, ending the thought and the conversation by walking back towards the cottage. "You're right. Let's get back inside."

Merlin is still snoring like a steam train when they go in, but even if he was silent, Zack knows he's not going to be sleeping much tonight. He leaves Mickey still poring over his scroll. Mickey makes a strange and lonely figure in the flickering candlelight, as Zack climbs the stairs and tries unsuccessfully to put his troubled thoughts in order.

* * *

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_Elena sticks out her tongue at Zack. _

-- Elena originally appeared in Final Fantasy 7, and her backstory can be found at finalfantasy. wikia. com/wiki/Elena **(underscore)** (Final **(underscore)** Fantasy **(underscore)** VII).

* * *


	39. Forewarned is Forearmed

* * *

**38. Forewarned is Forearmed **

* * *

_Fairy Tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten. _– G.K. Chesterton.

* * *

Aerith reclines on the couch, the fairytale book open on her lap. She was hoping to get some inspiration for Kairi's impending birthday from it. Despite Yuffie's efforts, Kairi loves the stories about magical princesses best. The apartment is quiet. Aerith thought she'd snatch only a few moments of reading, but as ever with this strangely compelling book, that has stretched into nearly an hour. She has nearly finished all the fairytales in it now, but the last few trouble her. She's not sure why, but something about this one in particular scrapes against her skin as she reads.

* * *

_Once upon a time there was a kingdom of light, where the sun was always warm and nothing bad ever happened. People sang as they went about their chores in this kingdom, because they were happy and enjoyed their lives. There was no hunger, no war, and no poverty. The kind royal family had set themselves to making their kingdom the finest in the world, and banished any thing dark and loathsome that might threaten their subjects._

_The people rejoiced when a princess was born in the castle. They danced in the streets and in the fields to celebrate. The princess grew up to be beautiful, kind and good. Her smile was sunshine, her eyes were moonlight, and when she spoke she had a voice like Spring sunbeams dissolving Winter snow. _

_Her parents were so proud of her that they held many celebrations to show her to the world. They invited people from neighbouring kingdoms to come and see their daughter, and the kings and queens of those places sent their sons to try and claim her hand in marriage. Yet her parents could not bear to lose their daughter and so sent all the princes away again._

_However, an evil wizard lived in a cave on the very edge of their land. He'd been driven into hiding by the light that filled the kingdom, and had shut himself away years ago where it couldn't touch him and make his skin smoulder. Gradually the dark and angry murmurs of the rejected princes reached even his ears, and he stirred in his shadowy prison. _

"_Who could this girl be, who is too good even for noble blood?" the evil wizard asked._

_He resolved to find out for himself. He was a cruel man, ruled by darkness and his own selfish heart. Wherever he walked he left footprints blacker than night. Disguised as a beggar and hiding under a cloak, he went to the castle and he saw the princess, but her goodness was so awful in his eyes that he couldn't bear to look upon her. She was an abomination to him, so he stole her away and locked her in a crystal in the very centre of the earth where he thought she belonged._

_The princess's parents were so upset that they sent for all the rejected princes and asked them to search for their daughter._

"_Why should we help you?" the princes asked, revealing their true natures and sneering at her parents' sorrow. "You wouldn't allow us to marry your daughter. Let her stay lost. We will not search for her." _

_However, as they turned to leave the evil wizard appeared once more, attracted by the darkness of their words. He changed them all into crows and they flew away with him, back to his cave, where they became his minions and pecked out the eyes of anybody who came too near. _

_Years passed. The princess stayed in her crystal and her parents wept for her, for they did not know the way to reach the centre of the earth safely, nor how to break her from the wizard's spell even if they could reach her. _

_One of their most trusted knights went on a quest to retrieve her, for he loved royal family with all his heart, especially the young princess, whom he had watched grow up and guarded all her life. However, the evil wizard released a demon that stole his heart from him. The knight lost his way and forgot what he was searching for. A lady of court also set out, but she was distracted by the knight's pain and quested after him instead of the poor princess, who languished at the centre of the earth, waiting in vain for someone to rescue her. One by one, all the royal family's champions were distracted or defeated on their quest for the lost princess._

_The evil wizard was cunning and let loose his crow-princes. The crows pecked out the knights' eyes so they couldn't see the path they should walk. The crows flapped their black wings in the knights' faces so they fell into thorn bushes, which tore into them, and into rivers, which drowned them. Those crows who were killed by the valiant knights cursed them, and the knights' hearts turned black as shadows as they became replacement crows and served the wizard. _

_Eventually the sorrow of the castle spread across the kingdom. The songs of the people died and their feet forgot how to dance. A time of darkness descended on the land. The evil wizard rejoiced, for he could walk wherever he wanted without the light of people's hearts to hurt his eyes and burn his flesh. _

_When all hope seemed lost, however, two young boys came to the castle. They weren't princes, but they stood and spoke with a nobility the rejected princes had lacked. The boys' clothes were ragged, their hands and feet toughened by lives of hard work, but their eyes sparkled with hope. They had each fallen in love with the princess when she came to their village for one of her parents' many celebrations, but been too frightened to volunteer to find her while there were still noble knights around. They were only peasant boys, but now the castle echoed with no knights in it, and their love for the princess encouraged them to knock on the castle's doors._

"_We'll your daughter for you," they said together. _

_The king and queen saw the light in both boys and agreed at once. They gave them enchanted weapons from the Royal Armoury, and maps from the Royal Mapmakers to lead them through the dangerous places beyond their kingdom's borders. The two boys were given shoes to protect their bare feet, and new clothes to keep them warm on their long journey. The princess's mother kissed them both on their foreheads and whispered enchantments into their ears to keep them safe from harm._

"_Beware the evil wizard," they were warned as they set out, their footsteps sure and courageous on their chosen path. _

_The evil wizard saw them leave the castle and the light in their eyes disturbed him. His dominion over the whole kingdom was nearly absolute. He had no desire to once again be confined just to his tiny cave now. He resolved to stop these two boys, but when he sent his crows against them they stood back to back and defeated them all, the strength of their hearts keeping them strong when the crows tried to turn them into crows too. When the crows tried to knock them into thorn bushes one boy pulled the other free. When they sent the boys into the river the one who could swim saved the one who couldn't. Their friendship made them stronger even than the knights who had come before them, and for the first time the evil wizard worried that he might be vanquished. _

_He employed the utmost trickery to break the bond between the two boys so he could defeat them. He sent a rat into their camp one night, which changed the map of one boy, so when they came to a fork in the road the two boys argued about which path to take. Each thought he was right, and their love for the lost princess made them vehement in their belief and defence of it. They knew they were close, and each thought the other was wasting precious time that would've been better spent getting to her, and so argued with an anger they'd never felt before._

_The evil wizard, sensing weakness, cut off his own hand and turned it into a flea. It hopped onto one of the boys so the wizard could whisper into his ear to turn him against the boy who had previously been as close as a brother. _

"_You're right," the wizard whispered. "He's wrong. He's going to go on a fool's errand, and what'll happen to the poor princess while he's off chasing shadows? You should concentrate on what matters and leave him to find out for himself that he's wrong. You could be the hero on your own. You could have her all to yourself."_

_The two boys separated to each walk down one of the paths, still convinced he was right and the other wrong. One path led to a village where the first boy found new friends. These friends helped him find the way to the centre of the world where the lost princess was being kept, and the first boy set out immediately to rescue her. _

_The other path led to a wicked fairy's den. This fairy seized the second boy and claimed him as her son because she sensed the darkness in him. She didn't know this darkness was the wizard-flea, who continued to hide in the boy's ear and whisper, turning the second boy's thoughts darker even than the wicked fairy's. _

_When the second boy heard of the first boy's new friends he was angry, thinking he must mean nothing to him if he was so easily replaced. His betrayal was so severe that even though his heart turned dark he didn't turn into a crow, but became a great black albatross with a beak like a dagger and nails as long and sharp as arrows. Clouded by the wizard-flea's poison, he flew all the way to the centre of the earth and tried to claw out the heart of the first boy when he found him already there._

"_Why did you take that cursed path?" the first boy cried when he saw what had happened. His own heart burned so bright, trying to drive away the darkness infecting his friend, that it melted the ice caging the lost princess. "Why did you turn from me?"_

"_I wanted to save her," the second boy replied. "I wanted to save her __**my**__ way."_

"_At the cost of our friendship?"_

_The second boy faltered at this. The light from the first boy's heart started to cut through the untruths clouding his mind. _

_The wizard-flea jumped onto the first boy, becoming a claw that tore into his chest to extinguish the light there. The boy fought him off but collapsed from his wounds and lay dying on the ground. His heart burned brighter, like a dying star, and blew away the wizard's whisperings as if they were cobwebs. _

_The second boy's thoughts cleared. He saw what his own weakness and foolishness had done. Though the claw returned to being a flea and hopped back onto him, its hold over him was broken. He wouldn't listen anymore. He became blinded by his own tears and flew in circles, giving a dreadful shriek that made leaves curl on the branches of the trees whose roots heard it, and moles, badgers, foxes and rabbits curl up and weep salty tears of their own in their underground burrows. _

_The lost princess gathered the injured boy into her arms and healed his terrible wounds with her magic as heir to the kingdom of light. However, the boy's wounds were too deep even for this magic. His heart was little more than a bloody hollow that ached for his transformed friend. She had to use part of her own heart to heal his, uniting them from then until the end of time._

_The first boy opened his eyes and begged her to do the same for his friend, thinking that the light in her would be able to drive back the darkness where his own heart had been unable to do so. The princess tried, but the second boy opened his albatross wings and flew away, too blinded by his own tears to see that his friend wasn't dead after all. The first boy ran after him, but couldn't keep up with the flight of an albatross. He was left behind, and though he searched high and low, he couldn't find the albatross-boy. _

_He kept his promise and returned the princess to her parents, but her time in the crystal had dimmed her memories of them. She looked at their faces and did not recognise their love for her, which made them weep again for their lost daughter. The princess felt more for the two boys who had tried to save her than her own parents. She fell in love with the light in the boys' hearts as they had fallen in love with hers, so when the first boy set out on a fresh quest she crept from the castle and followed him, always able to find him no matter where he went because his heart was now her heart, and her heart was his heart._

_Eventually they found the albatross-boy perched in a tree outside the evil wizard's old cave. He was startled when he saw them, and his tears became tears of joy. He tried to fly to them, but his feet were shackled and he was chained to the branch with magic unbreakable metal. The first boy tried to cut him free with his enchanted sword, but the evil wizard soon appeared to investigate the commotion. When he saw the princess he became so enraged that he transformed into a giant wolf and tried to bite out her bright heart. _

_The boy with part of her heart in his chest fought the wolf-wizard, while the princess picked up sharp stones and hurled them to blind and knock out the teeth of the beast who had kept her locked away for so many years. She picked up pointed branches and stuck them into the wolf's side, but its thick pelt protected it. Even together, the first boy and the princess were no match for the wizard's power. _

_He finally knocked the princess down, broke the boy's sword and stood over him, fangs bared to bite out his throat and let his lifeblood flow into the ground around this darkest of places and make it even darker. _

_The albatross-boy saw this and shouted, "I will not let you and your magic take them from me again!" _

_He pecked off his own feet and flew at the wolf just as it closed its jaws, filling its mouth with his own body so that it could not reach his friend's throat. The wolf bit down, piercing the albatross-boy's heart with one sharp tooth. When the first boy heard his friend's dying scream he raised his broken sword and plunged it deep into the wolf-wizard's shrivelled heart. The wolf-wizard died, and the bird fell from its jaws. _

_Yet all was not lost. The princess gathered the second boy in her arms just as she had done with the first in the centre of the earth, and added part of her own heart to his to heal him from his fatal wound. The first boy then also gave him part of his heart, to change him back from being an albatross. When the second boy opened his eyes they were human eyes, and when he got to his feet they were human feet, and when he laughed and danced for joy it was a human laugh, which echoed all the way back to the kingdom of light. _

_His laughter awoke the dimmed memories of the princess. She finally embraced the parents she now remembered, and took her place at their side with the two boys flanking her like guardian angels. _

_Eventually the kingdom of light became ruled by these two kings and one queen, and though they ruled with three bodies, they ruled with one heart. A time of plenty dawned. The streets rang with dancing and songs far more beautiful than any heard before. Never again did darkness or sorrow consume the thoughts of the kingdom's people, and they all lived happily ever after. _

_­

* * *

_

Aerith stares at the page. This fairytale is very different than any of the others in the book. True, it still has a princess, and true love, and an evil villain to be defeated, but still … there's something subtly wrong with it. It has all the same elements as the others, but it's as though they've been tossed into the air and fallen into different patterns. Maybe it's the idea that the princess took two husbands instead of the traditional one, or perhaps the active role she took in rescuing her rescuers – and actually being thanked for it. Or maybe it's the disturbing parallels between the hearts consumed by darkness in the story and the shadowy Heartless in the real world.

Aerith is still ruminating on this when a key enters the lock and the apartment door opens. Zack bears both his luggage and a weary smile.

"Honey, I'm ho-ome."

Aerith immediately closes the book and rises to greet him, but she's beaten to the punch by a shape that shoots out of the far bedroom, cannons into Zack and knocks him to the floor with a surprised shout.

"What the -"

"So, you think disappearing for two weeks without a word is _funny_, do you?" Cloud demands. "I only went to Mosey City for one night and you made such a song and dance about it, but you're allowed to leave for two _weeks_, to a place we've never heard of, where anything might have happened to you, and not _tell_ us you're going _beforehand_?"

"I told Aerith! And Yuffie!" Zack gags. "You're choking me, Cloud! I didn't know, okay? Merlin sprang it on me and there wasn't time to find you before he went, either with or without me. I left a message with the girls!"

"You leave messages to say we're out of bread. You don't leave messages to say you're going MIA."

"Aerith, help!"

Aerith's lips curve into an amused smile. "Don't look at me, Zack. I warned you that Cloud wouldn't be happy. He's spent all this time working himself up into this. Welcome home, by the way."

Zack's expression is worth the price of admission. Flat on his back, Cloud sitting on his stomach, he stares with mounting concern into his friend's face. Cloud, brimming with all the imaginary conversations he has practised, has one hand braced on Zack's chest and the other with all fingers curled in but one, and that one jabs repeatedly into Zack's face as he proceeds to tell him _exactly_ how worried he's been, _precisely_ how much he doesn't appreciate being kept out of the loop, _how_ _much _Zack is going to have to apologise to make up for this, and _exactly how many times_ Kairi has asked where he is. Since Kairi is fast entering the Terrible Twos, and has developed the long-term memory of a goldfish when asking questions, it's an impressive number.

"She's been driving everybody crazy," Aerith adds. "She even woke up in the night a few times and climbed into my bed, just so she could wake me up and ask when you were coming back."

"And you never sent word _once_," Cloud says pointedly. "So you are going to march in there _right now_, and when she wakes up from her nap you are going to _apologise_ to her, and read her a _story_, then you're going to play a game of _snap_ with her cards, feed her some _dinner_, _bathe_ her, and put her to _bed_, _and _you're going to sing her a lullaby. Yes, Zack, a _lullaby. _And you're going to do all of it with a _smile_, and _then_ you're going to come back in here and clean up her toys, and _then_ you can stop. At least until we figure out what else you can do to make amends. _Okay_?"

"Since when did you get so bossy?" Zack asks in genuine shock. Cloud has always been so mild, like pale cheese or a sunny day with a gentle wind. This creature on top of him now is like an alien in Cloud's body. Cloud is not assertive. Cloud does not do impressions of spitting cats. Cloud is … Cloud. There's no other way to properly describe him.

"_Okay_?" Alien-Cloud demands again.

"Okay, okay, okay! Yeesh, what's gotten into you?"

Cloud nods once in satisfaction … and then slumps, his entire yearly quota of bossiness used up in one outburst of haphazardly emphasised words. "Sorry," he murmurs. "I was just so mad at you, especially when I had no idea where you'd gone, when you'd be coming back, whether you were safe, or what you were supposed to be doing wherever you were."

"Fetching coal and mooching around doing nothing, mostly."

"We were _worried_, Zack. _I _was worried. And insulted. You know I feel about being cut out of the loop."

"I can see that. You can get off me now. You're really heavy, and I think my ribs may puncture my lungs soon."

Cloud seems to realise suddenly that he's still sitting on his Zack's stomach. Hastily he climbs off.

"Whoooof," Zack exhales noisily. "Did you eat your own weight in rocks while I was gone? I'd call you fat-ass, but I get the feeling that wouldn't help my case right now."

"You're right. It wouldn't."

"So how long am I supposed to stay ashamed and apologetic?"

Cloud helps Zack to his feet, and they both turn to gather his belongings from where they've scattered into the hall. One of the suitcases has burst open. The blast radius is pretty good, leaving a trail of dirty underwear all the way to Yuffie and Leon's feet. They stand by the stairs, watching with both interest and indifference.

"Rowr," Yuffie grins. "Don't stop on our account."

"Hello, Yuffie," Zack says in a tight voice. Aerith is surprised to hear it, but it slides off Yuffie, unable to ruffle her feathers since they're so well-oiled with self-confidence and her own insolence.

She taps Leon on the shoulder with a flourish. "See, Squall? I knew it was a good idea to end the lesson early and come down here to see what all the commotion was about. This is way more entertaining than learning about adverbs."

"It's Leon." Leon bends to help clear up Zack's things, and then breezes into the apartment like he owns the place. "Not Squall."

Aerith briefly reflects on how different he is compared to months ago, when he was first invited in, and stood by the door like he wanted to escape. He didn't go more than a few footsteps into their apartment until Yuffie dragged him to the table and made him sit down in front of a plate of pasta. She even held down the top of his head to keep him from bolting as she ladled sauce over it.

"Aerith, may we borrow that?" Leon asks.

She looks down at the book of fairytales still in her hands. In her amusement at watching Cloud ad Zack she didn't even realise she never put it down. "Uh, sure." She holds it out.

Yuffie bounds past Leon, shoving it back and shaking her head. "Hell no! When I agreed to try and read a whole book for you, I didn't mean _this_ one."

"It's suitable for our purposes," Leon replies calmly. "You can read one fairytale per lesson."

"These fairytales suck! They're all full of pastel princesses, and drippy princes with drippy noses, and bad guys that are, like, so totally laaaaaaaame. And no ninjas! Not one. Ninjas are totally underrepresented in fairytales. This book is lame squared – not, it's lame _cubed_. I'm not reading it."

"Yes you are." Leon takes it from Aerith's hands and sits down at the kitchen table. "Since we still have fifteen minutes of lesson left, you can start now if nobody objects to us being here."

Aerith, Cloud and Zack all shake their heads.

"You can stay for dinner," Aerith suggests, thinking of the casserole she was going to make and calculating how many carrots she'll have to skin for an extra mouth. Leon doesn't pick at his food, but he doesn't have a hearty appetite either. He eats what he needs, no more and no less. Though she can't believe he takes no enjoyment in food, she gets the feeling he mainly sees it as necessity. Yet another way in which he's Yuffie's polar opposite.

"Traitors," Yuffie mutters, sticking out her tongue. She slides into the seat next to Leon and opens the book at a random page. "There aren't even any pictures. What kind of fairytale book doesn't have any freaking pictures? Fairytales are for kids, right? And kids like brightly coloured illustrations with sparkles and twinkly bits. I want my sparkles and twinkly bits!"

"Fairytales aren't always for children." Leon pulls the book from her and flicks it back to the very first page. "They often have some foundation in reality. Sometimes they're based on real events or people. Often the truth is far more gruesome than the stories that come from them. Some say that those who write fairytales aren't only writing stories, but have been granted a brief mental window into another plane of existence and are simply chronicling what they witness there. Those people say writing in itself is a kind of magic, as no energy can ever be created or destroyed, just transferred from one state to another. It'd be impossible for a writer to simply create characters out of nothing, but their incipient magic transfers their minds, however briefly, into other worlds, places and times so they can record what they see."

"Uh-huh, and monkeys might fly out of my butt." Yuffie rolls her eyes. "Gimmie a break, Squall. Magic's all about whiz-boom-bah, and biff-baff-bam, and sometimes piff-paff-poof and making stuff appear from thin air. Like Beardy and his dumb old teapots and biscuits. Writers are just guys and gals with good imaginations, not creepy magical peeping toms. That'd make the people who write those racy romance novels I found at Chicha's, like, total pervs. It'd be whole new levels of voyeurism. Hey, why can't I read one of those instead of this crock of hokum? Then you can get all monosyllabic at me when I get to reading the bedroom scenes aloud, and I can practise my sensual moaning."

Leon says nothing except, "It's Leon," and pushes the book of fairytales at her.

"But -"

"_Now_ Yuffie."

"Yuffie, just do as he says," says Cloud. "Then when Zack's finished his penance you can read a fairytale to Kairi too. She'd like that."

"No way am I freaking corrupting Small Fry with this garbage." Yuffie clears her throat, as if she's about to recite an aria to a packed theatre. "'The Singing, Springing Lark'," she painstakingly enunciates. Without raising her face, her eyes roll up to look at Leon from beneath her lashes, giving her a malevolent appearance. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Read on," he says with the air of having said these two short words many, many times before.

"I don't believe the shit I do for you," Yuffie grumbles, bending so that her nose practically touches the book. "'A man goes on a journey and asks each of his daughters what she would like. The oldest wants diamonds, the second pearls, and the youngest a singing, springing lark …"

Yuffie isn't a bad reader, as it happens, but Aerith is no longer listening. Leon's words circle the inside of her head like a flock of distressed starlings.

She retreats to the bedroom to wake Kairi from her nap. An indefinable feeling slides around in her gut. She can't understand what it means. Perhaps it's her Cetra heritage acting up, or maybe she just shouldn't have taken a chance by cutting the mould off that cheese she had for lunch.

Either way, the feeling stays with her until she goes to bed that night and dreams troubling dreams of princesses trapped in giant crystals, boys with black albatross wings, and wolves holding shredded, bleeding hearts in their jaws.

* * *

Zack can't sleep.

He's back home, surrounded by the comforting and familiar noises he's been craving for two weeks … and he can't sleep.

Unfair!

He really meant to say something to Aerith. During the trek back from Ambleton, he decided to do as Mickey suggested and go with what his heart wants. Now he has acknowledged the feeling, it's as though he's given it permission to constantly gnaw at the edges of his brain. He feels as though he's bursting at the seams with it, and if left untended it will swell inside him, until he splits open and his distended heart flops out with his thoughts scrawled across it in bilious ink.

He was so eager to see her that he barely said goodbye to Merlin before rushing up the stairs to the apartment. She was on the couch, feet tucked under her, coiling the tip of her ponytail around one finger and staring at the book in her lap: a position she's been in hundreds of times before. There was nothing special about it. Even so, the words clogged in Zack's throat long enough for Cloud to pin him, which opened a whole new can of worms.

Because the feeling that clogged Zack's throat when he first saw Aerith? Also happened when he looked at Cloud.

He has no idea what he's supposed to do now; especially since Cloud's familiar weight depresses the mattress behind him, and he can hear Cloud breathing in the gloom. Zack's head whirls with more questions than answers. Eventually he's forced to get up and pretend he needs a drink just to get out of there.

He stands at the sink, watching water fill the glass, not remotely thirsty. He lets it brim and overfill; wetting his hand with sharp cold that snaps him back to himself. He turns off the faucet and searches for a towel to dry his fingers, then picks up the glass and makes no move to drink from it. Instead he absently flicks the side, watching concentric circles sputter inward from the edges. He only flicks in one place, but the circles come from all around the edge. There's probably some sort of deep and meaningful message in that, but right now philosophy is far from his mind.

He has no point of reference for how to come at this. He feels like he walked out onto a sunny beach, only to find the whole thing is made of quicksand.

_Okay, focus. Focus. Focusfocusfocus … Not focussing. Freaking out. Freaking out big time. _

"Zack?"

"Bwuh!" Zack nearly drops the glass. He spins around to see Tifa, rumpled and rubbing her eyes.

She frowns blearily. "Are you okay? What are you doing up so late?"

"Um, fine. I'm fine. Do you need something?"

"My throat's still dry from work today. The moogles were installing beams and joists all afternoon and they got sawdust _everywhere_. I was just getting a glass of -" She blinks at the glass Zack thrusts at her, "- water. Thanks."

"S'fine," he mumbles.

Tifa looks at him oddly but takes the water and drinks it in one long slug. When she's done she rinses the glass and places it upside down on the draining board, then turns to face him. She takes a long breath. When she opens her eyes they're clearer than before and she's blinking less. "Okay, spill it."

"What?"

"I'm sleepy, not blind. Something's wrong. You've been antsy since the second you got back from Ambleville."

"Ambleton. And how do you know what I was like when I got back? You weren't here."

"Aerith told me. She said you were acting weird, and she's right. You barely said three words to anybody during dinner. Even when Cloud fell over his own feet onto his butt and got soap bubbles all over him you never laughed. It's not like you to skip out on laughing at cheap slapstick humour, especially with such an easy opportunity. So spill it. What's biting you?"

"Nothing's _biting_ me."

She doesn't invest her expression with much belief. It's very much a 'yeah, uh-huh, now tell me what's really going on' look. Coupled with the 'I can smash boulders in to dust with my bare hands' tilt of her hips it makes Zack swallow and drop his gaze.

He really doesn't want to talk about this. _Really_. Especially to Tifa, whose feelings for Cloud are well-documented. If it came down to it, Zack has known both Aerith and Cloud longer, so he has first dibs, but she could still probably kick his ass in a fight, especially if she got his Buster Sword away from him –

Wait, what? Where did those thoughts come from? First dibs and fighting Tifa? He must've scrambled his brain or something; maybe he fell over and smashed his head on the ground and Merlin never told him because he didn't realise it rerouted all the electrical impulses in Zack's brain to Crazy.

He pastes on a smile. "Really, I'm fine. I guess I'm just not used to all the noise around this place anymore. Ambleton was really quiet."

Tifa raises a doubtful eyebrow, but lets it slide in favour of asking, "So what _did_ you and Merlin go there for? Nobody was really sure in the end, and you were in such a _mood -_"

"I wasn't in a mood."

"Okay, you in such a not-mood they were all too frightened to ask."

"Frightened? Yuffie was at that table."

Tifa waves a hand. "She was just distracted by the new guy in town. He's another one who's the only survivor from his world, but with a twist – he's a fortune-teller, and he told Yuffie that a tall man with 'some kind of facial marking' is going to fall head over heels in love with her."

Zack groans softly. "So of course she assumed he meant Leon."

"Didn't you notice how starry-eyed she was? She missed her mouth twice."

"No, I didn't notice. But this is Yuffie we're talking about – she's always exhaustingly upbeat, even for me."

"You're avoiding the question."

Zack sighs. "Merlin went out there to meet up with an old friend. They spent the whole week reading and having the kind of conversations that make me feel like I'm this big." He holds the pad of his thumb and index finger half an inch apart. "Seriously, they're both super smart and used words that sounded like they were sneezing, except then the other one replied like it meant something. They were trying to come up with a way to permanently put the Heartless out of commission."

"Did they do it?" Tifa asks, but not as eagerly as she could. She's not stupid. If they had it would've been the first thing Zack said when he arrived.

He shakes his head. "They were both really disappointed about it."

"So why did Merlin take you along? It doesn't sound like your sort of thing."

"It wasn't. I'm still not sure what he was thinking, but it may have had something to do with him needing a visible reminder of why he needed to keep looking for answers when he was so frustrated he just wanted to sit and stare at the wall for the rest of his days."

"How very la-di-dah. I hope you feel privileged for becoming a living metaphor."

Zack shrugs. "That and he said I needed a vacation to stop me feeling jealous of Cloud's trip to Mosey City."

"And do you feel better for having a vacation?"

_No. Not in the slightest. Not in the least. No way. If I hadn't gone, if Elena hadn't kissed me, if I hadn't come back to that greeting, none of this would've happened and I wouldn't be standing in my kitchen at three in the morning, questioning my sexuality and wondering how the hell I managed to fall in love with __**both**__ of my best friends without noticing._

"Sure. Ambleton's really quiet, so it was surprisingly relaxing."

_Liar. Liar, liar, pants on fire!_

Tifa yawns. "I'd better get back to bed. I have work in the morning and I want to get to the shop early so I can sweep up all the sawdust that will have fallen down after I went home today." She glances at the clock on the wall. "I mean yesterday. Feh. Nights need to have more hours in them. G'night, Zack."

"Goodnight, Tifa."

"You should go to bed too. You look ready to drop."

"I will." He raises his palms at her disbelieving stare. "I _will_. In a while. I just … I think I might do a little stargazing." His palms turn outward, effortlessly segueing into a shrug at her expression. "What? You've never stargazed before?"

"Not at three in the morning after a long journey. I would've thought you'd be worn out." Tifa covers another yawn. "Oops. 'Scuse me." She narrows her eyes at him. "Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

_No. _"Yes."

"Well … all right. But promise me you'll at least attempt to get some sleep tonight. If Aerith finds out I didn't make you promise that when you sleepwalk into a wall tomorrow, she'll yell at me."

Zack smiles. It comes easily and feels more genuine than his previous effort. "I promise."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"'_The Singing, Springing Lark'."_

-- This is actually a genuine fairytale written by the Brother Grimm (www. readbookonline. net/readOnLine/4419/).

* * *


	40. Life Goes On

* * *

**39. Life Goes On**

* * *

_There is a great difference between worry and concern. A worried person sees a problem, and a concerned person solves a problem._ -- Harold Stephens.

* * *

The book hits the table in front of Aerith with a smack.

"Something is wrong with Zack."

She looks up into Cloud's face, where worry has cut its curves so deep his eyes are scrunched up like he's in pain. Cloud couldn't hide his feelings with a shovel, a pile of dirt and a very deep hole in the ground.

"I know."

The worry lines ease, but only slightly. "You do? What is it?"

"I don't know _that_, I just know something's bothering him." She looks at the book, not because it's interesting, but because it's easier than meeting Cloud's eyes. "It has been ever since he took that trip with Merlin."

"Oh. Well what should we do about it?"

Aerith sighs. Like it's that simple? "I think we have to ask Merlin what happened out there, because Zack isn't talking, and this is getting ridiculous. He won't stay in a room with me for more than five minutes unless he's forced, and even then he fidgets like he has fleas until he's allowed to go."

"Me too." Cloud stares disconsolately out of the window, as though trying to bore a hole in the air out there. "It's been like this for weeks."

As if Aerith needs reminding. Zack is the kind of person for whom the phrase 'full of beans' was invented, but lately his energy has channelled more into restiveness. It reminds her far too much of life just after Sephiroth, Genesis and Angeal, when she nursed private fears that he'd make good on his childhood promise to leave Hollow Bastion and join the military.

"What do you think could've _happened_?" Cloud asks. "He said it was just a research trip."

"He also says he's fine. We can't trust what he says on this one – when he's saying anything and not just grunting or running away." And isn't _that _on it's own cause for alarm? Zack never runs. It's one of the things she always worried would get him killed when he went off fighting monsters. Aerith turns the book to face her. "What's this?"

"Chicha sent it for Yuffie."

"It's not more fairytales, is it?" They've endured three weeks of rants, raves and incessant muttering about the misogyny of fairytales, and how Yuffie's first writing project is going to be a story about a ninja princess who travels the world searching for treasure without once settling down with any moth-eaten prince.

"There might not even _be_ a prince in my anti-fairytale," Yuffie said yesterday, doing a headstand against the wall even though Aerith told her not to. Apparently being upside down helps her creative juices to flow in the right direction. Personally, Aerith reckons Yuffie just likes making dirty marks on the walls and then using them like tea-leaves. She's been trying to see omens and hidden signs in everything ever since she went to that fortune-teller. "Or if there is, he'll be an evil one. Yeah, he'll be all beautiful and worthy and junk, but then he'll turn evil and be the bad guy, and it'll be up to the not-at-all-soppy-but-totally-independent-and-kick-ass ninja princess to save the world from him."

"Save the _world_?"

"Sure. Why settle for small potatoes? There's never enough world-saving in fairytales, but in mine the evil prince is gonna, um – yeah, he's gonna fling a big rock at the ninja princess's kingdom because it's the centre of the world, and she has to protect her people from it because all the men are too scared and hiding under their beds and whimpering for their mommies like the big wusses they are. And while they're all pissing themselves in fear she'll ride out (but not on a chocobo because she eats chocobos with barbeque sauce) and, like, totally smash the big rock with a, um, giant magic spell she found on her travels. Yeah. A spell she got from _another_ kick-ass princess who lives in a lake, in the middle of a big shiny forest made of … candy-corn? No, silver trees! Which grow candy-corn! And the spell, like, mashes the evil prince into a million-billion-willion pieces and saves the world, and then the ninja princess goes home and nobody ever tells her she has to marry again because she's too kick-ass on her own."

"A big _rock_?"

"Don't get hung up on the small details. The point of the story is the independence of women. And besides, it'd be a _really_ big-ass rock. On fire. Shooting down from _space_."

Not even Yuffie's ramblings were enough to pull Zack back to normal for long, however. Aerith thinks back to how he listened and talked to Yuffie like everything was fine, but quickly got up to leave when Aerith came over to prise Yuffie's feet off the wallpaper. He went out to spar with Leon, which was nothing unusual, except even Leon has commented on how much more Zack wants to spar than usual. Aerith knows the truth: Zack just wants to be out of the apartment.

_He just wants to be away from us_.

The thought isn't a pleasant one, but it's unavoidable. Apart from just after Angeal died, Zack has always been such a friendly, outgoing character. His sudden caginess is alarming, because the only other time he acted this way was when he was in such intense pain from grief that he couldn't put it into words.

"It's called The Big Book of Adventure Stories," Cloud says, yanking Aerith back to the present. "Chicha said it's meant to be for boys, but since Yuffie's such a tomboy, and since she nearly talked Kuzco's ear off about how much she hates the fairytale book, Chicha thought it might be useful."

"That was nice of her." Aerith opens it at a random page but doesn't really focus.

There are pictures in this book; large water-colour illustrations of mountains and deserts and jungles. Intrepid adventurers scurry about in them, so tiny they're nearly lost in the wash of paint. In the first image gigantic green creepers loop around a struggling figure like snakes, while in another a strange creature with a hump and two riders on its back trots through a sandy wasteland. Further on, a skinny little shirtless boy dives looking for pearls while a shark watches from the blue-grey shadows. Aerith focuses long enough to wonder how Yuffie will react to all the stories being about boys, but her mind immediately wanders away again.

"When do you want to go and see Merlin?" Cloud asks.

"I'll go when I know Zack's not there." Aerith thinks carefully. "If you could keep him busy this afternoon, I'll go then."

"But I wanted to come too."

"It makes more sense this way. you can spar with him or something. What can I bribe him with: shared darning? Replanting dahlias together? Baking a cake?" She shakes her head.

"Unless you hadn't noticed, Zack hasn't exactly been cutting me in on his sparring sessions lately. Considering how he practically bullied me into them in the first place …"

"Yeah, I know," Aerith concedes. "Weird. Maybe Leon will help keep him occupied for a while. Or Tifa. He doesn't seem to mind talking to her." She carefully keeps the bitter tone from her voice, it's not difficult. Tifa is as worried as the rest of them.

"You guys have always been so close," she said a few days earlier, when Zack joined her in her _kata_ and then went for an additional jog while she came upstairs to shower off. "It's … odd."

_Odd, _Aerith thinks. _That's one word for it. _"If something bad happened in Ambleton and Zack doesn't want to talk to us about it, he may be angry about us snooping around behind his back. But if he refuses to talk about it, even when we ask, what else are we supposed to do? We're worried about him." She doesn't need to consult with Cloud to use the pronoun 'we'. She knows instinctively that her shares her feelings.

Even so, Cloud isn't pleased at the idea of subterfuge. Cloud is honesty personified. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Truthfully? No. But answer me this: when you asked what was wrong, did he answer you?"

"No."

"Me neither." Not any of the times she asked, until she feels like a nagging wife chasing a henpecked husband with a broom. "If Zack's hurting, I'm willing to compromise a few morals to help him."

Cloud can't argue with that.

They arrange for him to intercept Zack at the entrance to the sewer system where he and Leon have recently taken to sparring – Zack's idea, probably so he can _really_ avoid his friends by hiding out underground. Yet another symptom that something is Not Right. Zack is a child of the sun; he hates to be cooped up indoors for too long. Voluntarily hiding away in a dark smelly tunnel, with Traverse Town's waste scooting past his ankles when he and Leon inevitably take their fight into the shallows … Not Right. Not Right At All.

However, though Cloud is successful in keeping Zack out of the way, Aerith's visit to Merlin reaps no results. Merlin just strokes his beard and frowns.

"No, nothing untoward occurred in Ambleton, unless you consider the lack of success in my research. Young Mr. Fair seemed happy, though he did complain of boredom several times when he thought I could not hear him. He did seem a little reticent on the way home, but I put this down to tiredness. I believe he didn't get much sleep in preparation for the long walk. Foolish boy."

"So he only went weird when he was coming back to see _us_?" Cloud asks in dismay when Aerith repeats this. "He's okay with the others. It's just being around you and me that makes him clam up. This afternoon he insisted Leon come with us when I suggested we visit Chicha to say thank you for the book, even though Leon wanted to go on patrol. It was like he was scared to be alone with me. Aerith, what's _happened_ to him?"

Aerith can't answer. She can't even begin to think what might have happened to make Zack suddenly ... what? Afraid of his two closest friends? Not trust them anymore? What other reasons could there be for him to not want to be alone with them? Half the time it's like he's running scared and the other half he's avoiding their eyes like he's hiding – or ashamed of – something. Cloud is right: what could have happened to him to make him suddenly distance himself from them?

Cloud's story reminds her of how Zack asked Yuffie not to go out when he, she and Aerith were the only ones home. Cloud hasn't touched the Buster Sword in almost a month. He had to ask Yuffie to spar with him so his skills stay practised, since Zack is constantly monopolising Leon's training time.

"It's Kairi's birthday the day after tomorrow," Aerith says at last. "Maybe he'll perk up for that. Perhaps he's just … forgotten to get her a present. Or something." The words sound stupid even to her ears.

Cloud doesn't sound like he believes it either. "Maybe."

* * *

Kairi's birthday comes and goes. Zack smiles and laughs during the mini party they set up for her, greeting Chicha, Kuzco and baby Pacha warmly, and even pecking Chicha on the cheek.

"Charmer. You girls had better keep hold of him," Chicha chuckles, "or I may grab him for myself." She doesn't mean it. Chicha is still devoted to her dead husband.

The party passes and both Kairi and Pacha fall asleep before it's done. Kairi spends most of the time demanding to hold the baby, ignoring her presents once she's opened them and following Chicha around saying, "I'm a big girl now. I hold Pacha. I'm a big girl now. I hold Pacha." When she finally does nod off it's on the sofa, face waffled against Chicha's arm as she tries to get closer to the tiny bundle. The party breaks up only when Pacha wakes, creates a nasty smell, and Chicha decides to take him home to change rather than expose everyone to her son's dirty nappy. Leon leaves soon after, the rampant festivities proving too much for him. Kairi wakes and becomes a little tearful that she never got to hold Pacha, but brightens when Yuffie twirls her around. They sit together in the corner, Yuffie spinning wild tales of ninja princesses. Kairi is enraptured by the rise and fall of her voice and hands – and the cake icing Yuffie graciously shares.

None of it helps to determine what's up with Zack, or to pull him out of it. While Yuffie entertains Kairi, and Zack escorts Chicha and Kuzco home, Aerith, Cloud and Tifa draw close and confer what to do next.

They're no closer to figuring it out when Zack arrives home, nor the next day, nor the day after that. Each of them tries to confront him, but one way or another he escapes them and their questions.

A week after Kairi's party, Cloud is summoned to Madame Medusa's shop. He returns home to tell his friends that he's to go back to Mosey City and pick up another order, based on the success of the first. This time, however, he's to take a few dresses with him to give to Esmeralda, and competition with the talented younger dressmaker means Madame Medusa wants him to leave first thing in the morning.

"I don't want to go with Zack still being so weird, but she got pretty insistent. She even threatened to beat me with her crutch, and I saw Mr. Snoops sort of … well, _cowering._" Cloud frowns."He was all covered in bruises. I think she gets pretty generous with that crutch. So I told her I'd think about it."

Aerith pushes him in the chest, sending him back a step. "Don't be silly, you have to go. You'll enjoy seeing Esmeralda, and it'll do you good to get away from this atmosphere for a couple of days."

"But Zack -"

"Isn't going anywhere." _I hope_. "After all this time of it sticking around, I don't think whatever's the matter will suddenly go away just because you've got a job to do."

"But -"

"Cloud, go. We'll be fine. _Zack_ will be fine." Aerith chews the inside of her cheek. _I __**really **__hope._

* * *

Cid wanders into the workshop with a bemused expression. The sawing and hammering from upstairs will be over soon, when the moogles have finished building their extension, but until then it's still so loud that Tifa has brought in a radio to drown it out. Music billows through the room, cushioning against one cacophony with another. Cid rubs at the back of his hair and comes to lean on the engine under which a pair of boots can just about be seen. Still looking bewildered, he raps his knuckles on the metal.

"Hey, Tifa, get the fuck out here."

Tifa's feet jerk at the clang. She wheels out her body-board to frown up at him. She didn't hear him come in because of the music. "What?" she yells. "Hang on, let me just -" In a thoroughly gymnastic manoeuvre, she levels her body into a half-sitting position using just her stomach muscles, and reaches up and behind her to turn down the volume. "There. Now, what is it?"

"Just had a customer."

"You nearly gave me a heart attack for that?"

"Wise-ass."

"Hey, you're the one who said I had to fix a Gummi Ship engine together after you took it apart before you'd let me fly -"

"Shut your mouth for a second and listen. It was that retard wuss-features, Mr. Snoops."

Tifa sighs, knowing she won't be allowed to get back to her task until she hears Cid out. "What did he want? Has he finally decided to leave her and asked you for blocks to build a Gummi Ship so he can get as far away from her as possible? Or is he going to lock her into the cockpit, point her in a direction and leave a brick on the accelerator."

"Ha fucking ha. Fuck knows why, but he actually seems to love the damn woman, so I can't see that happening anytime soon. Although _I've_ got some spare bricks lying around that the moogles didn't use …" Cid rubs his bristles thoughtfully.

"Ci-id!"

"Huh? Oh, right. No, he didn't wanna buy nuthin', just gave me a message. For Leon."

"What?"

"Yeah, that was pretty much what I said. It went," he holds out a scrap of paper, squinting at it because he refuses to wear his glasses since they make him look old, "'Thank you for having a word with my wife. I appreciate the effort, but I think cutting her crutch in half was a bit extreme. Our household has been quite peaceful since your visit, for which I am grateful, though I'm still not sure how you knew to visit us when you did. My injuries are healing quite nicely, thank you. I have not walked into any more doors or fallen down any more staircases. It is therefore my duty, I feel, to inform you that you are free to dispose of any packages my wife may send you, as they all contain the same thing and, judging by the way you reacted to her advances when she bid you goodbye, I do not think you would be interested in their contents. If you would send them back to me I would be grateful, but I will leave their ultimate fate to your discretion. Thank you again, J. F. Snoops.'"

Tifa looks blankly at Cid. "Leon went to see Madame Medusa?"

"Yup."

"Cloud did go and speak to him before he left for Mosey City …" Her expression becomes contemplative. "I guess he thought, since Leon is the closest Traverse Town has to a law-keeper, domestic abuse is right up his alley. Leon cut her _crutch_ in half? She must've really gotten under his skin."

"I think she wanted to get under his clothes, more like. If this means what I think it does, I've _had_ the kind of packages that are headed the kid's way. Poor bastard. I burned 'em all once I learned to recognise the carrier pigeon she was using. I woulda shot the fucker outta the sky, too, but it didn't do nuthin' wrong 'cept get hired by the wrong person. The Pigeon Trainers would never forgive me for carking one of their damn birds. Plus it'd be shameful to kill off aerodynamics like that."

"What … kind of packages are we talking about?"

Cid glows faintly with embarrassment and mumbles.

"What?" Tifa raises herself onto one elbow like the small closing of distance between them will help. "Her mother's hair?"

"No."

"What then?"

"For a smart girl, you can be fucking dense sometimes. I said her _underwear_."

Tifa's eyes widen, and a hand flies to her mouth. "And she's … ew … are they … but … _eww_! To _Leon_? But what … Mr. Snoops … he _knows_?"

"Apparently."

"Why doesn't he stop her? Doesn't he _care_?"

"Enough to send a note so the kid don't get psychologically scarred by opening one of these packages all unsuspecting-like."

"That's not what I meant. Madame Medusa may be a cranky old witch, but she's still his wife."

"Exactly."

Tifa blinks, nonplussed. "I – what?"

"The man loves her."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Love don't have to make no sense, girl. That's its best and worst feature – for the crap-heads involved and the people on the fringes, like us, who get caught in the blast radius. Some poetic fucktards say love makes the world go round, but all I can say to that is: so does concussion." Cid waves the note. "I just thought you might like to hear about this. Plus telling you lets me know it was all real. I guess I'm in for some pretty lean days ahead if that woman's got the hots for the kid now instead of me." His expression is anything but disappointed.

Tifa's brain clunks like a compressed spring suddenly popping back up. "You just wanted to crow, didn't you?"

"Damn skippy."

* * *

Cloud makes sure his chocobo is tied up tightly to the newly installed post outside Esmeralda's shop before going in. Even when he's halfway over the threshold, he's still wagging his finger at it, trying to exact promises that will never come.

"Don't wander off with strangers, don't follow pretty tails into dark alleys, and _don't_ get yourself stolen again."

"Warrrrrrk!"

Djali hits Cloud in the stomach like a furry grey bullet. Laying on his back, half in and half out of the shop, with the goat licking his face, Cloud could swear he hears the very first ever laughing chocobo. It sounds like a hyena dying of thirst in a metal pipe.

"Cloud! Are you okay?" The weight on his chest vanishes. "Cloud?"

"M'fine," he wheezes. "Didn' need tha' lung 'nyhow…"

Esmeralda peers down at him. "Djali was just pleased to see you. That's actually an honour. Usually he hates anyone who isn't me."

"I'm … flattered." Cloud coughs and rolls onto his side. "But could you teach him to shake hands in future? Shake hooves, I mean. Or … oh whatever."

Djali bleats indignantly, as if to say 'I'm not a dog, you idiot', and butts his arm. Cloud scratches the bony protuberance between his horns, finding the skin there of a strange texture – warm but with no pulse or squishiness like flesh. His fingers draw back and find an ear to fondle instead. Djali bleats again, this time with pleasure, before he grips Cloud's sleeve between his teeth and gently tugs him into the shop.

Esmeralda doesn't twitter, but she talks about all that's happened since his first trip to Mosey City. She treats Cloud like an old and trusted friend instead of someone she's only met twice. She darts around the shop, plucking down clothes to show him as she relates stories and dances about as if with invisible partners. At one point Djali prances in and out of her ankles, and it looks as though they'll be tangled up, but they deftly avoid each other like they've performed the steps a thousand times before – which, perhaps, they have. Cloud wonders whether this is what Esmeralda looked like when she used to dance on the street for money.

Eventually, however, the dancing slows. Esmeralda looks at him like she's just now realising he's there. "You've barely said a thing, Cloud."

"I was just listening to you talk."

"Hm." She bundles up a spool of yellow ribbon and slots it into place on a high shelf, then turns to face him, hands on hips. "Food. Then you're going to tell me where you left your smile."

Since it's so much on his mind anyway, and Esmeralda has a knack for teasing information out of him, it doesn't take long before Cloud has told her everything.

"Zack's a hero. I mean _really_. He probably thinks he's protecting us by not telling us about whatever happened to him, but all he's really doing is making us worry more."

Esmeralda becomes more and more sober as Cloud talks. Her cheerful mood wreathes itself in shadows and contemplation. She stares into her teacup, swilling the last cold dregs.

"I'm sorry," Cloud apologises at once. "I didn't mean to bring you down so much. You don't even know Zack. This isn't your problem. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm only here as a delivery boy -"

"You're also here as a friend, and friends help each other when they're in a pinch."

Cloud looks up, startled that she considers him a friend so easily.

Esmeralda's gaze stays on her teacup. When she speaks her voice is low. "Friends also shouldn't needlessly worry each other. If it was me, I'd just march up to the guy and demand to know what's going on. Possibly I'd also smack him with my tambourine to make him stay put long enough to hear me out, and to actually _answer_, but that doesn't seem like your style."

"No. I don't have a tambourine."

She looks up at that. Her lips curve into a smile. "I could lend you one, if you think that'd work."

Cloud sighs. The humour of the moment is fleeting. He feels like a heel for bringing the mood crashing down again, but he just can't help it. Concern for Zack occupied his mind every step of the way from Traverse Town, and it isn't about to let up its grip now. "I'm sorry. I wish I could be better company."

"You apologise too much. He must mean a lot to you, for you to be this off-colour."

"He does. He's my best friend. Well, apart from Aerith, and she's as worried about him as I am. It's not _like_ him to not _talk_ to us." Cloud examines his own teacup, empty apart from a thin brown sheen at the bottom. He hates cold tea and always slugs it back in a few gulps as soon as it's cooled enough not to scald. "He's saved my life more times than I can count. I've saved his a couple, as well, and Aerith has saved us both, like we've each saved her. It's a big save-a-thon. None of us would _be_ here if it weren't for the others."

"So it must hurt that he's shutting you out."

Hurt? Yes, Cloud reflects. There's worry inside him over Zack's strangeness, but there's also hurt as well; selfish under his skin, but crude and earthy and completely undeniable. It feels like Zack doesn't trust them enough to tell them what's going on, and especially given their history, that _hurts_.

Esmeralda reaches down without looking and strokes Djali, who has come to lean against her leg. "I have a friend who doesn't like talking about stuff that bothers him. He was born a bit different, and he constantly thinks that makes him worth less than everybody else – which is ridiculous because he's worth at least ten of the average person on the street. Whenever he gets cagey I know somebody's said something to hurt him, and all I want to do is wade in and defend him, but I know that if I do that every time he'll never come to accept himself for who he is. He'll always think he's less of a person than me, or the people who hurt him, or anybody else, because defending him implies he's weaker and that there's something not normal about him that _needs_ defending. So sometimes, even though it goes against what I really _want_ to do, I know I have to leave him alone. I have to let him deal with it himself, just to prove to himself that he can. The best I can do in those situations is be there for him, to tell him he's perfect just the way he is, instead of fighting his battles for him. _That's_ more about making _myself_ feel better, not him. It's the harder option not to do anything."

"So … are you saying I should just leave Zack alone?" Cloud asks, eager for someone to tell him what to do. He'll admit it; he needs guidance on this one. If he were in Hollow Bastion he probably would've turned to his mother. Her world-weariness often made her edgy and sharp, yet he also remembers her wide-eyed vulnerability the first time she saw a Heartless. Prickly or vulnerable, he could always rely on her for advice when he needed it.

Since coming to this world he has forced himself not to think about her, except to imagine her escaping with Aerith's mother and Tifa's father. Now, though, with the weight of this new problem, he feel her absence like a physical ache.

_The hell? What kind of weakling wants their mommy when things get tough? _Cloud's hand tightens into a fist.

Esmeralda is not Dala Strife, but if she's offering advice, Cloud will take it.

Yet Esmeralda simply continues to stroke Djali in slow, rhythmic movements. "I'm just telling you about a similar situation. What you do with my story is up to you. You know your Zack much better than I do. He's _your_ friend, so only you can judge whether he'd react the same way as Quasi wou– oh, damn."

"Quasi?" Cloud sifts through his scattered thoughts to find the thread attached to the name, and reels in a thrashing memory. "Quasimodo? The guy who convinced the Thief King to give me back my chocobo?"

"Yeah." Esmeralda sounds uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Like I said, he was born a bit different."

"I remember." The strangely shaped, awkward but strong body that hugged him is a touch-memory Cloud doesn't think he'll ever forget. He suspects there's more to it than that, but since he's only ever seen Quasimodo with his face covered, or while wearing a blindfold, he may never know the whole truth of it. "He lives underground in the Thief King's lair, doesn't he?"

"He lives in the Court of Miracles all year round, unlike the rest of the Thief King's 'courtiers', who move to the safe houses when they're … well, safe. He doesn't _need_ to, but he prefers being down there. He says it makes him feel more secure." She rolls her shoulders, which might be a shrug, but could just as easily be to ease a crick in her spine. "He gets attacked a lot when he goes aboveground. People … they get frightened of him. It sets him back every time it happens."

"He's that badly deformed?"

She nods. "I don't think you understand how beneficial it was when you rode in to rescue him. You're the first person unconnected to the Court who's ever shown Quasi kindness. The Thief King took him in not long before I joined his crew, but Quasi was never going to make it as a pick-pocket even without his … problems. He went through a couple of family members, all of them either cruel, or abusive, or both, before he was tossed out onto the street where the Thief King found him. For the first couple of years he barely ventured out at _all_. He was convinced that if he did, he'd be burned at the stake, or chased out of town, or something stupid like that. His family did as real number on his head." She shakes her head in disgust at the lies planted in his mind by those who were supposed to care for him. "Quasi's the sweetest, most caring person you'll ever meet. He's spent years working to overcome his childhood but …" Another shoulder-roll. This time it really is a shrug. "Mosey wasn't built in a day. He still shuts everybody out sometimes. I feel guilty that I didn't think of what me leaving the Court would do to him. We've been spending a lot of time together since I went back down there with you."

"I'm glad my grumpy chocobo and I were able to help."

Esmeralda smiles. "So now it's our turn to help you with your problems."

"You already did that when you helped me with the Thief King -"

"No, helping you forced me to go back and face what I'd been running from, and I got _my_ best friends back because of it. It's only fair that I should try and help you get your friend back in return." She frowns. "Now if only I can figure out _how_."

They talk for a good few minutes, but Esmeralda still can't think what to suggest other than what she's already said.

"I feel about as useful as a coat with long pockets for a man with short arms."

"It's okay. You were right before – _I'm_ Zack's friend, so _I _have to figure out the best way to help him."

"You really think he's been hurt?"

"I don't know what else could've happened to change him this much. It's like … he's ashamed of whatever happened, which just makes me think of bad things until I can't stop. If something – or some_one_ – _has_ hurt him …" Sudden anger stirs within Cloud, coiling in his stomach. The whole boiling mass rises into his chest like indigestion, to wrap around his heart and blend them together in a corrosive black stew. If someone _has_ hurt Zack, then soft and gentle Cloud's vengeance will be swift, terrible and completely merciless –

"Uh, Cloud? Cloud!"

"Huh?" His anger drains away as he refocuses: the seat of a pine chair under him, Esmeralda's messy kitchen around him, Djali butting his leg and Esmeralda herself leaning across the table to wave a hand in front of his face. "What?"

"You trailed off and then completely zoned out. You had the strangest look on your face, like you were in pain."

Djali bleats and plonks his front feet on Cloud's thigh. The untensed muscle moves, but Djali keep his footing and stares at Cloud with disturbing sharpness. Cloud can see himself reflected in the goat's eyes. He realises his cheeks are flushed and his forehead sweaty even though the kitchen is cool. He draws a wrist across his brow and it comes back wet, as though he's been running or fighting a fever.

Esmeralda frowns. "You don't look well." Before he can protest, she presses a hand against his forehead. "Hm, slightly warm. You look like you might be coming down with something."

"I feel fine," Cloud protests, and he does. He can't explain the sudden hot flush, but internally he feels no different – certainly not sick, just … really tired, actually.

"You don't look it." Esmeralda goes to the sink and pours a glass of water. "Drink this. If you _are_ sickening for something then you need to keep your fluid levels up."

Cloud sips slowly, waiting for his colour to return to normal. It doesn't. In fact, not only does the flush not fade, his tiredness increases. He stifles a yawn. His limbs feel heavy. When Esmeralda firmly suggests he take a nap on her couch, he doesn't protest. There's a pain in his chest, not major, but rather like bad heartburn.

"Maybe there was something wrong with that egg I used in your omelette," Esmeralda muses. "Or perhaps the ham was past its best …"

Cloud doesn't reply. The twinge is one that's been coming more often lately – usually when he's feeling particularly down or frustrated about Zack, when his heart sinks as his best friend turns away from him, or fizzes with anger that someone might have hurt him.

"My chocobo -" Cloud remembers as Djali, balancing on the sofa back, drags a blanket up to his chin.

"Will be fine," Esmeralda assures him. "I'll send a message for someone at the Cathedral Hotel to come and collect it, and then I'll walk you over there later. I can show you a few of the sights Mosey has to offer, since you didn't experience any culture last time. Despite what a lot of people will tell you, Mosey City _does _have some culture in it, not just thieves, pollution and politics …"

Cloud drifts off to the lilt of her voice. He's not sure how long he sleeps. It must be quite deep, because when he finally rouses himself, tacky-eyed and gluey-throated, there's someone bending over him who wasn't even in the building before.

"Wha?" Cloud says intelligently. "Whoa!"

The person must not have expected him to wake up that soon. It has its face so close to Cloud's that Cloud can only see a glimpse of eye, huge eyebrow and a slightly piggish nose. That and the heavy breathing, like a dog with a squashed-up snout and long jowls, startles him. The figure jumps back with a yelp to mirror his own.

"Who are you?" Cloud demands, leaping to his feet and into a ready position. His body slides into what Tifa, Leon and Zack have taught him like it's natural. He's ready to defend Esmeralda's home like it's his own before he has even properly processed what's going on. "What are you doing here? Where are Esmeralda and Djali?"

The figure is half-turned away, keeping its face covered with arms and cloak. All Cloud can really tell of its identity is that it's short, wide and … trembling?

He blinks. Very few times in his life has anybody ever been scared of him. It's not a feeling he enjoys, since those times were all bad. His fists drop uncertainly to his sides.

"Uh…" he starts, until Esmeralda skids through the doorway from the kitchen.

"Cloud, wait! He's a friend!"

"Uh…" Cloud says again, confusion sending him soaring to the heights of eloquence. "Huh?"

"Quasi, I _told_ you not to wake him."

Quasi? "Quasimodo?"

The figure lowers the cloak a little, revealing a mop of reddish-brown hair and one eye. It's a normal eye. It doesn't glow red, or shoot sparks, or try to laser him to death. It just blinks at him, curious and not a little wary. "Hello, Cloud Strife."

"What are you -? I'm confused." Cloud unclenches both fists and scrubs at the back of his head, rumpling his bed-hair even more. Evidently his sleep was not a peaceful one, judging by the mass of knots and tangles.

"You've been asleep for hours, Cloud." Esmeralda's thumb has a thimble on it. The front of her skirt is covered in snippets of thread and staticky fabric. Evidently he was asleep long enough for her to get on with some work.

"I came to see Esmeralda and she told me you were here," Quasimodo says. His tone evokes apology. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I was going to wait for you to wake up on your own, but you were moaning in your sleep. I was concerned. You looked like you were having a nightmare. I didn't mean to startle you."

"I … that's okay. I think." _Was I dreaming? _Cloud wonders. _I don't remember_. "You don't have to hide from me anymore. I'm not going to hurt you or anything; I was working on autopilot just now, but I'm not really dangerous." He holds up both hands to show he's not brandishing any weapons. "See?"

Quasimodo's one visible eye flicks to Esmeralda, who nods. Slowly, and with a great deal of uncertainty, he lowers his cloak.

Cloud's breath catches in his throat for a second. Esmeralda _said_ he was deformed. Or ... no, it was Cloud who used that word, she just said Quasimodo was 'born a bit different'. Which is a huge understatement now that Cloud actually sees him. Quasimodo is human, inasmuch as he has human anatomy, but he looks like he was put together by someone who jumbled a bunch of spare parts together in a sack with some glue, and then plunked life into him without first checking what they looked like.

_Born a bit different._ Cloud's first instinctive reaction is revulsion – at least until his mind hammers nails through his feet and orders him to stop being a hypocrite. It summons images of Dr. Shalua Rui, mutilated by a monster attack so nobody would ever look at her as more than a person with female parts attached like an afterthought. Dr. Rui saved his life before, and the lives of so many people in Hollow Bastion. She was noble and kind, no matter her appearance.

Then comes Aerith, and the pictures of Rinoa he's constructed from stories, neither of whom were born deformed but were still 'born a bit different'. He thinks about how many years Aerith spent living in fear of people discovering her magic and running in fear from her, or worse.

And finally Kairi's familiar red hair and blue eyes rise into Cloud's mind. He imagines her smiling at him. She holds out her arms like any two-year-old girl, masking the fact that, despite exhibiting no sign of it since the Heartless attack in Hollow Bastion, she could also have been 'born a bit different'.

Cloud's love for all these people glimmers through the images like sunshine behind slides, dwarfing the things that make them different and frightening.

None of them are evil or scary. Kairi and Aerith are so precious to Cloud, and Leon loved Rinoa beyond sense or reason. Even Dr. Rui's sister, Shelke, loved her enough to sacrifice her own independence to make sure Shalua's career was a success.

Quasimodo was _trembling_, as though he expected Cloud to pick up one of Esmeralda's knickknacks and hurl it. How many times has he had things thrown at him when people see his face?Cloud's instinctively kind nature throws reasons for him _not_ to be afraid into his front brain, and kicks his back brain and emotional receptors for lagging behind.

_This is the guy who you saved from being beaten up by three grown men. This is the guy who saved your bacon with the Thief King. This is Esmeralda's friend, who has issues with people reacting badly to his appearance. In a world where world-orphans include dragons, humanoid birds and blobs with eye, he thinks he has to live in a __**sewer**__ because of how he looks._

"_**Quasi's the sweetest, most caring person you'll ever meet. He's spent years working to overcome his childhood but … Mosey wasn't built in a day."**_

Cloud swallows and holds out his hand. "Hi. So we finally meet face-to-face."

Quasimodo looks at the proffered hand like it might bite him.

"Sheesh, Quasi." Esmeralda rolls her eyes. "You've _hugged_ him before. You can handle a handshake."

Tentatively, he grasps Cloud's hand. His grip is obviously strong, but hesitancy makes the handshake flaccid.

"_**You're the first person unconnected to the Court who's ever shown Quasi kindness."**_

Cloud grips Quasi's hand and shakes it with a smile. Part of him – which sounds a lot like Aerith and Zack, actually – cheers when Quasimodo returns it.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

'_Thank you again, J. F. Snoops.'_

-- Mr. Snoops was never given a first name in the film version of _The Rescuers_, but his voice actor was Joe Flynn (imdb. com/name/nm0283499/), hence 'J.F.'

* * *


	41. Adventures in Fortune Telling

* * *

**40. Adventures in Fortune-Telling**

* * *

_I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value._ -- Hermann Hesse

* * *

"But Yuffie, I don't _want _my fortune told-"

"Tough."

"That's the shortest sentence you've ever said."

"Whatever."

"Yuffie!"

"Quit whining like a baby, Hero."

"Or you'll beat me up with you super ninja skills and drag me there anyway?"

"No."

"No?"

"No need. We're here. Although actually, on second thoughts, that does sound like a pretty cool opportunity. You'd be unconscious and within my clutches, plus you're tall, you've got black hair and you have a scar on your face … hey, Zack, are you in love with me?"

"_What_?"

"Meh, forget it, I wouldn't want you anyway. Too much baggage. Plus you ate my cheesecake last week, which I completely haven't forgiven you for by the way." Yuffie gives him a pat on the cheek that's actually more of a slap and grins. "I guess I just slipped right through your fingers. Too bad. Better luck next time, lover boy."

Zack holds his face where she hit him. "Uh…" Not knowing what to say, he instead frowns up at the tent she's brought him to. "I asked if you wanted to spar for a little while, not visit a two-bit psychic -"

"He's not a psychic, he's a fortune-teller. And he's not two-bit, because that word has negative connotations implying fraud and deception, and he's one-hundred-percent legit. Genuine. Authentic. True. Real. Bona fide, even."

"Has Leon been getting you to read from the dictionary?"

"You're just jealous because my vocabulary's expanded so much recently, while yours is still stuck in the doldrums. Go on, ask me what doldrums are. I dare you."

The tent is quite large, striped red and white like a candy cane, with a wide flap held out in front on two poles, like a porch roof, and a curtain of beads strung across the entrance in place of a door. The sheer volume of beads means Zack can't see past to what's inside, but a musty-sweet scent, like burnt sugar, hangs in the air. Just to the left of the entrance stands a barrel. It's ostensibly to catch water, but the carved wooden cat licking its caved wooden paw on top of the closed lid denies any functionality. When the sun goes down and the (frankly dangerous) oil lanterns are lit, the cat will cast a huge imposing shadow on the rippling fabric. Everything about this place is for effect, and nothing is comfortable. You'd hardly believe it's someone's home.

"He's had a month to settle in and he's still living in a tent on the edge of town?" Zack asks.

"He says he likes it. It has _ambience_. And I know what ambience means, too, because I'm totally bad-ass and verbose now."

"You were always verbose, Yuffie, you just have more words to spend now."

She sticks out her tongue, then grabs his elbow and tugs him towards the entrance like a little kid at the fair dragging a parent to the candyfloss stall. "C'mon, you'll like him, I swear."

"You shouldn't swear. It's rude."

"Don't try to discourage me with puns, little man. My wicked-cool verbal skills far outmatch yours. Now _move_ before I kick your ass so hard you start farting out of your ears."

"But -"

She shoves him and he stumbles through the curtain.

"Finally! Yer as lang in tunin' yer pipes as another would play a spring, sir."

Zack looks around for the speaker. There's nobody in the gloomy interior, or at least that he can see, but that might have something to so with the cloud of incense and smoke making his eyes water. "Hello?"

"Doon here, y'great lummox."

Doon? Oh, down! Zack obliges.

It's testament to how long he's been in Traverse Town that the sight of a small black and white cat, walking upright and wearing brown boots and white gloves, doesn't shock him. The paper crown and red tablecloth tied around its neck like a cape are a bit of a surprise, though. Likewise the way it's tapping one foot and gesturing to an imaginary watch.

"I've been listenin' to the pair o' ye gabbin' ootside, an' I have to say, good sir, that I dinna appreciate the implication y'make o' my honesty. I'll have you know I've got all my back teeth."

"Uh…" Zack has no idea what to say to this. The humanoid cat he can handle, but the things coming out of its mouth have him stumped. "So … do I?"

The cat grins broadly. "Then we understand each other!"

_No we don't. _

"Never miscaw a Gordon i'the raws o' Strathbogie, as my mother always said. But I'm bleatin'. Come in, come in, an' sit yerselves doon a wee while. Yuffie, lass, I can see you hidin' back there."

Yuffie pops up at Zack's shoulder. "I'm not hiding. Trust me, Cait, if a ninja wants to hide you'd have no clue she was there. I was just biding my time and watching Hero get his first eyeful of a real live gen-u-ine fortune-teller."

"Aye? An' I suppose it's _his _fortune you'll be wantin' me to read today, not yer ain?"

"I already like the one you gave me. I'm totally not gonna muff it up by getting a newer, crappier one about walking under ladders and bad luck and junk. Leave me with my tall handsome guy and tell Zack what his future holds. And make it a good one. You can add in some stuff about him coming into money, if you like, so I can borrow cash for some new kunai. Cid just polished up a whole new batch and he put locks on the skylight because he's a big meanie, so I need actual money to -"

"Now wait a minute." Zack turns on his heel. Yuffie catches his wrist.

"He-ro," she whines. "It'll be fu-un. Come _on_, nobody else will come with me for this, and I want to know all about your futures too, 'cause I'm nosy and an interested third party and you're a real party-_pooper_ if you say no! With extra poopiness!"

"Yuffie, I just don't feel like it right n-"

"Come _on_! You've been as fun as a bag of wet sand for _week._ And frankly? It's so boring it actually makes my teeth hurt. All you ever want to do is spar, or play with Kairi, or go to Merlin's, or spar some more. I don't even understand why you're training so much. There hasn't been a Heartlerss attack in, like, _forever_. You can't beat the shit out of what's not there to beat the shit out of! 'Scuse my language, Cait."

"I'll nae stop yer blethers as long as you don't mean anythin' cruel by it, lassie. But hold by, a second there. Heartless, y'say?" The little cat's ears rotate. His whiskers twitch. "Y'fight Heartless, laddie? Like wee Yuffie here?"

"I'm not wee, I'm big and strong and grr-ish! Watch me grr!" She releases Zack's wrist to strike a pose she imagines is intimidating, but just makes her look like a monkey who lost its banana.

"Well, yeah," Zack admits to the cat. "I do."

"But she said she was the sole defender of this township."

Zack shoots her a look.

Yuffie shrugs, not at all embarrassed. "So I bent the truth a little. He's a fortune-teller from a world of talking four-legged cats, humanoid two-legged cats, cat spirits, living cat _gods_ who can _sing _the freaking oceans to part, and he used to work for the king and eat roast peacock and suckling piglet and travel around on the back of a giant yeti as the king's mouthpiece until he retired. A _yeti. _I was competing to make myself sound more interesting."

"If yer agin' the Heartless then I'll do yer fortune for free, laddie. Wee bastards took my home. Anybody who lays intay 'em is a good fellah in my book." The cat holds out his hand. Zack has to bend down to shake it. "Cait Sith, fortune-teller extraordinaire, at yer service."

"Uh, Zack Fair. Pleased to meet you. But honestly, I'm fine not having my fortune told -"

"Nonsense. It's nae bother. I was expectin' Brer Rabbit to drop by, so I had the cards oot already. You'll do just as well."

"Cards?"

"Tarot cards." This said as if he should know.

"I … there wasn't much of anything like this where I came from, so I don't know much about … look, thanks for the offer, but I genuinely don't want my fortune told, so I'll just leave you in peace and let you get back to whatever it was you were doing before we got here."

Zack almost makes it outside this time. His fingertips are in fresh air – and then suddenly they're clasped in Yuffie's hands instead, the soft brown leather of her gloves rasping against his bare fingers.

"Why are you so against this?" she demands.

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Just because."

"That's not a reason! That's a sucktastic _non_-reason people give when they don't want to say the real reason!"

"Yuffie, just leave it." Zack's voice comes out wearier than intended.

The truth is, he doesn't want to have his fortune told for two reasons. Firstly, he's half-convinced that Cait Sith is a con-artist. Zack has worked with Merlin long enough to recognise real magic, and there's nothing in here or about the little cat that suggests anything but showmanship. Maybe in Cait's own world this sort of thing could pass for real magic, but Zack has seen too much to be fooled by incense, beads and chanting. Secondly, even if Cait _is_ the real deal, Zack doesn't want to know what his future holds because the prospect is just too depressing.

After trying fruitlessly for weeks to district himself from his problems, he doesn't want it confirmed that he's either destined to ruin the cornerstone of his life, his friendship with Aerith and Cloud, or live out the rest of his days biting his tongue about his true feelings for them. He can't foresee himself being happy either way, and doesn't need it corroborated.

Yuffie, however, knows none of this. She treats the situation with her usual flair for insensitivity and impudence. "You can't order me around, Hero. I'm a ninja princess, remember? I outrank you."

"Yuffie -"

"Cait, break out the tarot cards." Moving so fast even Zack barely sees her, Yuffie does something complicated with her knees and elbows, and he suddenly finds himself flat on the floor, being dragged by his legs to a small round table with a crystal ball on it. Yuffie has one foot under either arm. "I'll hold him down if I have to. This has become a point of principle. You're going to open your mind and give this a chance, Hero-"

"Yuffie!" Zack breaks her hold and rolls to his feet, suddenly angry with her. The frustration of recent events boils up inside him and he lets it rip in a glare so ferocious it could strip chrome from steel. "I am _not_," he growls, "having my _fucking_ fortune told."

Yuffie doesn't look shocked in the traditional sense. She keeps her grin. Not even her eyebrows raise. She reacts less to the fact Zack's hand is wrapped around the Buster Sword's hilt than _he_ does. However, there's a slight quirk in her eyelids that suggests them widening. Her shoulders push back a little, not quite thrusting out her chest, but at least making her stance more solid.

"You cussed," she says, deceptively mild.

There's a moment where the situation could go one of several ways. Then Zack's fingers uncurl from the hilt and his arm drops to his side.

"You never cuss."

He deflates like a balloon at a porcupine convention.

Cait Sith is pressed against the back curtain, as though terrified they're going to start beating the snot out of each other right there and destroy his tent. That's the problem with living in something so flimsy – although if Zack and Yuffie ever _did_ cut loose they could probably destroy a brick building just as easily.

"There's no need to be so abstraklous, laddie," Cait says in a somewhat strangled voice. He probably didn't expect two of Traverse Town's _defenders_ to threaten his home. "If yer that agin' it, y'can go. I'll nae stop you."

"I might," Yuffie says, still in that weirdly mild voice. "Although I might do it just so I can kick you in the head and stamp on your stomach. Maybe then you'll vomit up what's been eating you alive so bad you've changed personalities. You must've swapped yours, 'cause you've always been this big happy-smiley-smiley guy. Go see Zacky-poo, he'll cheer you up. Cheesy grin guy; the one who laughs at his own jokes and thinks it's genuinely fun to run around with your arms out making engine noises, even when Kairi's not around to pretend for. That's how you're supposed to be. Only you went and lost him someplace and picked up this new character, which is total crap-in-a-can. This new Zack is an asshole, and he's making everybody's lives a misery with his total assholiness."

Zack deflates so much he's practically a bag of empty skin on the floor. "I'm sorry, Yuffie," he says, and means it.

"Meh." She shrugs. "It's not me you should be apologising to, Zack-the-Asshole. Zack-the-Misery-Guts. Zack-Who's-Making-His-Bestest-Best-Friends-in-the-Whole-World-Go-Stir-Crazy-With-Worry-About-Him-While-He-Plays-the-Wounded-Soldier. I brought you out here today to give you a break, because you're running yourself into the ground for no good reason that the others can see."

"And you can?"

She waves a careless hand, as though this is too obvious to need an answer. "I'm sick of sparring with you. I'm not your freaking stress ball, and neither are Tifa or Leon – although if you ask him he'll just go all dot-dot-dot on you because he's really freaking familiar with being a manly man in manly pain and not talking about it. He seems to think it's okay, the big fat idiot. But I'm _not_ a manly man, and I _don't _think it's okay, so I'm _telling _you that you're being an asshole, and that I'm not going to be your … your _enabler _anymore."

"My what?"

"Your enabler. Someone who just sits back and makes it easy for someone they care about to be a dumb-ass rather than kick his dumb ass until it's clever again. So, Zacky-poo, the buck stops here." She point at the floor, as though the word 'here' will suddenly appear in a bolt of blazing light. She even stamps her foot. "I don't want to take home Zack-the-Asshole, so hang him on a hook and wave him buh-bye." Her eyes burn with something Zack can't put a name to.

He straightens up. His eyes slide to Cait Sith. He heaves a sigh. "Would you like me to go, or are you still up for that tarot reading?"

Yuffie grins. "Atta boy."

Cait, however, is less confident. His first impression of Zack is shot. His throat bobs nervously as he talks. "Dinna fash yersel'. As I said, the cards are all laid oot already. If yer willin', I'm willin'. Just, uh … could ye both nae try t'be killin' each other anymore? I'm a peaceable feline at heart, y'see…"

"Don't worry, this was really unusual. I've just been…" Zack pauses, glancing at Yuffie and wondering just how much she knows under her grin. She can be surprisingly insightful, despite her goofiness. "I haven't been myself lately."

Cait still doesn't look convinced. Still, to his credit he climbs onto the cushions piled on his chair and Zack slides into the seat on the opposite side of the table. Or maybe the pull of payment overcomes even mortal fear of men with long swords and short tempers.

A pile of rectangular cards sit between them, just to one side of the crystal ball. The crystal refracts light into dozens of tiny rainbows on the white tablecloth. The effect is beautiful, like being inside a soap bubble, but vanishes when Cait moves the ball away to allow the cards centre stage.

This may all be a bunch of hokum, but Yuffie's right; Zack shouldn't be taking his frustration out on her, or anybody else. If she finds this sort of thing fun, then as her friend the least he can do is play along. Plus, this is at least a distraction from her reminder that he's been shutting Cloud and Aerith out lately.

"We're usin' my favourite pack today; one o' the only two I was able to bring wi' me when those wee Heartless cretins took my world." Cait pushes the cards towards Zack. "If y'shuffle 'em an' cut 'em we can get started. While yer shufflin', think o' a question you'd dearly like the answer to, an' that'll be the focus o' the card spread that follows."

"Card spread?"

"The way they're picked oot an' laid oot even though I won't be able to see their faces."

Zack does as he's told, conscious of Yuffie peering over his shoulder. There's a three-legged stool beside him. she makes no move to sit down. It makes choosing his question embarrassing, since there's only one uppermost in his mind that he wants an answer to, and he doubts a pack of cardboard pictures will tell him what to do about it. Still, if he's playing along and he doesn't have to say it out loud …

_Should I tell either of my best friends how I really feel about them?_

When Zack cuts the deck the uppermost card in his hand depicts a huge, roaring black panther, balanced on its hind legs. Its eyes blaze like fire captured in rubies. A man rides on its back waving a blade as big as the Buster Sword. He's tanned and totally naked except for a loin-cloth and a helmet with horns on either side.

"That's yer significator," Cait informs him. "The card you've chosen t'represent yer soul, embody yer presence, an' be the guidin' force o' the readin'."

"So that's you in card form." Yuffie elbows Zack in the ribs. "Seems pretty appropriate with a big-ass sword like that, but you've got better hair. You could still do the shirtless thing, though. As long as you're not so shaggy around the chesticles. Ugh, so much _hair_. It's like he strapped a poodle to his front or something. Yuck."

Zack can feel the Buster Sword's presence curling around in the bottom of his mind like low mist, interested but sceptical at the same time – much like himself. He can make out most of what Cait is saying, though some of it involves translating his thick accent. What a world he must come from, where people talk like that. Sometimes he uses real words, and sometimes it sound like he's making it up as he goes along.

"The cards dinnae always mean what they seem to, lassie," Cait warns Yuffie, taking back the deck and sliding the topmost cards into a pattern on the tabletop. "Dinnae be fooled. An' you, laddie, dinna cuist away the cog when the coo flings."

Aaaand we're back to being incomprehensible. "Excuse me?"

Cait squints at him. "What is it wi' people aroond this town, that they cannae understand a fellow when he speaks? Ye've all got clogged ears, I swear. I said fer you not t'be fooled by the cards if they seem t'be sayin' sumthin' y'dinna like. They rarely mean what they first seem when the untrained eye takes a peep at 'em. Now then, yer significator is the Knight o' Swords."

"Is that good?" Yuffie asks eagerly. She's really into this, bobbing about like a fish straining on an angler's line.

"It's a card representin' bravery, heroic action, an' the strength an' dash o' a young man. It also signifies an impetuous rush into the unknown wi'oot fear. Does that sound like you, laddie?"

"It does! It so does!" Yuffie jumps up and down with glee. "See, I told you this wasn't just a crock of bull. Go on, Cait, what's next?"

"I've done a Celtic Cross spread for ye, laddie, since that's the simplest an' most popular tarot spread."

The nine cards on the table don't look much like a cross to Zack. They're more of a broken ladder shape, but he says nothing as Cait goes on.

"The tenth card is the centre o' the cross, which is nae visible in the spread, but is still important because it represents the atmosphere surroundin' the central issue – in this case the question y'asked of the tarot." He holds up a card with another figure riding a giant cat, this time a leopard with dappled black spots on a tan pelt. The rider is female and carries a spear in hands that look ready to throw it at the first person who ticks her off. "The Strength Card, signifyin' courage, determination, fortitude, conviction an' heroism. This card shows y'have an awareness of certain temptations, and the mental and physical abilities y'need to deal wi'yem. Y'want sumthin', but attainin' it'll come at considerable risk. There are hidden forces at work t'be challenged, an' you'll need a lot o' strength to endure what's comin' yer way, but if y'persevere you'll succeed in spite o' whatever obstacles y'think are standin' in yer path. Is there sumthin' y'really want, lad?"

Zack goes suddenly cold. His mouth is dry. When he swallows it's like two side of tacky meat rubbing together. Suddenly this doesn't seem so much like a bunch of hokum anymore – or maybe suddenly, at Cait's words, he doesn't _want_ it to be a bunch of hokum. "Maybe," he replies cagily.

Yuffie continues to bob about, but she's listening.

Cait nods. "The Strength Card as the centre card is a positive sign fer gettin' it."

"Go on," Zack says, forcing his voice to sound normal.

The Buster Sword spreads through his thoughts, warning him that this isn't real magic. This isn't like the magic that connects them, or the magic of the Cetra girl, or the Heartless, or even the old wizard. This is only parlour tricks. Putting his faith in it is just _asking _for trouble.

Zack knows this, but that doesn't stop him watching as Cait points to the first card in the spread.

"The card _visible_ at the centre o' the cross represents the obstacles standin' in the way o' you achievin' yer goal. This is the Three o' Pentacles, but it's reversed."

"Upside down," Yuffie translates.

"I can see that," Zack mutters.

"That means yer workin' against traditional ideas, as well as yer ain anxiety." Cait taps another card, depicting a man in full armour riding a huge tiger across open desert. "The card at the top o' the cross symbolises the best y'can hope to achieve wi'oot a dramatic change o' the way y'been conductin' yerself lately. Basically, if y'carry on the way y'have been, this is what's in store. Laddie, you pulled the Knight o' Wands for this 'un, which, when reversed like it is here, means discord, quarrelin', an' the break-up o' personal relationships." Cait squints at Zack. "Y'okay, laddie? Yer lookin' a mite peaky."

"I'm fine," Zack assures him, ignoring Yuffie's sideways look. "Carry on. Please."

"Hm." Cait studies the collection of cards before speaking again. "The card at the bottom o' the cross represents the foundation on which yer situation's based – basically, it represents where yer question's comin' from inside you. Five o' Swords is also known as the Defeat Card. It's another reversed one, which means an uncertain outlook, a chance o' loss or defeat, an' weakness. It can also mean possible misfortune befallin' a friend, seduction, and burial."

"Burial?" Yuffie's head snaps up. "You mean like at funerals? As in _dead people_?"

Zack says nothing. He doesn't know what to think about that.

"I only say what I see. Dinnae shoot the messenger. Remember what I said aboot not everythin' meanin' what it seems in tarot. Y'ever hear o' metaphor? Besides, that's just where yer question came from, laddie, nae where it's goin'. See this card here?"

Zack peers at it. The card under Cait's finger is the correct way up, and shows a beautiful woman with a cat's face, wearing a white dress and pouring water from one jug into another.

"The card at the left of the cross represents sumthin' that need t'be taken care o' somehow, like an impulse or a problem, or else it represents sumthin' that needs t'be released soon. This is the Temperance Card, which represents moderation, patience an' takin' things slow. It may possibly represent someone in yer life who's too mild an' gentle t'achieve their goals. It's also a card that means compatibility, fusion an' bein' a good influence."

"Hm. Someone too mild and gentle," Yuffie repeats. "I wonder who that could be. Any ideas, Hero? Can you think of anyone we know who could be described as 'too mild and gentle'? Anybody at all?"

"No," Zack replies flatly, though his mind is whirling.

"Raither spyle yer baur nor tine yer fier, lassie," Cait says in a voice that implies warning, even if Zack can't understand what the hell he just said.

"You have _got_ to teach me how they cuss where you come from, Cait," Yuffie says dreamily, tone totally different than the sly, coaxing one just used on Zack. "I'll bet you need a pint of phlegm just to tell people to get lost there."

Cait sniffs, nose high and prim. He continues on with Zack, as though she hasn't spoken, but Zack doesn't miss the furtive smile curling his lips, revealing two small fangs. It won't be long before Yuffie's insulting everyone so incomprehensibly they'll think she's actually paying them compliments.

"The card at the right o' the cross represents an approachin' influence, or sumthin' t'be embraced. Queen of Pentacles symbolises well-bein', extreme comfort, generosity, security, grace, dignity an' liberty. A noble soul who's generous an' charitable wi' more than jus' financial wealth, an' is willin' t'share that wi' others."

Yuffie examines the next card, practically pressing her nose to sniff it like the cat woman it portrays might. "She looks a little like Ponytail. Don't you think she looks like she has Ponytail's ponytail? She even has the same pink ribbon, though our Ponytail's is much shabbier. Do you know she never takes that damn thing off? And she sleeps with it under her pillow. I know, on account of how I saw her having a massive panic attack this one time she thought she'd lost it, and it'd only gone down between the headboard and the top of the mattress. She nearly had a coronary for nothing. Don't you think this lady looks like Ponytail, Hero?"

"Ahem, if I may be allowed t'coninue?" Cait intones. "The card at the base o' the staff in the Celtic Cross represents yer role or attitude, laddie. This is the Two o' Pentacles, sometimes also known as the Change Card. It represents difficulty in launchin' new projects, difficult situations arisin', new troubles, embarrassment, worries, an' concerns unlike any y'may ever have faced in yer life before." He points to the card of a woman wearing a leopard-skin cloak, bearing a razor-sharp sword in either hand. "The card second from the bottom o' the staff represents yer environment an' the people yer interactin' wi'. Two o' Swords, otherwise known as the Peace Card. This card's a right positive card, representin' balance, harmony an' affection."

Just two cards left now. Zack studies them. The first is a man wearing a helmet made from the skull of a giant wildcat, riding in a chariot pulled by two huge lions. The second is upside down, so Zack has to tip his head to make it out. A warrioress in a flowing purple robe stands with a jewel-pommelled sword in a hand that, upon closer inspection, is actually a cat's paw. A tail twists around from the back of her robe, and stabbed into the ground around her feet are six other swords.

"The card second from the top o' the staff represents yer hopes an' fears, or an unexpected element that'll come into play an' change the course o' yer whole problem," Cait intones, indicating the lions and their chariot. "The Chariot Card symbolises perseverance an' major effort. Possibly a voyage or journey. Rushing to a decision or jumpin' to a conclusion. Adversity, turmoil, a need for attention to details that should nae be overlooked. It also means there'll be an urgency fer someone to gain control o' their emotions pretty sharpish. This card suggests that success can only be achieved when thoughts an' emotions are kept balanced, with one nae winnin' oot over the other. Y'need to maintain a balance o' some sort or everythin' yer workin' towards will amount to a hill o' beans."

"What does the last one mean?" Zack asks quietly – far quieter than anyone would have thought him capable of without a huge shock to rob him of speech. Which this is, except – Zack casts a quick glance at Yuffie, but she's staring hard at the cards – nobody but him knows how _much_ of a shock. The accuracy of some of these cards ... Zack has to shake his head and remind himself that he doesn't believe in this. He's just indulging Yuffie. This isn't real magic and he shouldn't take it too seriously.

"The card at the top o' the staff represents the ultimate outcome o' yer situation, which could mean jus' the situation o' yer question, or the rest o' yer life beyond that. Yours is Seven o' Swords, the card o' Futility."

Zack stiffens - _Futility? As in … hopeless?_ – but doesn't speak.

"When reversed, the Seven o' Swords represents arguments, quarrels, an' uncertain council, advice or ill-advised action, followed by introspection, self-doubt an' grief."

"Well that card sucks," says Yuffie, leaning back and rocking onto her heels away from the table. "It was all going so well until that one, too. I vote you ignore the Seven of Swords and just take the rest, Hero."

"Oh, nae." Cait shakes his head so vigorously his paper crown falls off. He hops down from his mountain cushions, scoops it off the floor and sets it back between his ears. "Y'cannae ignore any part o' a spread. All the cards are interconnected an' develop on, one from another. Cut one oot an' y'might as well bin the lot. Y'cannae jus' take the bits o' a fortune that y'fancy. It doesnae work like that."

Yuffie's bottom lip juts out. "Well it should. That was a really cool fortune until that last part about quarrels and grief and junk. Total downer. Still, the rest was pretty funky. Huh, Hero? Hero?" She pokes his shoulder. "Yo, Hero!"

Zack is sitting very still in his chair, hands on the table. He stares at his fingers like they're about to drop off and march out of the tent in single file without him.

"Zack?" Yuffie pokes his shoulder again. "Yoo-hoo, anybody in there?"

"I think," Zack says softly, "it's time to go home now." He can't explain the strange feeling inside him. It doesn't settle on just one thought or emotion, but bounces over everything like a stone skimming across a lake. It propels him to his feet, allows him to thank Cait, and then drives him out of the tent.

Outside, away from the cloying air, his thoughts clear a little. He realises he's putting far too much stock in random chance. The way those cards fell was pure luck, and anyway, Cait could've just been making up what they meant based on Zack's reactions – telling him what he though he wanted to hear.

And yet somehow, in some inexplicable way, Zack knows he wasn't. Something about the last half an hour rings true. While he's still trying to convince himself 'hokumhokumhokumhokum' another part of him is repeating back as much of the reading as it can remember: _'If y'persevere you'll succeed in spite o' whatever obstacles y'think are standin' in yer path', '__yer workin' against traditional ideas, as well as yer ain anxiety'__,_ _'compatibility, fusion an' bein' a good influence', 'success can only be achieved when thoughts an' emotions are kept balanced, with one nae winnin' oot over the other. Y'need to maintain a balance o' some sort or everythin' yer workin' towards will amount to a hill o' beans'._

Thus it is that, when he first reaches the apartment and opens the door to find everything dark, he doesn't immediately process how unusual it is. Instead he allows Yuffie to dash past him, while he enters at a more sedate pace and flips on the light.

"Hello? Aerith? Kairi?" Tifa is a work, so he doesn't bother to call her name, but the absence of the other two is puzzling. It's nearly dinner time, so he expected to find Kairi strapped into her high chair, or at least toddling around with her bib already in place. She has a selection of bibs from her birthday, each one emblazoned with sickly things like 'Yes, I know I'm cute' and 'Smile, it confuses the adults'.

"Yo, Ponytail!" Yuffie bangs open the bedroom door. "Small Fry?"

Zack notices the note first, but when he picks it up off the table Yuffie plucks it from his grasp. She starts to read it aloud, but trails off. Then she throws it down and dashes for the door.

"Yuffie? What's the matter? Where are they?"

Yuffie doesn't even turn around. "Small Fry's with Chicha and Llama Breath, but Ponytail's at Cid's. He's had a heart attack."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_The tent is quite large, striped red and white like a candy cane … Everything about this place is for effect, and nothing is comfortable. You'd hardly believe it's someone's home. _

-- Cait's tent is inspired by this image: www. worldofaram. com/images/Fortune (percentage sign) 20Teller (percentage sign) 20Tent. jpg

"_Cait Sith, fortune-teller extraordinaire, at yer service."_

-- Cait Sith was originally a character in Final Fantasy VII.

"_Finally! Yer as lang in tunin' yer pipes as another would play a spring, sir."_

-- Old Scottish saying. Basically: 'In the time it has taken you to tune up, someone else has already played a fine jig!' I decided to opt for the dub's Scottish accent for Cait, since the original Cait Sith of legend, after whom he's named, is from Scotland and sometimes known as the 'Highland fairy cat'. In an article written in the 1800s, J.G. Campbell describes the Cait Sith, saying it is 'as large as a dog, black with a white spot on its breast, with an arched back and erect bristles. This, probably, would be when it was angry. He says that many Highlanders believed that these cats were transformed witches, not fairies. An even larger and more ferocious cat, the demonic god of the cats, appeared in answer to the wicked and ferocious ceremony of the Taghairm, which consisted in roasting successive cats alive on spits for four days and nights until Big Ears appeared and granted the wishes of the torturers. The last ceremony of Taghairm was said to have been performed in Mull and was described in detail in the London Literary Gazette (March 1824). The account is quoted by D. A. Mackenzie in SCOTTISH FOLK LORE AND FOLK LIFE. But Big Ears was a monstrous demon cat who had only a slight connection with the Cait Sith. In reality, the Cait Sith is almost certainly what is now known as the Kellas Cat - a large black hybrid between feral domestic cats and Scottish Wildcats. Specimens of these impressive hybrids were examined scientifically in the 1980s' (quoted from _Moggies: The Online Cat Guide_ - www. moggies. co. uk/stories/caitsith. html).

"_I'll have you know I've got all my back teeth."_

-- 'I'm completely honest and my integrity cannot be questioned.'

"_Never miscaw a Gordon i'the raws o' Strathbogie, as my mother always said. But I'm bleatin'.."_

-- 'Never speak badly of somebody on their home territory' (the Gordons were the ruling clan in Strathbogie). 'Bleating' just means waffling needlessly, which isn't really particular to Scotland, since I use that one and I'm in the Midlands.

"_I'll nae stop yer blethers … hold by, a second there."_

-- 'I won't stop your talkativeness' and 'hang on'.

"_There's no need to be so abstraklous, laddie."_

-- Abstraklous means bad-tempered or obstreperous.

"_Dinna fash yersel'."_

-- 'Don't fuss yourself' - literally 'don't go out of your way if it's any bother'.

"_Dinna cuist away the cog when the coo flings."_

-- Don't give up at the first misfortune - try, try again.

"_Raither spyle yer baur nor tine yer fier."_

-- Don't tell jokes at the expense of a friend (with the implication that their friendship is worth more than a cheap laugh).

"_Y'cannae ignore any part o' a spread. All the cards are interconnected an' develop on, one from another. Cut one oot an' y'might as well bin the lot. Y'cannae jus' take the bits o' a fortune that y'fancy. It doesnae work like that."_

-- This is when I reveal how unutterably pathetic I am and admit that I actually went to a tarot website (www. facade. com/tarot/) and got a reading based on Zack and his question especially for this chapter. The Celtic Cross that Cait drew is a replica of that, and considering how I'd already planned out what happens next, and so already knew what Zack's future (and that of several other cast members) holds in this fic, it was downright creepy how accurate the reading was.

* * *


	42. Questions of Mortality

* * *

**41. Questions of Mortality**

* * *

_I don't take things for granted, because everything feels more fragile. It's made me wonder about mortality and how long you've got somebody in the world. I'm more fearful than I used to be._ – Robin Gibb.

* * *

Cloud sets off the next morning, having spent a pleasant evening playing cards with Esmeralda, Quasimodo and Djali. Djali cheated – a lot – but Cloud soon learned to spot it, and only lost when Quasi threw down a full house.

"Too much time on my own," Quasi said, still in that half-apologetic tone he seems to use for everything. "I've learned how to play every type of card game with different courtiers over the years."

Whereupon Cloud decided it was high time to introduce the people of Mosey City to Hollow Bastion's 'Cripple Mr. Onion'. He has fond memories of playing against Zack and Aerith while they hid behind the tavern for Angeal, and being confined to bed with flu, only to find his friends climbing the drainpipe outside his window with a pack of cards. Cloud was disappointed when, after only three rounds, Quasi proved a natural at this game, too. Had they been playing for real money he would've entered insolvency before midnight.

"Thanks," Esmeralda said when she was walking him back to his hotel. He didn't even feel bad that she felt she had to.

"For what?"

"Being so nice to Quasi."

"He's a nice guy." And he is. Under his deformities, Quasimodo is just as sweet and giving as Esmeralda said, plus more besides. He has a pretty wicked sense of humour when he feels comfortable enough to use it, and a kind of innocence that reminds Cloud of Kairi whenever she sees something she doesn't understand but wants to. "He's easy to like."

"There are some people who'd disagree with you on that."

"Someone wise once said that as long as people you respect and care about respect you, the rest of the world can," Cloud smiles at the memory, "go screw itself."

"That sounds like a pretty weird sage."

"It wasn't a sage. It was one of my best friends. It's good advice – the people who don't respect you for who you are aren't worth bothering your head about. As long as people who count – people like _you_, Esmeralda – know Quasi's a good guy, it doesn't matter what narrow-minded people think. He's worth more than any of them will _ever_ be."

Esmeralda looks hard at Cloud, as though trying to work out if he's being facetious. "How is it you always seem to know what to say?"

Cloud blushes. He has never been able to take compliments well. He's forever waiting for the other shoe to drop – possibly on his head. "I don't know what you mean. I just, uh … I never … hey, look, we're here."

He bids goodbye to Esmeralda and reflexively goes to check on his chocobo.

"Glad to see you're still here."

It's stabled next to an emu with a similar temperament – which means the other bird also tries to bite the seat out of Cloud's pants as he walks past. A curious dance and a string of unintelligible noises follow when it nearly pecks off his fingers instead.

"Ah-cha-cha-hoo! Leave off! Okay, okay, I'm going. Ah, you're welcome to each other! I'm sorry I was even worried about your safety."

"Wark!"

"Talking to those who can't talk back, Cloud Strife?"

Cloud freezes at the voice. He recognises it, though he has no face in his mind to go with its lilting, singsong tone. "Thief King?"

"So you remember me! Joyous joyousness of the joyful!"

"Where are you?"

"You need to see me to talk to me?"

Cloud's gaze darts about, looking for one of the stablehands, since the head hostler went home hours ago.

"Asleep in the hayloft," the Thief King informs him. "Poor mites are exhausted after dealing with your horrible great beastie. Are you certain you don't want to trade it, at least? I can put you in touch with a fine horse dealer for replacement transport. Worst case scenario: it bolts and you get a broken leg, but at least it would be friendlier in the meantime."

"I'll keep my chocobo, thanks."

"Glutton for punishment, are we? I thought you might say that. Clinging on to the vestiges of your dead world; how sentimental. How touching. How … maudlin. You have a fondness for self-pity, perhaps? For soppiness and sloppiness and slushiness that sloshes over the side of your personality like an overfull cup?"

Cloud turns in a little circle, trying to figure out where the Thief King could be hiding in the courtyard. His voice seems to be coming from several directions at once; likewise his mocking laughter. Cloud knows he must look like a dog chasing its own tail, but not wearing a blindfold and _still_ not able to see who he's talking to is unnerving.

"What do you want, Thief King?"

"You intrigue me, Cloud Strife."

"What?"

"Nobody ever gives something for nothing. Ever. Humanity is selfish and greedy. I'm not suggesting those are necessarily negative points, just that they're always present. It's in our genetic make-up – we always want something for nothing and rarely give away that something in exchange for nothing. Even Esmeralda only gives her friendship out of guilt and a need to feel appreciated for _who_ she is instead of _what _she is. I learned that one a bit too late myself, but no matter. Plenty more fish in the sea. Plenty more birds in the city. And plenty more turds in the sewers. Neither am I suggesting that I'm absolved of this basic human self-interest. I give shelter and a sense of purpose in exchange for trinkets and payment, and Quasimodo gives away his heart for self-worth. Everybody gets something out of what they do. Except you, apparently."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come now, don't play the fool with me. It's not the right time of year for you to pretend to be something you're not. That's Halloween time, which this obviously is _not_. Halloween is for putting masks _on_, but Quasi took his mask _off_ for you. He doesn't do that for everyone. He does it for hardly _anyone_, in fact."

"Honestly, I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

"All right, I'll put it to you plain: what do you want from Quasimodo?"

"Nothing," Cloud replied promptly.

"Liar. Everyone wants something from somebody. Do you get a pious feeling from dangling friendship in front of him? Is that what you're after, to feel good about yourself for being nice to the freak?"

"Don't call him that."

"But that's what he is. You can't deny it. Neither can he. Dressing it up in pretty words doesn't change basic facts into fiction. He's not a monster, but he _is_ a freak. He's a freak with a funny face and a funny body and a funny way of -"

"Leave him alone! Isn't he your friend?"

"He is, and _as_ his friend I feel it's my sacred duty to vet _you_ as a potential candidate for the post of New Friend."

"What?" Cloud can't believe he's hearing this. How arrogant can you _get_? "You can't decide who someone else is allowed to be friends with."

"I'm the Thief King. Quasimodo is one of my courtiers. I can do whatever I want."

"That's not how it works. Quasi's allowed to be friends with whoever _he_ wants."

"Not if they're going to hurt him. Quasi's an innocent. He's too trusting for his own good – when he's not trusting nobody at all."

"He … huh?" Cloud's brain takes a moment to play catch-up. He realises what's actually going on. "Look, I know you're just looking out for him. That's great, it really is, but … Quasi's not a baby. He has to grow away from you sometime, even if only a little. It doesn't mean he's going to leave or not need you anymore."

"Armchair psychology from the delivery boy – what a hoot!"

Cloud grits his teeth. "I'm not out to hurt him. I like him. The only thing I'd like in return is his friendship."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire -"

"It's true!"

Silence greets this. Cloud is beginning to think he's alone again, until the Thief King's voice snakes out of the gloom.

"You know, ridiculous as it sounds, I believe you. _You_, a sanctimonious little outsider nobody. A goody-goody upstart with no more right to be in my city than a mouldy carrot. Perhaps you're worth giving a chance after all, Cloud Strife. Maybe there's a better reason than I thought for why he carved an outsider like you to go into his wooden city. Even if you do have all the business sense of a slug in a bag of salt where that chocobo bird is concerned."

Cloud never does get to see the Thief King's face. Neither does he ever learn how the man gets in or out of the hotel grounds, or confirms exactly what he was talking about. Cloud gets the feeling, even now, that the Thief King isn't nearly as hard-nosed as he likes to make out, especially when it comes to Quasimodo.

Cloud passes the night feeling bizarrely safe in his bed, and rises bright and early to conclude his business and head off home.

"Come back again soon," Esmeralda says when he's loaded up and ready to go, his chocobo champing at the bit and making impatient noises. "And bring one of your friends next time."

"We'll see," Cloud smiles, wondering what she'd make of Yuffie. Come to think of it, he wonders what the Thief King would make of Yuffie, since she has her own thieving skills to compete with his – which, given half a chance, she'd probably want to do. Things could get very messy putting those two together.

"Maybe a change of scenery would help your Zack to get past whatever's bothering him," Esmeralda goes on.

Cloud frowns at that, wondering whether there will have been any improvement while he's been away. "Yeah. Maybe."

Esmeralda waits until he's swung himself into the saddle, then pats him on the knee in a comforting manner. "Don't worry, Cloud. I'm sure everything will work out fine."

"I hope so." He bids her goodbye and gees the chocobo into a gentle trot, which turns into a canter when they're free of the city's crowds. Cloud resolves to think positively about the situation. Maybe Aerith had a breakthrough while he was gone, and he'll get home to find everything's back to normal.

It's these thoughts that echo most bitterly when he finally does get home and finds that things will never be normal again.

* * *

Tifa hovers. It's what she's been doing all night. Although Aerith can understand her need to be near Cid, she's fast reaching the end of even _her_ patience. Dr. Sweet said hours ago that there's nothing Tifa can do, but Aerith let her stay because nobody is closer to Cid than Tifa, except perhaps Leon – or, bizarrely, Merlin.

Tifa, channelling chi into her legs to make them run faster, carried Aerith from the apartment to the workshop where Cid lay fighting for breath on the floor. It was one of the most terrifying journeys Aerith has ever taken without switching worlds, and not just because hitting the ground at that speed would've lacerated her arm off.

Dr. Sweet arrived only minutes later, slung over Tifa's shoulder like he weighed as much as one of Kairi's dolls. Aerith already had her hands pressed to Cid's chest, her powers seeking out the central muscle while the foreign word '_arrhythmia_' echoed though her mind like a shout in a cavern. She felt Cid's blood, sluggish and too thick against her senses, not moving as is should though his veins. She felt his lungs aching as if they were her own after running a marathon. Every in-breath was painful and every out-breath was worse. She kept her eyes closed, concentrating on using her magic alone, but also not wanting to see Cid's pinched, ashen face.

"Aerith?" Dr. Sweet's voice wormed its way through to her when her mind was deep in Cid's ribcage, each rib pressing against her mind, hard and unyielding. For a second she was trapped between expanding lungs and bone, until Dr. Sweet pulled her back by asking, "What do we got, girl?"

"I … I don't … the words …" Difficult to concentrate when she was trying to direct her powers into tiny ventricles, and all her magic wanted to do was pour straight into Cid's chest like a tidal wave into a rock pool. Holding the full force o her powers back was just as difficult as finding out exactly what was wrong with Cid. It's always harder when she works on someone she knows as more than just a patient.

"His lips are turnin' blue, girl. Shortness of breath. I'm guessin' you're on his chest because he's got pains there."

She doesn't need to touch him to use her magic on him, but she needs to feel the rumble of his breathing through her fingertips to keep her grounded.

"He said it felt like indigestion," Tifa supplied, not at all breathless herself after her madcap dashing to fetch them and leave Kairi at Leon's.

Aerith only caught a flash of Leon's face as he was told to take the little girl to Chicha's house: his usual veneer covering concern and the definite spark of fear. He may make out that he's not sacred of anything, but Leon fears losing people more than he fears his own death.

"He had pains in his left arm and in his neck, right before he grabbed his chest and just … collapsed. Please," Tifa whispered, forlorn, "don't let him … Make him better, okay? Just fix him up. Please."

Dr. Sweet felt for Cid's pulse. "Rapid and weak. Profusion of sweatin'. Talk to me, Aerith."

"A blockage," Aerith said suddenly, feeling it as clearly as if she'd picked up a pebble off the ground. "A … piece of blood. Hard blood. It won't move…"

"Clot," Dr. Sweet said grimly. "You gotta get rid of it, girl. Break it down. Dissolve it into the bloodstream. I got drugs that might do it, but you're probably faster, and time ain't on our side."

Aerith shook her head. "I … I can't …"

"Breathe, girl. Concentrate. You _can_ do this. keep telling yourself that. Say it. C'mon, _say _it."

"I can do this."

"Again."

"I _can _do this …"

Doing such delicate work was like cracking a nut with a sledgehammer, but somehow Aerith managed it. Afterwards, when she'd shored up the strength in Cid's valves, tightened his heartbeat, ghosted over the scar tissue left behind by what the infarction killed off before she got there, and discovered Cid suffers from hypertension, Aerith finally sat back on her heels and allowed her own exhaustion to make itself known. Her limbs felt like they were made of concrete, heavy and about as flexible. The inside of her head felt like it was coated in uncooked dough. All she wanted was to sleep, but until they'd got Cid into a proper bed at Dr. Sweet's surgery, she wouldn't even entertain the idea.

So she was awake when Merlin arrived. He blustered into the doctor's like he'd been challenged to a wizard's duel, caught sight of her sitting quietly by Cid's bedside, Tifa hovering behind her, and muttered something about needing to speak to Dr. Sweet on an entirely unrelated matter. His steps from the door to the office were stiff, like his joints were locked, and he kept his chin high.

Aerith wasn't fooled for an instant. Some perverse part of her is glad Merlin doesn't hate Cid as much as he makes out. They may argue, and have deep-seated differences with how they look at life, but they're probably closer than either wants to admit. Cid's heart attack has shaken Merlin – something made obvious when he came out of Dr. Sweet's office, pulled up a chair on the other side of Cid's bed, and asked Aerith plainly what his chances are. For once, he didn't even pretend he didn't care.

Merlin hovered. Tifa hovered. Leon hovered when he arrived. So did Zack and Yuffie. Eventually Dr. Sweet got tired of the hovering and cleared everybody from the room with an uncharacteristic outburst that shocked them all. It was so unusual to hear him raise his voice that they all scurried away without protest. Seeing Leon's impersonation of scurrying was truly bizarre.

Except Tifa didn't scurry away. She didn't even walk. She stayed right where she was.

Which brings us to the present moment, in which the sun has turned from a smudge of colour on the horizon to a bright disc in the sky. The new day promises to be beautiful, provided you've had ample sleep, and haven't spent the night listening to the raspy breathing of a man who, until now, seemed invincible.

Cid has been a rock for as long as anyone can remember. Foul-mouthed, worse-tempered, cantankerously protective of those he cares about, but mostly unable to accept that he cares abut them – Cid and his shop are such staples of Traverse Town that it's peculiar to think they haven't always been there. Cid cusses out death and gives oblivion the middle-finger salute. Even fate takes a step back and raises an eyebrow at him. He survived the destruction of his world through bloody-mindedness and determination over luck, and kept going because he's too damn stubborn to give up.

Except his body decided to give up on _him_, and that's scary in a whole new way. There were no Heartless this time. There was no enemy to fight except a tiny blood-clot that was probably there, swimming around in his bloodstream, for months before it did any harm. Helplessness only just covers the feeling swirling through Aerith, and she knows it must be worse for Tifa.

Zack knocks the door just past nine o' clock. He has a wicker basket on his arm. The sight, coupled with the Buster Sword on his back, is so incongruous that Aerith has to laugh. It feels good. She hasn't laughed at Zack in a long time, and the night didn't bring many hyuks, either. The noise startles Tifa, whose head is nodding onto her chest.

Zack enters hesitantly, looking at Cid in a way he'd hate if he was awake. "How is he?"

"Much better. I'm going to have another go with my powers in a little while. We were just waiting for him to stabilise after the last lot of healing." Aerith glances at the rise and fall of Cid's chest, as she's been doing all night, checking to make sure it's keeping up its metronome of prolonged life.

The machine Dr. Sweet hooked him up to beeps in a steady rhythm. Even after all this time being exposed to the medicine of his world and this one, Aerith still finds it difficult to believe half of Dr. Sweet's contraptions can actually do what he says they can. Maybe her magic just makes her distrustful of things with batteries that can run down, or plugs that can short out. If she's not careful she'll start acting like Merlin – although after last night maybe that's not such a bad thing.

She recalls the way Merlin's eyes shone pale blue as he listened, and the apparent wetness under them as he looked at Cid and muttered, "You silly old fool."

"It's not like other healings I've done. He wasn't injured by outside forces. This was an illness, so it needs a different approach." Aerith's breath comes out in scratchy, mirthless laugh. "I've never healed an illness before. It's always been injuries. I never realised that before last night, when I had to go looking for what was wrong because I didn't know. Usually it's pretty obvious, but … this time it was all invisible. I had to feel my way blind -"

Tifa's heard this all before. She still stiffens at the words. "But he'll be okay, right?"

"I hope so," Aerith answers truthfully.

"He _will_ be okay," Tifa replies, firm as a brick wall. "I have faith – in you, and in him. He's a fighter. He's _Cid_."

Aerith tries hard not to remember Zack saying the very same thing about Angeal, all those years ago, when they waited for him on the edge of town, and Sephiroth killed him while they convinced themselves he'd be fine and home soon. She tries so hard that the backs of her eyes start to throb. She closes them, pressing a hand against her forehead.

"Aerith?" Zack's voice is much closer than she expects. She opens her eyes and smiles wanly at him.

"Is that _my_ basket you've stolen?"

He glances at it, not dissuaded. "Uh, yeah. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"Did you sleep at _all_?"

"A lit-" She catches his warning look. "No. I needed to stay awake to keep watch. Dr. Sweet fell asleep in his office because he didn't want to go home either, not with Cid so sick…"

"At least he got some sleep." Zack looks between her and Tifa. Aerith reads the question without him having to ask it. She shakes her head imperceptibly.

"Tifa, go home."

"No," Tifa replies with a robustness bordering on muscular. She sounds like she's been waiting for this order and steeling herself to defy it. She then spoils the effect by holding in a yawn. "I'm – hrr – stayin'."

"There's nothing you can do here," Aerith tells her. "I'll stay. You should go home, get freshened up and rested, and come back later."

"No."

"Tifa -"

"I'm not going anywhere. Please don't ask me to, Aerith." There's a pleading note in her voice that reminds Aerith how guilty she felt when she wasn't there when Angeal died. She thinks about the terrible business that followed; all the pain and heartache in Zack as he fought against his grief and the idea that he should've somehow been able to prevent what happened.

"All right," Aerith says, weary but resigned because she kind of knew this would be the way it would go. "Zack, did you bring any change of clothes in that basket?"

"Uh, no. just some breakfast. And a toothbrush for each of you. I figured you'd feel all funky in the mouth department after a night drinking Dr. Sweet's coffee."

This isn't just hyperbole. Dr. Sweet makes coffee so strong you can stand your spoon up in it. Strange for a medical professional to willingly ingest something so very, very bad for him, but whenever Aerith brings this up he just toasts his mug at her and says, "Hey, it's what keeps me pretty."

"I wouldn't touch his coffee if you paid me," Aerith tells Zack. "But you're an angel for bringing breakfast."

"So … how have you been keeping awake without coffee?"

"I think I must have absorbed some of Cid's bloody-mindedness when I restarted his heart."

"I drank the coffee," Tifa says with a shudder. "Never again."

They shouldn't really be eating in the surgery, but there's nobody around to tell them not to. Traverse Town is too small to have a hospital, so Dr. Sweet's is the only place sick people can go. Since Aerith started working there – and especially since she 'got her groove back', as Dr. Sweet himself keeps saying, even though she's not sure what that means – people don't tend to _stay_ for any great length of time. Often they come for a chat and a check-up they don't really need because both Dr. Sweet and Aerith, though in different ways, can make anybody feel better about themselves just by talking to them. Dr. Sweet smothers them with good humour and bombastic stories of past cases so absurd hardly anyone believes they're real. Aerith exudes a serenity that makes people feel relaxed and lifts their mood without having to say a word.

She doesn't feel serene right now. She feels exhausted and frazzled, like the words were coined for her personal use. They could use some bombastic good humour right now, but Dr. Sweet's snores can be heard even through his office's closed door.

Breakfast turns out to be sliced bread rolls with jam and a pat of butter, half melted in its greaseproof wrapping. Aerith's just impressed Zack remembered to wrap it. He's not a natural in the kitchen. When a brioche appears she knows that, actually, someone else must have been responsible.

"Who made all this?" She breaks off a chunk of the sweet, custardy pastry and hands it to Tifa. "Not Yuffie."

"No way." Zack spreads jam on a roll with one of several neatly packed knives and balances it on a napkin in his lap. Apparently he didn't have his own breakfast before coming to see them. Aerith expects him to say Chicha's name, but instead he replies, "It was Leon."

"Leon?" The brioche stops halfway to Tifa's mouth. "He _bakes_?"

"I don't know about _that_, but he just kind of shoved a load of stuff at me this morning when I was leaving. I'd totally meant to pick up some stuff from the baker's on the way over," Zack adds, "but he beat me to it. The basket and the toothbrushes were me, though. He probably just went to the baker's while I was packing the toothbrushes. He wouldn't bake. He _wouldn't_."

Aerith isn't so sure. If there's one thing she's learned, it's not to underestimate or stereotype people. On cue, she looks at Cid and longs for a soothing cup of his tea.

Tifa echoes her thoughts. "I could murder a pot of tea right now. Cid's completely converted me."

Zack is immediately contrite. "I, uh, didn't think to bring any…"

Aerith leans across and pecks him lightly on the cheek. It feels natural; never mind that he has barely been able to stay in the same room as her for weeks. The Zack who arrived last night and knocked the door this morning was the old Zack, not the one who came home from Ambleton. When she opened the door and saw him with the basket, all that might as well have happened in a different life. Zack knew she needed him, and he came. More than that, he stuck around. That says more than anything else could. "You did fine with all this. Thank you."

But the peck is a step too far, it seems. Zack freezes. His face, previously so expressive, slams shut.

Aerith's heart sinks. For a while she was able to forget one worry in favour of another, but now she returns to it, and all she wants to do is hold Zack and insist that he tell her _what's_ _wrong_ because she's too _tired _to play these games anymore. He refuses to meet her eyes and chews with a determined blankness that sucks up all conversation.

Tifa yawns again. It's catching. One rises in Aerith's throat too. They finish eating in a silence peppered with them. Finally Aerith takes the last part of the basket's contents in to Dr. Sweet.

"Hm-nuh?" he mumbles as she gently joggles his shoulder. His face is pillowed against his arms on top of his desk. "Audrey?"

Aerith shakes her head, not asking who Audrey is. Was. It's not the first time Dr. Sweet has fallen asleep and mistaken her for someone else when she wakes him, but he always tells her the names are 'just people he used to know from before the Heartless'. He's unwilling to say any more, and Aerith respects his privacy enough that she doesn't push him. Everybody from another world has a sad story about the Heartless, even those who smile all the time.

"I have food," she says.

"No food in the surgery," he slurs, as he holds out his hand and she places a half a buttered bread roll into it. He stuffs the entire thing into his mouth without looking. He can barely close his jaws. Aerith leaves him trying to chew, spraying crumbs over his paperwork and cutting up pieces of cold, gelatinous coffee to try and soften the crust.

She's not wearing any shoes. She's so comfortable here in the surgery that she often goes without. Her bare feet make practically no noise as she pads around.

"You don't imagine anything like this happening," Tifa is saying at Cid's bedside. "You imagine Heartless, and monster attacks, and the types of mid-air explosions he described all the time from when he was an airship captain, but not this. This is wrong. It's all wrong for Cid. It's too … quiet." She hugs her knees as if she's cold. "He told me so many stories about being in the Air Force on his world. He was nearly killed in a lot of them. He fought in a war before he retired and started his research into moon landings. I think he hated the war, but he still talked about it like it was the best time of his life – 'when men were men instead of effing pussies who talk about their feelings all the effing time'."

"That sounds like Cid," Zack says, before catching sight of Aerith.

"He probably made most of it up to impress me." Tifa's arms tighten around her shins. "He didn't need to," she murmurs, almost too inaudible to hear.

"He's overweight." Aerith checks his pulse – something practical to get her mind off her own problems. Still steady and getting stronger. Good. "And he smokes. And he's not young anymore."

"He's _Cid_," Tifa replies, like this should surmount everything. "Cid _Highwind_. Cid Highwind doesn't die from a heart attack. He doesn't die at all, but if he ever does then it'll be fighting the Heartless, or blowing up in one of his own Gummi Ships, or … or … he doesn't _die_. That's not how it _goes_."

"He's not dead," Aerith points out.

"I know." Tifa releases her legs and balances her chin in her palms, knees digging into her thighs. "When he's back on his feet, he's a non-smoker. And on a diet. And he's taking up jogging."

"He won't like that."

"He'll like a face full of my fist even less."

Later, when Aerith has spiralled more of her magic into Cid's chest and traced through some of his arteries, unclogging them of further clots and fatty deposits, she sinks into her chair and closes her eyes. She's so tired she actually feels a little nauseous.

Someone pokes her shoulder. She looks up to see Dr. Sweet. "You should go home, girl."

"I'm going to finish cleaning his arteries in a minute. I'm just tired now. I'll be fine. He's not in any immediate danger, so there's time for me to take a little breather."

"Forget a little breather. You need _sleep_."

"I -"

"Missy, you're so dead beat you're startin' fights in the graveyard."

She yawns again. "Can't I just use one of the spare beds here?"

Dr. Sweet relents enough to allow this, also permitting Tifa to stay, though he mutters about his surgery not being a hotel.

The mention of hotels makes Aerith pause. "Cloud's due back this afternoon; he doesn't know about Cid. And we can't expect Chicha to keep looking after Kairi when she's already got her hands full with Pacha. It was wrong of us to just assume she'd take care of things, but she's already got a baby on her hands -"

"Yuffie's taking care of it," Zack replies woodenly. "She's babysitting Kairi. She said she's going to take her to see Cait Sith later."

"Cait Sith? The fortune-teller?"

Zack's throat bobs strangely. "Yeah. Him."

"But what about dinnertime? I didn't leave anything for them to eat."

"She'll work something out. Leon took food for her as well, so she won't go hungry."

Aerith can't help a small smile at the idea of Leon presenting Yuffie with gifts, even if they are just bread rolls. Although if Yuffie received a brioche like the one they've just eaten, not even the biggest memory-wiping enchantment in the universe will ever shift her crush on him. Yuffie's stomach has a mind of its own. If it unites with the one in her head, Leon's fate is sealed.

"She'll like that," Aerith murmurs, putting her head down. "Dr. Sweet, you will wake me if anything happens with Cid, right?"

"Sure, girl."

"Not just if he goes into cardiac arrest again. I mean _anything_."

"I done said sure, didn't I?"

"Any little thing at all?" Tifa prompts from the cot on Cid's other side.

"Get some rest before I force-feed you both sleepin' pills. Man-oh-man, I ain't never seen a pair of girls henpeck a guy like you two do. It's getting' so a feller can't even say boo to a goose before he's bein' henpecked about some foul-mouthed old blasphemer with more tar than blood in his veins …"

Aerith drifts off to this strange lullaby, and falls into the dreamless slumber of the truly exhausted.

* * *

Yuffie raises her head. "So?"

"So what?"

"So how _is_ Old Fart?"

Leon says nothing, just sits back in his chair and folds his arms. Yuffie takes a moment to appreciate him sitting back in _her_ kitchen, on one of _her_ chairs, like he belongs there. He slots in so nicely, brown hair matching the brown table and blue eyes matching the … well, nothing, actually, but they're damn pretty all the same. She devotes only a moment to this, however, before returning to her original question.

"Well?"

"Cid won't die."

She turns over onto her back on the rug. "Thank whatever for that. I mean, I never thought the old coot would pop his clogs so easily, not for one minute, but all the same – it'd be just like him to try and prove me wrong just so I look dumb. He's had it out for me ever since I lifted a few shuriken from his shop. Nothing major. It's not like I was trying to lift money from his register or anything. They were all rusty, too. I had to sharpen them up myself, so actually I saved him a lot of hassle, but he's been totally on my case ever since. Every time he misplaces something he's all 'that damn ninja brat took it. I'll bet she's hiding in the rafters right now, laughing at me,' which I kind of am sometimes, but that's no reason to assume it's _always _me. Mean-spirited old git."

Kairi looks up from her crayoning. She's not supposed to have her colouring things on the floor, but Yuffie can't see any harm, and she wanted to stretch out, so she decided to treat them both at the same time. She put lots of sheets of clean white paper down. Most normal children would swipe a single mark on each and proclaim them done, but Kairi has concentrated on just one and drawn little swirls and spirals all over it very carefully. She blinks at Yuffie, as though pulled back from a daydream by the sound of her voice.

"Hey, kiddo." Yuffie leans over to ruffle her hair. "Hear that? Cid's gonna be a-okay."

"I said he won't die," Leon puts in. "I never said he'd be fine."

"Well _I'm_ saying he'll be fine. Geez, Squall, haven't you ever heard of the power of positive thinking?"

He opens his mouth to correct her, as usual, but Kairi speaks before he can.

"Git."

"What?" Yuffie stares, aghast. "What did you say?"

"Git," Kairi says proudly. "Git, git, git. Git."

"Oh sh-…ugarlumps. Don't say that, Small Fry. Ponytail will have my head on a platter."

"Git."

"How about 'grit'. Can you say 'grit' instead?"

"Git."

"No 'grit'. G-R-I-T. Grrrrrit."

"Giiiiiit." Kairi giggles, the sober events of the night having completely passed her by. She screws up her face for a moment, then sounds out another, similar sounding word that has Yuffie groaning like she's been stabbed between the shoulder-blades with a rusty spoon. "Shhh. Shhhhit. Shit!"

Yuffie leans the crown of her head back onto the rug and covers her face. "I'm dead. I'm deader than the old coot almost was. I'm snowman-in-July dead. Kiss me goodbye, Squall, 'cause when Ponytail or Cloudy get home, I'm a goner."

"Stop overreacting."

She gives him the hairy eyeball. "Have you ever seen Ponytail in a temper?"

"I don't see what -"

"_Have_ you?"

"No."

"Then you can't comment. Trust me, if I don't fix this and get her to say something else instead of cussing – however mild – you may as well pronounce me now and save time later. They're hella precious about her not being 'corrupted'. I mean, as _if. _I knew worse words than that when I was a kid, and I turned out fine. Don't you think I turned out fine? I think I turned out fine. I'm, like, practically the most well-adjusted person in this whole apartment – present company excepted of course, 'cause I'm nice like that and I absolve you of any past weirdness. But you'd think Small Fry really _is_ a princess, the way they carry on. Like her lips must never be sullied by bad words _she doesn't even understand yet_."

"Git! Shit!" Kairi enunciates each letter clearly.

Leon says nothing for a moment. Kairi goes back to her crayoning, happily burbling her new words. Yuffie rolls onto her stomach, but presses her face flush to the floor as though trying to suffocate herself in the pile. When Leon speaks again and she raises it her nose is red from being squashed.

"How about 'kit'?"

"Huh?"

"Like a kitten. You could draw a cat for her with those crayons."

After masking her shock, Yuffie proceeds to do so. What she draws might be a cat, but only a mutant one. And only after it's walked into heavy traffic. Several times. A week ago. Before a heat wave.

Kairi peers at it. "Shit," she pronounces.

"Thanks for that assessment of my fabulous artistic skills, Small Fry."

Leon sighs. Then he does the impossible. He unfolds his arms, uncrosses his legs, gets _off his chair_, and _kneels down on the rug beside them_. It's bizarre, totally against character, but Yuffie doesn't care, because when he sits back on his feet like that his leather pants highlight every single muscle in his thighs.

"Here," he says brusquely, taking a sheet of paper and a brown crayon, but talking like he's giving target practise with razor-edged throwing knives. "You draw cats like this…"

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_Cloud decided it was high time to introduce the people of Mosey City to Hollow Bastion's 'Cripple Mr. Onion'._

-- Originally found in Terry Pratchett's _Discworld_ books.

* * *


	43. Biting the Bullet

* * *

**42. Biting the Bullet**

* * *

Cid rises to consciousness slowly, like a corpse in a pond. When opens his eyes he's completely disorientated. Someone is dabbing something damp around his lips, as if to keep them moist as he breathes through his open mouth. When he shifts it pulls away with a sharp hiss. He tries to move, then has to hold his head in case bits of it fall off, like badly soldered casing on an old metal hull.

"Fuhhhck," he slurs, the inside of his mouth dry as a camel's asshole. His lips feel swollen. His tongue flops about, too thick to be much use. "Whut?"

He blinks, trying to figure out where the hell he is. Garbled memories seep back as he reacquaints himself with all his limbs. He's survived a few airship crashes in his time, and bar fights when he was thrown around like a side of beef in a slaughterhouse, so he knows that getting up slowly is the best way to figure out where all your injuries are before you accidentally make them worse.

"Cid?"

"Fuck," he says again, clearer this time, as someone helps him upright and presses a glass to his mouth. The water is cool and welcome. It eases his throat, making it easier to broadcast his response as the last of the memories emerge like leftover party guests appearing from behind the sofa the morning after a wild party. "Oh _fuck_."

"It's okay," soothes the voice. "You're okay now."

"… the hell am I?"

"Dr. Sweet's surgery. You've been here all night."

He finally focuses on the voice, squinting and still blinking way too much. They'd never let him past the pilot's physical anymore if he has to squint to see a yard in front of him. Paper-pushing fuckers. "Tifa?"

"Hey." She smiles, one of those weak-assed little lip-turns that nonetheless can light up a room because she's just that goddamn beautiful.

It constantly amazes Cid how Tifa doesn't recognise she's something special. It amazes him even more that Strife doesn't recognise it, or if he does, doesn't act on it. It's obvious to Cid that Tifa's feelings have metamorphosed until she's head over heels for the guy, but does she act on it? She's the toughest girl Cid has ever known besides Rinoa, but when it comes to Cloud she metamorphoses into a yellow-bellied coward Stupid brat. Maybe Tifa should just get it over with and kiss the face off him to let him know what to do next. Or … actually, maybe not. Cid's been in Strife's position before, but he shakes the thought away in favour of concentrating on Tifa's face and the antiseptic smell around them.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I just had a goddamn fucking heart attack. Ow, fuck." He lifts his arm and stares at the tube in it. "Fuck. How'd I get here?"

"I carried you," Tifa says, only half apologetic. "After Aerith stopped you from dying on your workshop floor."

"She did?"

"She saved your life, Cid."

"Fan-fucking-tastic. Captain Cid Highwind, saved by the fucking _magic _of some skinny-assed girl in a pink dress who couldn't bench press a rice-cake. I need a cup of tea. With bourbon in it. A _lot_ of bourbon."

"I'll see what I can do about the tea, but not the bourbon." Tifa takes a breath and does it fast, like yanking off a band-aid. She's never been one of those peel-up-from-the-edges girls. That's one of the things Cid has always liked about her. Tifa doesn't pull her punches – sometimes literally. When she makes up her mind to do something, she damn well _does_ it – apart, that is, from anything to do with Cloud-fuckwit-Strife. Cid doesn't, however, appreciate this quality right now. "You're giving up drinking."

"The _fuck_?"

"And smoking."

He jerks back so hard he nearly gives himself whiplash on top of everything else. "_Fuck_ no!"

"Yes," Tifa says firmly. She presses the glass of water to his lips again when he starts coughing.

Cid pushes her away. He's not coughing because he's sick. In fact, he feels remarkably okay for someone who thought his chest was imploding – an improvement he puts down to Aerith's handiwork. No, he's coughing because he's so outraged he's choking on his own spit. "Where the fuck do you get off, dictating to me what I can and can't do like my damn _mother_? I just had a heart attack! I deserve a little respect – or at least a chance to recover before you start harping on like an old fishwife."

"Exactly." Tifa's tone stays measured, but he can see the irritation flashing in her gaze. Her eyes are such a dark brown he sometimes finds it difficult to tell where the pupil ends and iris begins, but they light up when she's angry, like she keeps kindling back there instead of optic nerves. "You had a _heart attack_, Cid. You nearly _died_. If you don't want it to happen again, you need to make some changes in your life. And the sooner, the better. Aerith's given you a good start, but the rest is up to you. I know it's so soon after you woke up, but when else are you going to sit still long enough for me to say this?"

"Where's that goddamn doctor? This is his place, isn't it?" Cid twists in his bed, setting the machine next to him beeping like an empty fuel tank in the middle of a trans-oceanic flight. "Aw hell."

There's movement behind him. Suddenly Aerith is by Tifa's side, bleary-eyed but determined in a way that lets him know he doesn't need to explain what his thunderous expression is all about. Aerith is disturbingly good at reading people sometimes, even when she's half asleep.

"Cid, lay back."

"Get your hands off me."

"Lay _back_," Aerith insists.

"Fuck off."

Tifa presses between his shoulder and the base of his neck. He collapses bonelessly onto his pillow. Fucking nerve pinches.

Yet another busybody hoves hastily into view – this time that Zack boy. Cid doesn't know him as well as some of the others, but he knows enough to expect him to support whatever Aerith says. They're all a tightly knit unit, of the sort Cid used to yearn for when he was a few thousand feet above enemy territory in a pitching crate, air disturbances all around them, and his 'dependable' crew were going batshit that they weren't going to get home to see their wives and children. Now, however, these kids' closeness just pisses him off.

Except the kid _doesn't_ stand behind her like Cid expects. Instead, Zack hangs back with palpable uncertainty. When he finally does come forward it's Tifa he goes to.

_The hell?_

"Can I help?" Zack asks, not directing it at anyone in particular.

"Go fetch Dr. Sweet," Aerith says without looking at him. "Maybe Cid will take this better from him, since he's another man."

"It ain't your age or what you got in your panties that's making me antsy, girl," Cid grinds out from between clenched teeth, the needle in his arm having come loose. It's still halfway into the vein, so he's not bleeding all over the place, but waves of nausea grip his abdomen. He hates needles. Almost as much as he hates being told what to do, he fucking _hates_ needles. "It's your goddamn chutzpah."

"Stop squirming," Aerith snaps. Her eyes close and the air fills with something a lot like static electricity. Neither Zack nor Tifa seem to feel it. The centre of Cid's chest prickles like a really strange case of pins and needles.

He's suddenly reminded that however much he hates needles, or being told what to do, he hates magic more.

"Be quiet," Aerith says in a low voice, "or you may have another heart attack."

Cid quietens.

Dr. Sweet appears as if from nowhere. Before he has even finished approaching the bed, he's chewing Cid out and working on his arm. Cid sits back and takes it, switching between a scowl and a grimace.

Tifa watches with those big doe-eyes of hers, while Aerith messes around touching pressure points, making his insides prickle like he swallowed a dozen baby hedgehogs. Zack fades into the background without actually moving. Cid didn't even know what was possible until now. Usually Zack is the most vibrant of the three boys – between him, Leon and Cloud, your eye is always drawn to Zack first. Cid recalls Tifa mentioning how Zack's acting odd the past few weeks, but Cid didn't take much notice while he was working on his new Gummi Ship order. He briefly wonders what else happened while he was out cold, but his attention is claimed by Dr. Sweet and a barrage of instructions that quickly make Cid want to hit something.

And he still hasn't had his goddamn tea.

"So what you're basically saying," he gets in at last, "is that you're robbing me of every small pleasure I got left. Correct?"

"Actually, I'm tellin' you how to keep that there ticker of yours in ship-shape condition to keep you going another thirty years," Dr. Sweet replies. "Aerith done cleaned out your cholesterol better than I could in such a short time. S'up to you to keep your levels low and your arteries clean, buddy. You got acute hypertension, which means your blood pressure is through the roof and climbin' every time you inhale on a cigarette or let a little alcohol slide down your neck. Forget a moment on the lips and a lifetime on the hips – a moment on _your_ lips and we're talkin' more of what happened last night."

"Fucking overreaction," Cid mutters, which starts Tifa off on him again. He holds up his hands, wishing to all that's holy for a cigarette – not to smoke, but to chew the crap out of. He's going to crack a tooth soon from clenching his jaw shut. Soon he'll be willing to tear off a piece of this percale blanket, roll it up and use that instead. "All right," he says to make her shut up. "All. _Right_. I'll _think_ about it, okay?"

"Not okay," Tifa starts, until Aerith gently touches her arm and shakes her head. Tifa reclines into incoherent muttering, though Cid's able to make out a few occasions of 'stupid', 'old fart', 'own health' and 'irresponsible'.

There was once a time he would've yanked the wires and tubes out, got out of this stinking bed, and walking out of here without a blink. Now, however, is not that time.

"Any chance of that tea?" he snarls. "Or is the caffeine in that prohibited, too?"

Dr. Sweet and Tifa stay while Aerith goes into the back room, where patients aren't allowed, where they've presumably stashed some sort of tea-making facilities. Cid's eyes widen as he recalls Aerith's tea-making skills, and Tifa obviously catches this because she tuts and gets to her feet. Zack, however, puts out his arm to stop her.

"You stay. I'll go and make sure it's drinkable."

"Are you sure?" Tifa asks, looking at him so _hard_ that Cid wants, more than ever, to know what the fuck's going on between him and the rest of these brats. He doesn't ask, but only because he's still smarting from being treated like a brat himself.

He folds his arms sullenly, in true bratty form, and waits while Dr. Sweet takes his pulse again, listening to the cadence of Zack's voice.

"Yeah," Zack says, resolute. "You should stay here with Cid."

"But -"

"It'll be fine." He turns to go, but pauses. "Tifa?"

She half-turns towards him. "Yeah?"

"… Nothing."

Tifa completes the turn, eyes so full of worry it tugs even Cid's heartstrings – and his have been so tangled for so long he never thought he'd figure out which string goes where until this annoying bunch of kids came along and wormed their way into his life. Who knew he'd actually start caring about them? Little asswipes.

"Zack, are you okay?" Tifa asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But I'm sorry, okay? I'm just … sorry."

Tifa obviously takes this to mean he's sorry about what's happened to Cid, and that she feels she has to deal with it herself (though if she stopped and asked Cid what he feels he'd tell her where to get off with ideas like that). Cid, on the other hand, notices the way Zack's hands are actually fists, clenching and unclenching, and the way his shoulders ride so high with tension they're practically in the clouds.

_He's doing something he don't wanna by following Aerith,_ Cid thinks. _Kid's so edgy he's practically got no middle. I thought he and she were almost joined at the hip. The fuck's going on that he don't wanna spend no time with-?_

Cid is distracted by Dr. Sweet patting his arm like he's a good little boy. Cid's entire attention is abruptly taken up by holding that arm back from burying his fist in the guy's junk. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that crushing the crotch of your doctor so he can never plant baby seeds is a Very Bad Idea.

By the time he looks back at Zack, the kid's gone through to the back. Cid stares at the far wall because staring straight ahead is the only way he can ignore Tifa without putting a pillow over his own head and telling her to press down until the kicking stops.

They say nothing for a long time. Dr. Sweet excuses himself after first making sure Cid isn't about to have another episode (and where does that bastard get off? Describing a heart attack as a fucking 'episode', like Cid's part of some soap opera and next week he'll discover he's actually the long-lost-brother-twice-removed-and-thrice-put-back-again-in-a-different-spot cousin of Dr. Sweet's cross-dressing half-brother called Doris? Bastard).

"You," Tifa says eventually, "frightened me half to death."

Cid quits dancing around the issue. There's no point with the two of them. "You and me both, kid."

"I've never moved so fast in my life. I didn't even know I could do that with chi."

"I appreciate it." Grudging, reluctant – unwilling to form a 'thank you' even though that's what his mouth, independent of the rest of him, really wants to say.

Stupid mouth. He always did think it was working against him. It could never shut up when he was talking to commanders, or generals, and it especially hated royalty. His mouth always stored up special verbal grenades to pull the pins from when the Air Force had a royal inspection. Of course, the high starched collars, uncomfortable shiny boots and epaulets didn't help to stifle it. Cid casts his mind back so thoroughly to those stiff-necked parades and worthless medals that it comes as a shock to hear Tifa's voice snatching him back to his bed-ridden present. The scratch of percale almost makes him wish he was in a parade instead.

Almost.

Tifa is speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said I don't know what I'd have done if you'd … y'know."

"Popped my clogs? Tidied me away like all the other garbage, I expect."

"Don't talk like that."

"Tifa, I like you, you're a good kid, but shut the fuck up. I just had a heart attack. Then I wake up to be yelled at by you and Doctor Chocolate over there." He holds up a hand against her expression. "Not to mention Miss Holier Than Thou and her sword-toting lapdog. And before I've even had time to figure out which end passes shit and which end just talks it, you're telling me what I can and can't do with my life anymore. After all that, I ain't in the mood for pussyfooting around what _you_ ain't comfortable discussing. You're uncomfortable? Good. Welcome to my world. So suck it up and deal with the concept of saying whatever the hell you want, or get your spineless female touchy-feely emotional fucktardism the hell away from me."

He's on the attack. More than that, he's being _cruel_. When he's confused or in pain it's the only way he knows how to _be_, which hasn't served him well in the past, but Cid genuinely doesn't know what other emotional response he's qualified to give. Anything less than confrontation would feel false, like he's telling more lies in one gesture than the rest of the situation entirely.

Tifa blinks. "All right," she says tightly. "Who is Shera?"

Cid stiffens like a corpse. "What?"

"You kept saying her name when you collapsed. Who is Shera, and why do you want to say sorry to her so much?"

Cid's mouth goes dry. He hasn't heard that name in a long time. Not even Leon ever knew the full story about what Cid left behind on his world, and since it wasn't Cid's finest hour he left it at that. Damn hypocrite that he is, saying he likes everything out in the open and then leaving that behind closed doors. Now, it seems, _he's_ let the cat out of the bag himself. How ironic.

Even more than needles, magic, or being told what to do, Cid _hates_ irony.

"Shera was …" What? A colleague? A friend? A subordinate? The fucking _Tooth Fairy_? "A woman. Shera was a woman. I nearly married her, once."

"Oh." The change in Tifa's tone is whiplash fast again. Gawd, how the young snap from one emotion to another, like bees tasting the nectar from hundreds of different flowers, before finding the one they take back to the hive and call all the other bees to.

The worst is that Cid can _remember doing it_, but now he's trapped in some old fart's body – which is already starting to crap out like an engine that should've been retired from service already. Talk about falling to earth with a bump.

"What … happened?" Tifa asks quietly.

He barks a laugh. "It didn't work out. That's the long and short of it. She wanted to get married and I didn't. 'Course, even if I had changed my mind afterwards, Heartless ripping her heart from her chest while she steered our Gummi Ship took care of any starry-eyed reunion. To tell the truth, it was kind of a relief. She used to look at me like you're looking at me now. Pissed me right off."

"Oh, Cid…"

"Shut. The fuck. Up." Cid's voice is dangerously low. "It's not that important. It wasn't an early draft of Leon and Rinoa. It didn't mean much. She thought more of the relationship than I did. It ended. It happens every day. End of story."

"But you still want to apologise to her. For what?"

"The fuck am I supposed to know? Getting her killed, probably. It was my ship she was on, remember? I was supposed to be getting us out when everything went to shit and the apocalypse tried to chew us up and shit us out. And no, I wasn't trying to rescue her because she was the goddamn love of my life. She was part of my crew in the Air Force, who stuck with me when I started researching instead of bombing the hell out of enemy countries. She was the only one who made it to the ship in time before Heartless made take-off impossible. There ain't no hidden meaning to this, girl. I thought I was dying when I said that. People say all kinds of crazy shit when they think they're dying. It don't make any of it true. If I'd shouted 'I like rock cakes' or 'I worship bananas', would you be giving me that look?"

"What look?"

"Like you think I'm some pathetic broken thing you can stick back together with glue and good wishes," Cid sneers, absently reaching for the packet usually tucked into his sleeve by the shoulder. When he finds it's not there he lets out a string of curses that could melt the walls. "Shera was a woman who worked for me, who asked me to marry her. I said no, she accepted my answer, and we worked together just like always. When the Heartless came she piloted us out of port and then died. I kept going and ended up here."

"You've never mentioned her before."

"Because she ain't that important." Cid's snarl has become a fully fledged roar, but he clamps down on it, so he only roars through the cracks and around the edges, leaking out from under the splayed fingers touching his voice box.

Shera _isn't_ his lost love. She _isn't_ his life's biggest regret. She _isn't_. Sure, he feels bad for what happened to her, but he feels just as bad for what happened to the rest of his crew – the ones who died in their beds, or were shot out of the sky, or who the Heartless found a hundred miles away from the port. He feels guilty about Shera, but not because she confessed her undying love for him with her last breath. No, she used that for screaming as the Heartless came up behind her and prised her ribcage apart through her spine.

However, he can tell just by looking at Tifa that she'll never believe this. She's still too young and stupid to see that romance isn't the be-all and end-all. She's still too naïve to see that love and relationships – marriage, kids, a house with a picket fence and, gods forbid it, a _dog_ – are the most stifling things in the world. Relationships tie you down. You can't take off and fly just for the sake of flying when people depend on you the way a family does.

Shera wanted to settle down with him. Cid liked her – more than he'll ever admit to anyone, including himself – but not even she was enough to make him forget the taste of open sky and a full fuel tank. Not enough to make him give up his dream of space-flight and walking on the moon when everybody told him it was impossible. That curbing of his freedom is the thing Captain Cid Highwind fears most, even more than collapsing in the oil and dust of his workshop floor like a busted engine pumping out black fumes until it's choked itself to death.

Tifa continues to look at him, until she turns her face away, unable to continue meeting his baleful glare.

"I ain't glad she's gone," Cid grates. "But don't ever pretend I mourn her any more than I do the rest of those who died in that attack. I lost a lot of friends that day." He keeps their faces at bay by focussing entirely on the dip of Tifa's eyelashes and the way her earrings show through her hair. "But I survived, so that means I keep going. Even past a heart attack."

"You'd better. If you don't, I'll kick your butt all the way from here to Mosey City and back again."

Captain Cid Highwind turned down a good woman's offer of marriage because he didn't want to give up his liberty. So how did he, a man who so valued the freedom of the open skies, a man who surrendered what might've been his only shot at romance – how did _he_ end up rooted to earth in a little shop, in a little freak show of a town like this, with a little busybody like Tifa Lockhart sitting by his sickbed?

Not even Cid can answer that one.

"I'd like to see you try, girl."

* * *

"Aerith?"

Aerith turns, a teabag between her fingers. "Zack?" She's surprised to see him – alone and seeking her out.

He looks uncomfortable. "They, um … how's it going?"

She glances at the teabag and then back up at him, the hiss of the kettle growing louder behind her. The little staffroom is only big enough to contain two armchairs and a small counter, with a sink and enough room for a kettle and cheerful containers marked 'Tea', 'Coffee' and 'Sugar' in curlicue writing. There's a cluttered, claustrophobic feel if you're not used to it like she is. Any noise in here seems instantly louder. "They're worried about the tea, aren't they?"

"Um…"

Aerith sighs. She isn't offended, though she knows she's improved a lot. At least her tea isn't the colour of extra-support pantyhose anymore. "Would you like to make it instead?"

Zack just keeps looking uncomfortable, until she steps aside and flops into one of the armchairs. Given a clear shot at the kettle, he moves towards it and waits for it to boil. As he leaves the doorway the heavy spring, designed to provide privacy from patients, swings the door shut behind him.

For a while the only noise is the hiss of steam.

Aerith stares at Zack's back. He has taken off the Buster Sword, presumably when he went to the bathroom. Zack will know exactly where it is, so she doesn't concern herself with that, but the lines of his body look strange without it.

Aerith abruptly gets up. Before Zack can protest, she has looped her hands around him from behind, not quite pinning his arms to his sides, and pressed her face between his unusually unshielded shoulder blades. She used to do this all the time. Now it feels odd, but in a good way.

"Aerith …?"

"You're so tense," she mumbles into the fabric of his shirt. She half-expects him to push her away or try to escape, but he doesn't. She takes this as a good sign. "Zack, talk to me."

"About what? Cid? Kairi? The state of Mosey City's economy?"

"About whatever's been bothering you since you got back from Ambleton." Taking a page from Tifa's book, she speaks ripping-band-aid quickly, before he can interrupt. "Zack, be truthful with me. Did someone hurt while you were there?"

"What? No! Why would you eve think -"

"Every time I've tried to talk to you about your trip, you shy away from me. You've been shying away from me a lot lately. You're hiding something, and I'm worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm fine. Honest."

"Sometimes."

"Everyone has times when they feel down, Aerith. I'm no different than anyone else."

"There are times when you feel down, and then there's whatever's been going on for the past few weeks."

"So I'm not allowed to be preoccupied? Is that it? Happy Zacky-poo isn't allowed to have off days?"

Aerith is shocked by his bitter tone, but keeps her own voice soft and soothing. Her hands are linked together across the front of his chest. "Zacky-poo?"

"Never mind. Just something Yuffie said."

"Something's not been right with you for a while, Zack. Everybody can see it. We've all tried to talk to you, but you avoid the issue."

"Maybe because there's nothing to talk about."

She could smack the back of his head right now for being so evasive, but she knows it wouldn't do any good. Also, if she lets go, she gets the feeling he'll bolt again. This is the longest she's been able to pin him down to talk to him and she's not about to give up the opportunity. "You're lying."

He shifts against her, uncomfortable. She squeezes tighter and he freezes. "Aerith, please."

"Please what?"

"Please drop it."

"Drop what?"

"You used to do that when we were kids – always answer with a question. It drove me _nuts_. I could never win an argument with you."

"Because I used my wily female logic against your manly pigheadedness." He smells of sweat. It's not entirely unpleasant, but not really enjoyable either. She turns her face aside, brushing her cheek against his spine. Perplexingly, the tiny contact makes him shiver and shift uncomfortably again. Fresh concern blossoms in Aerith. Zack's never had a problem with physical contact before. He has always been the most demonstrative of them.

What _happened_ to him in Ambleton? Merlin said he often went wandering on his own. Anything could have happened while the wizard couldn't see. Awful possibilities pop into her mind and she represses a shiver of her own.

"Why are you lying to me?" she asks quietly.

"I'm not. Nothing bad happened in Ambleton."

"So what's the _matter_?"

"Nothi-"

"You're not acting like nothing's wrong. You're acting like someone did something terrible to you and you're too ashamed to tell us about it."

Zack's shoulders hunch. "Nobody did anything to me."

"So why do I still feel like you're lying?"

"I don't know."

They fall silent. The kettle clicks off, but neither she nor he makes any move to pick it up and empty boiling water over the teabags. Dr. Sweet doesn't have any delicate tea sets, just chunky, mismatching mugs because every time he breaks a couple the survivors end up here. Aerith likes to use the one with little moogles chasing each other around it in a never-ending pursuit – the chased becoming the chaser becoming the chased becoming the chaser, until you can't tell whether it's all just a big joke and they don't even watch to catch each other anyway.

Zack mutters something.

"What?"

"Strength Card. Three of Pentacles."

"Zack?"

He turns, breaking free and knocking her off balance, but she doesn't fall over because suddenly his hands are on her upper arms and he's looking at her properly, really _looking_ at her – for the first time in weeks. The earnestness in his eyes is naked and heartbreaking. Aerith feels like she's fifteen again, back on the staircase in his house, while the clock strikes midnight and Zack sits with his head against the banister Angeal carved. The unspoken emotion in his eyes used to shine even with the lights off, as though his eyes were made of neon. It bores into her now like a torch searching for something in the dark.

"Do you believe in tarot?"

It's not remotely the question she expects. "Excuse me?"

"No, wait, that's a dumb question." He releases her arms. They tingle where he gripped them so hard, like he was clinging onto her to save him from … something. Aerith still doesn't know what. "'Do you believe in tarot'? What a stupid thing to say."

"Zack, you're scaring me."

He glances at her. "I am?"

"A lot. I feel … like I don't even know you anymore. Or like you're cutting me out. You're cutting out Cloud _and_ me when you clearly need us the most. That's how it feels. Did … did _we_ do something to hurt you?" A distasteful question, but one that has to be asked.

"No!" Zack answers vehemently, shaking his head. "Of course not!"

"Then why have you stopped talking to us? Why can't you seem to spend more than thirty seconds alone with us? Why are you constantly putting people in between you and us? I know you've been sleeping in the armchair. Yuffie told me. I know you've been out until long after nightfall, just walking around town because you don't want to come home. We've always been there for each other. You, me, Cloud – it doesn't work when one of us is hurting and the other two aren't allowed to help. It hurts them as well."

Zack lets out a breath that could be a chuckle-snort. "Man, the one thing I _never_ wanted to do is hurt you guys."

"Are you kidding? How is this not hurting us? Apart from it being as subtle as a kick in the face, how is cutting us out, letting us see you in pain and _not letting us help you_ supposed to _not_ make us feel bad? It feels like we're _failing _you. We've been together most of our lives. We promised to look after each other when we came to this world. We're stronger together, you _know _that. So why are you turning away from us now?"

"You have no idea," Zack mutters, turning away yet again, but this time only back to the kettle. "Just forget it, Aerith. I'll forget it, and you forget it, and I'll stop acting weird. I promise."

Anger flares inside her. She grabs his arm, spinning him back to face her. He doesn't resist, but fixes her with an artificially cool stare that's so _not_ him. "So you just expect us to forget the past few weeks?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell us what's wrong?"

"No."

"Damn it, Zack! That's not good enough!"

The coolness dissipates like smoke. He looks shocked, even though it's such a mild word. "Honestly, Aerith, it's not that important -"

"Zack, will you just _stop_? Please?" Frustration creates tears in the corners of her eyes. She blinks them away, concentrating on his face instead. She won't cry. Crying won't help right now. She needs to be strong, for Zack – and for herself.

He stares at her, uncertain. "Stop?"

"Stop hurting yourself and let me help you. It's … when you're like this it hurts _me_ as well. We're too close for it not to. I've felt so … so _helpless_. So _useless_. Watching you avoid me, like you can't bear to look at me. Or like you're too ashamed. I've missed seeing you smile. Do you understand the kinds of things I've been imagining? All the pictures in my head of what could've happened to you, that you think you can't tell me about? Please, Zack, just _tell_ me."

He breaks a little then. "I _can't_," he whispers, inadvertently acknowledging that she's right; there _is_ something wrong.

Aerith reaches for his hand. "Zack pl-" Her words are cut off as Zack snatches his hands away, then, abruptly and _impossibly, _leans forward.

And kisses her.

He doesn't grab her, or pull her towards him; he just leans in, covers her lips with his just long enough for it not to be an accident, and then rears back like she burned his mouth.

Aerith's hands fly to her face. "Z-Zack?" she mumbles, shocked.

"I … I didn't mean to … oh, shit." Zack stares at her for a moment longer. Then he darts past her and out of the door.

"Zack!" Aerith stumbles after him. The staffroom door claps shut loudly, making everyone look up, even if they hadn't already noticed her shout and Zack's fleeing figure.

The sight of Cid in his bed makes Aerith hesitate. Her natural healer's impulse is to stay with her patient, but the rest of her – the part that's all Aerith, the girl under the powers and the Ancient bloodline, who sometimes seems to be forgotten beneath the weight of her own reputation – desperately wants to follow Zack.

The decision is made for her when Cid snaps, "Well? What the fuck are you playing at? Go after him, you stupid fuckwit!"

"Cid!" Tifa exclaims, but her words are a smear of sound, like a passing train. Aerith's already out the door, ignoring Dr. Sweet's call for her to stop.

She isn't wearing any shoes, so when her feet hit the cobbles it hurts. She hops awkwardly against the sudden pain in her arches. "Yow! Zack, wait! Ow, ow, ow…" She picks her way over the cobbles on tiptoe, lurching from side to side every time she loses her balance from this peculiar way of running. At least it's not so sunny they're too hot to stand on barefoot. "_Zack!_"

Evening's drawing in. She, Tifa and Cid must have slept for a long time, but the lengthening shadows aren't yet dark enough to prevent her from seeing Zack up ahead, still running. He hasn't taken the Buster Sword. That's just another shock to heap on top of the astonishment bubbling inside her.

Zack kissed her.

He _kissed her. _

"Zack!" She tries to quicken her pace. "Za-_yowch_!"

* * *

Zack has decided he's an idiot.

Total, one hundred percent idiot. Grade A idiot. Can't get a bigger idiot than Zack Fair, the guy who couldn't disguise his emotions if he gave them a fake moustache a pair of glasses – the guy who just kissed the best friend he resolved to keep just as a friend.

Seriously, he wasn't going to say anything. _Seriously_.

He watched her sleep. When she and Tifa took their naps, before Cid woke up, he watched over Aerith like he was trying to protect her. Dr. Sweet gave him the option to go home, but like a bimbo from one of Tifa's romance novels he stuck around. When nobody was looking he crouched in front of Aerith and smoothed her hair out of her face like … well, the unrealistic guys from those romance novels. The guys who always know what to say; who turn up looking suave and mysterious and sweep the bimbos off their feet. He watched her sleep, like he watched her work last night, and watched her droop with exhaustion this morning.

He thought about Cloud, too. He thought abut him coming back from Mosey City, oblivious to what happened while he was catching up with Esmeralda. Cloud seems quite fond of her. That leads Zack to think about what Cloud told him of the dressmaker; how she used to be a thief until the Thief King changed their friendship by bringing romance into it. The Thief King ruined what he had, chasing Esmeralda away completely because he asked for too much from her. Instead of everything, he ended up with nothing, and if it hadn't been for Cloud, they may never have spoken again, no matter how close they were before.

And right there, looking at the little bit of drool leaking from the side of Aerith's mouth, Zack decided he didn't want to spoil their friendship. Aerith and Cloud mean too much for him to change what they have – to risk rejection or the plain fact that while they may be brilliant friends, they may not make brilliant … anything-elses. He's been squashing his fantasies of them so much for the past few weeks even he's not sure what the proper titles would be.

And then he went and kissed Aerith.

Yeah, smart move, Zack. _Really_ intelligent.

"Zack!" He can hear her calling him. Because, hey, not only did he kiss her, he then _ran away_. Intelligent _and_ brave – whoopideedoo! How is it he can face down a snarling chimera, or run into a horde of Heartless, but this has him fleeing like a scared rabbit? "Zack!"

He can't face her. He _can't_. If he does it'll all come out, all of it – how he really feels about her, about Cloud, about his own perversions, the confusion and self-hatred about imagining kissing a guy, the way he flips between the two of them in his unwelcome fantasies, the stupid teenage-girl-ish way he's been dealing with the whole freaking mess … _everything_. Seriously, how long did he think avoiding them was going to work? Talk about ostrich manoeuvres.

"Zack! Za-_yowch_!"

He turns on instinct. Aerith is on the ground, holding her ankle and grimacing with pain.

"Aerith!" Yet more brilliant tactics as he runs back and kneels by her side. "Are you okay?"

"I twisted my ankle."

Gingerly, he prises her fingers away. "It doesn't look too bad." He feels relief that she isn't hurt – and then a wash of panic and shame and other emotions he can't put names to. He tries to get up, but she catches his wrist and holds it between both hands like two sides of a bear trap. There's a surprisingly strong grip lurking in those slender fingers.

"Zack, wait."

He pulls once. She tightens her hold.

"Don't run away again. I can't keep up with you, but I'll still try. You can't get rid of me that easily."

She said that when they were kids, in the early days of their friendship when he used to encourage Cloud to run on ahead because she had to keep proving herself to him. He was such a little rat back then.

"I'm sorry," he blurts. He's only half sure what he's apologising for – kissing her, feeling this way, acting so immaturely all these weeks, even leaving her lagging behind when they were so young he still believed in cooties. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. Just forget that ever happened. Forget … everything. All of it. Just forget it -"

"Zack!" Aerith's eyes are huge. "Zack, calm down. Take deep breaths. I'm not angry."

He slumps. "That's _worse_."

She doesn't reply to that. She just holds onto his hand and says, ever so softly, "Zack, just tell me … why?"

"Why did I kiss you, or why did I run away?"

"Both."

The laugh that gurgles out of him is the least funny thing since the invention of un-anaesthetised castration. "Isn't it obvious?" It has to be. It's been at the forefront of his mind so much he's convinced he's been broadcasting it into everybody he meets.

Aerith just continues to stare at him. They're in the middle of the street, and though nobody's around, it's still too open. Zack feel vulnerable in every sense of the word; like he's peeling away layers of himself, and what's underneath is pink and weak, like new skin after a scab's been picked off too soon.

Oh, hell. She's going to make him _say it_.

He drops his head. "I'm … I've … I think …" Deep breath, Zack. You can do this.

Wait, no you can't.

Yes, you can! It's kind of inevitable now. You already kissed her.

Yeah, but it's not too late. You don't have to go into the gory details. Pass it off as temporary insanity. Tell her you were possessed by an imp. Tell her you met a witch who put a spell on you to make you fall in love with the first people you met when you got home, which just happened to be her and Cloud.

Don't be stupid. This is Aerith, remember?

Exactly.

Oh … hell.

"I'm in love. With you. I'm in love with you." Each word slides like silk and tears like thorns at the same time. It's hard enough getting those out, like the bung in the top of a bottle, and he still feels half clogged, as though the cork didn't pop, only shattered and half fell into the liquid inside. "I … love you. More than a friend loves a friend."

And then the words are out and on the ground, crawling around like worms. Sounds made by tongue, lips, vibrating vocal chords and the sides of his throat slapping together. Gagging comes out the same way, only with more bile. Which he can feel lapping at the bottom of his oesophagus, actually. His confession, vomited up, just as Yuffie described. Except it wasn't being kicked in the stomach that made him bring it up, just a pair of big green eyes and a moment of stupidity.

Aerith wets her lips. It's disturbing that he now knows how those lips taste. "How … how long have you … felt like this?"

"Does it matter? It's not even the whole thing. It's not even the _worst _thing."

"Being in love with me is a bad thing?"

"No. Yes. It's not the whole story. I don't want to be. I never _meant_ to be."

"Oh."

"It's not that you … that I … Aerith, it's _me_. It's us. You said it yourself; we've been together so long we practically grew up in each other's houses. But it's … it just _happened_, and I couldn't _control it_. I couldn't control anything. When I figured out how I felt, I didn't know what to do. I mean, it's _me_. One part of a triangle. One third."

Aerith's mouth drops open. "This is why you've been so weird. You realised when you were in Ambleton, didn't you?"

"I thought you'd be able to work it out as soon as you talked to me. You _and_ Cloud. It was stupid – you were both getting so mad with me for not talking to you, but I knew if I opened my mouth I'd say something so goddamn _dumb_. I thought I could sit on the feelings. Squash them, y'know? But they kept coming back. Like cockroaches. Not that falling in love is like stamping on cockroaches … I just … uh … this isn't coming out right."

Aerith says nothing, though thoughts gleam behind her eyes.

"I was starting to get irrational. I mean, I got jealous of Leon. _Leon_.The guy who's still so in love with his dead girlfriend he'll probably never look at _anyone_ that way ever again. And I was jealous whenever he came into our apartment. Not just jealous, I was … possessive, I guess. Territorial. There were times I wanted to smack him in the mouth when he hadn't even _done _anything, just because the part of me that's in love saw him as competition. And then there's the whole thing with Cloud, too. That made it all extra difficult. I had … so many thoughts, all going around inside my head so much I thought I may as well just give up and go insane. I didn't want anyone to know how I felt until I knew for myself. And until I knew what I wanted."

"I thought … I thought someone had … I thought you'd been _hurt, _but …" Aerith takes a deep breath and draws herself inward. When she looks at him again her eyes are clear, but fringed with anxiety. Zack may not be the sharpest tack in the box, but he knows Aerith well enough to recognise the nuances of her every look and movement.

She's still gripping his hand.

"So what _do_ you want, Zack? Honestly. No more games."

"This was never a game."

"No more half-truths, then."

"Honestly?" He laughs. "I've asked myself that _so_ many freaking times, and I still can't give myself a good answer. I want it all to stay the same. I want exactly what I have. But then I …" He pauses, copies her and gathers himself before his mind skitters off in too many directions at once. "Then I look, and think about it, and I want … more."

"Right." She blinks. "Right. Okay. Right."

"You're freaked, aren't you?"

"I'm surprised, I won't lie about that."

"Are you mad?"

"Oh, Zack." It's said so sadly, and with a new expression Zack _can't_ decipher, but which makes his heart leap into his throat and pulse there, thick and red and heavy. "Why would I be mad about this? I'm mad that you thought you couldn't _tell _me. I'm mad at myself for making you think I'd be mad. But I'm not mad with you. I could never be mad with you." She frowns thoughtfully. "Well, apart from when you pull stupid pranks, like putting laxatives in my casserole."

He stares at her. "When I thought about how this conversation might go, that part was never in it."

"Real life is never like you imagine it to be."

He blows out a breath. "You got that right." After a moment he raises his eyes to look at her. "So what now?"

"I don't know, Zack."

"You don't have to give me an answer."

"Yes, I do. I owe you that much."

"What? No, that's not right. You don't owe _me_ anything. I'm the dumb-ass fall-in-love-really-stupidly one here."

"Would it surprise you to hear me say you're not the only one who falls into that category?"

"What?"

She squeezes his hand. Just once. It's not the desperate 'please stay' squeeze from before, either.

The very centre of Zack's chest shivers, turns to stone, melts like molten metal and then reforms into flesh in the time it takes him to breathe in and out.

"The idea," Aerith says slowly, "isn't totally …"

"Repulsive? Disgusting? Stomach-turning?"

"Impossible."

Zack's eyeballs make a concerted attempt to leap from his skull. He's so busy blinking to keep them contained that he sees Aerith incline the whole top half of her body as though she's a stick-figure in one of those stop-motion wheels Merlin keeps on a shelf in his study. She hesitates, and then closes the distance in a quick snip of time, like a scalpel slicing the moment so that it bleeds into both of them and fills them up from the inside out.

Impossible.

Actually, more like jam and brioche, and something else. Something very … Aerith. Like that time, after he let her lag behind him and kid-Cloud, she dared him to eat a dandelion because she knew what it'd do.

No matter how many times he tested her, Aerith always proved herself to him.

It's sensory overload. He's kissing Aerith. Again.

And weirder (better!), she's kissing him back this time. Clumsily, and like this is her first kiss (_Is this her first kiss?_) but with growing confidence. Her lips are too soft at first, rendering her a total contrast with Elena, who pushed against Zack. Aerith doesn't kiss hungrily. She kisses cautiously and delicately, the way she does everything important – tends her flowers, cares for Kairi, uses her magic, and looks after those precious to her.

He's so wrapped up in the moment that when she suddenly pulls back, he isn't ready. He topples forward, lips wet and suddenly cold without hers on them.

"Bwuh?"

Aerith stares at something behind him, in the mouth of the alley leading off from the other side of this street. Her expression rings alarms bells before Zack even hears the sound that sends his heart plummeting.

"WARK!"

He whirls, but the chocobo is already on the move, back the way it came.

"Cloud, wait!" Zack and Aerith shout at the same time.

Cloud pulls up and looks over his shoulder, but he doesn't turn around. "I heard about Cid. I rushed over as fast as I could."

"Cloud," Aerith starts, but he cuts her off in a slightly strangled voice.

"I can see now I shouldn't have bothered. You obviously don't need me around."

"Cloud, wait," Zack calls desperately. "You've got it all wrong."

But it's too late.

Cloud is already gone.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	44. Yuffie to the Rescue!

**A/N:** Bloody hell, nineteen reviews for one chapter? I'm flabbergasted. Glad to see you're all still enjoying this fic. I'm enjoying reading your reactions to it, and I suspect there will be several different ones about this chapter in particular, if previous reviews are anything to go by.

* * *

**43. Yuffie to the Rescue!**

* * *

_Love comes when manipulation stops; when you think more about the other person than about his or her reactions to you. When you dare to reveal yourself fully. When you dare to be vulnerable._ -- Dr. Joyce Brothers.

* * *

Yuffie isn't sure which to be more surprised about – Tifa moving out, or Cloud.

Tifa's reason is more understandable.

"I'm going to take care of Cid for a while, otherwise the stupid man will overexert himself and have another heart attack. He needs to be watched. Constantly."

"Just not in the shower, because that's sick and wrong. Not to mention probably full of wrinkles and grey hairs," Yuffie quips, earning herself a shoe and a cushion aimed at her head.

She throws back the cushion but keeps the shoe, wearing it with that lone lace-up boot she found herself left with one night after she discovered the power station is guarded by big dogs with even bigger teeth. The sacrifice of a boot was unfortunate but necessary, and at least she didn't lose the seat of her pants like that time she tried to get into the sewerage works.

"Why the heck did you want to get into the _sewerage_ works?" Tifa asks when Yuffie explains why she's keeping the shoe (in between renditions of 'finders keepers, losers weepers, those who take gifts back are bleepers').

"Because I've never been in one, but this ninja in my clan once said he once drowned a guy in a vat of doody and I wanted to measure one to see if that's even possible."

"That is … beyond gross. Yuffie, _ew_."

Yuffie just grins.

Cloud, on the other hand, doesn't explain why he's going. No sooner has he arrived home from Mosey City, he's out again. He actually bangs the door, too, which is a very un-Cloud-like thing to do. He comes back later for a few clothes, tight-lipped and moving like he's only just recovering from muscle-relaxant.

Yuffie pesters and pesters and pesters, but the only response she can get is a curt, "Ask Aerith and Zack."

Which she does, only that's even more useless because Zack stomps around like he wants to punch something, and Aerith looks so woebegone that even Yuffie can see it. She brings a squirming Kairi over, which usually does the trick when Aerith's feeling low. However, instead of cheering her up by demanding to play pattycake, Kairi just goes very still and stares up at Aerith's chin. Then she crawls into her lap and falls asleep with her fat little arms still wrapped tight around Aerith's waist. It's cute, but it doesn't solve anything.

"Freaking typical," Yuffie tells a pigeon on the roof. The pigeon, which is used to seeing her up here, hangs around waiting for breadcrumbs and pretending to listen because it brings the food quicker. "Just when Hero _starts_ talking to them again, Cloudy _stops_. I swear, they're worse than children – because children would just throw mud at each other and cry and then that'd be _it_. Finito. Case closed. The-End-written-in-big-flowery-letters. Not all this freaking emotional constipation."

Tifa seems even more shocked than Yuffie when she hears about it. "Moved _out_? As in permanently? But why?"

"He won't say. He's being a big ol' ball of grouch."

"_Cloud_ is?"

"Yup. Which makes him well suited to living with the King of Grouch."

Since Tifa has already taken her toothbrush to Cid's and knows Cloud hasn't been staying there, she knows there's only one other candidate for this title. Her eyes widen. "He's not living with Leon."

Yuffie throws up her hands. "You better believe it. You could choke on all the angst in the hall outside Squall's door. I swear, yesterday I totally trod on a chunk of woe and nearly fell back down the stairs. Who knew woe is slimy, not sticky? Personally, I always imagined it being more crunchy, like cornflakes, but you live and learn."

"What do Zack and Aerith have to say about all this?"

"Lots of grunting, mostly. Hero's talking again, but he's given up words of more than one syllable and walks around with a face like a smacked ass _all_ the freaking time."

"And Aerith?"

Yuffie spreads her hands in a gesture she knows will have Tifa running to comfort her friend – leaving Cid to Yuffie's own tender mercies.

"Aw, fuck."

"Good to see you too, Old Fart. Nice jammies."

Cid glares at her from the bed. "What're _you_ doing here?"

Yuffie leans on the doorframe. "Is that any way to greet me when I've come to check on your welfare? I'm hurt. I'm wounded. I'm offended, too."

A slow, evil grin spreads across Cid's mouth. "You can't find a way into my workshop, can you?"

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about. I'm here on a mission of mercy – for Tifa, for having to put up with your nasty ass. She doesn't have to wipe it for you, does she?"

The glare he throws at her is so strong it would melt her fillings, if she had any. However, it quickly shifts back into the evil grin. Evil Grin McEvilpants. Too much of a mouthful to use as a nickname all the time, though. "I brought in help for making it ninja-brat-proof. I guess those moogles are good for something after all."

Yuffie just tosses her head and links her hands behind it like it's no skin off her nose whether he set up freaking nails-on-chalkboard alarms over every itty bitty little thing. He can keep his scummy workshop. Really. She tells him so, too.

Cid's face shows nothing but supreme satisfaction. "I _knew_ it."

"So does Tifa liquefy your food or chew it up for you herself?"

* * *

For some reason Kairi just doesn't _get_ that Cloud's gone. Not that Yuffie can blame her – Yuffie can be insensitive, but not totally stupid. There have always been two constants for keeping the whole group tethered together: their friendship and Kairi. Tifa has thrown the loop of friendship over Cid as well, but neither thing has made Cloud stay, which just proves that whatever has happened is Serious Business.

Each night Kairi asks for Cloud to read her a bedtime story – or at least that's what Yuffie translates from the heartbroken weeping and standing up in her cot. The first night Kairi seems pleased that it's Zack reading to her instead, even if his voice is all scratchy and he doesn't do the voices like Cloud does. By the third night, however, she smells a rat. At the end of the week Aerith has ended up letting her sleep in the big, empty bed with her.

"Can't you convince him to get over himself and come home, Squall?"

Leon just looks at Yuffie, then gestures to the sentence she hasn't finished in The Big Book of Adventure Stories. "Read on."

"How do you expect me to concentrate on 'Billy Bantam and the Fearful Phantom' when there's a little girl downstairs crying _buckets_ for a chocobo-head who won't come home?"

"Cloud needs time."

"Bull. Cloud needs a smack."

"Is that your answer to everything?" Leon asks, words varnished with irritation. "Violence?"

"No. Sometimes the answer is food. But I don't think a fudge ripple sundae with shortbread topping is going to fix this one. Has he told you what happened? He must've said _something. _C'mon, Squall, throw me a bone over here. I have my suspicions, but nothing concrete, and my snoop radar's coming up with a big fat E-M-P-T-Y."

"Cloud's reasons for needing space are his own."

"So you didn't ask him _why _he wanted to move in with you? You just let him in without question? Why, Squall, this is a whole new side to you I'm seeing. Squally Wally Pudding and Pie, Sheltered Cloudy When He Did Cry; But When the Yuffie-Monster Came to Play, Squally Didn't Know What to Say!"

Leon scowls. "It's Leon." The same words, said so many times, but he's developing nuanced ways of saying them with her. This is Number Eighteen: You Are Beginning to Piss Me Off. More Than Usual.

Yuffie smiles sweetly at him and pulls the book towards her. "Ahem. Billy Bantam was having a terrible day. It wasn't even nine o' clock yet, and already he'd fallen out of a tree, swung on vines to escape a horde of cannibals, and gone over a waterfall in a boat made of giant yucca leaves." She sighs. "Some people get all the fun."

* * *

Yuffie corners Cloud outside his chocobo shed. She takes a few precious sentences out of her diatribe to inform him how much she's sacrificing by coming near the stupid feather-butt, and treats it to her most fearsome Glare o' Doom, but all she gets for her trouble is a stare down with two equally flat pairs of blue eyes.

"Woo, Cloudy, don't do that. It's really freaky. You look like some mutant chocobo with its eyes in its ass."

"Did you want something in particular?" Cloud asks wearily, collecting together the chocobo's tack and storing it on its hook. Yuffie once tried to lift that down and was nearly crushed under the weight of the saddle, but Cloud hefts it about like it's made of tinfoil.

"Your sexy, sexy body. Rowr. No, wait, don't go! I didn't mean it. Geez, Cloudy, lighten up."

She sniffs and stretches to make her spine pop in that way he hates, but he doesn't even bat an eyelid. Things are worse than she thought, which just lends credence to her theories about what the hell went wrong between him, Aerith and Zack. Those three are so tight nobody thought them even capable of fighting, much less fighting at this level – beyond harsh words and way, way into stony silences and cold shoulders.

Yuffie gives Cloud the hairy eyeball. "How about you coming home?"

"I … can't. Not right now."

"Is that code for not ever? Small Fry misses you." Yeah, yeah, emotional blackmail, hitting below the belt, yadda yadda yadda. Ninja, remember?

Cloud winces, but doesn't relent.

Yuffie's reserves of patience, never very liquid, dry up completely.

* * *

She pounces on Zack – literally. He makes a satisfying 'woof' noise as he hits the floor of the landing.

"Things must be bad," Yuffie remarks, putting the groceries to one side, sitting on his stomach and folding her arms across his pecs so she can stare into his face. "I actually got the drop on you. Hey, I can see right up your nose from here. Ew, Hero, ever heard of plucking? It's like a freaking forest up there. Heroes have to maintain a good level of personal hygiene so they can properly perform their duties as Role Models For Everyone. It's in the handbook."

"Yuffie, get off me."

"No, that's not how it goes. You're supposed to say 'There's a handbook?'"

"Get off."

"Would you like it better if I was Ponytail?"

Zack's eyes and tone turn dark. "Yuffie -"

"Or perhaps …" She pauses for dramatic effect, because life is better when it's filled with dramatic effect and flair and panache, and all that good stuff she's still finding cool names for. "… Cloudy?"

The effect on Zack is electric. After Yuffie has spider-walked her way down the wall from the light-fitting, she jabs a finger hard into the centre of his chest and twizzles it around, as though trying to bore a hole through to his heart to let all the ache out.

"I knew it. I totally, completely, absotively-posolutely _knew_ it."

"Yuffie -" Zack starts, glancing uneasily around like they're _not_ the only ones in the hallway.

"What? Oh come _on_, you three have been joined at the hip since the day I met you. I was always kind of surprised it wasn't a proper joined at the _hips_ dealie. But then I was supposed to be the sweet and innocent teeny-bopper, not prone to sullying thoughts about things like that." She swoons dramatically, the back of one hand to her forehead. "But even to my innocent eyes it was freaking obvious you're all, like, totally made for each other."

"Yuffie," Zack snaps, uncharacteristically short, even with his recent reticence. "Be quiet." Then he walks off.

Just _walks off_.

She chases him, naturally. "So is this what had you all 'woe is me, oh woe, woe and triple woe' before? Hey, don't get all gnarly-snarly with me, mister, I'm all for this. Mind as broad an ocean, that's me. Seriously. If it gets the smell of salt out of the apartment from all the tears, then yay. I heard about you and Ponytail playing kissy-face in the street, so that part seems like it went okay. And yet we have the current situation, which is less than stellar. Do I take it Cloudy didn't react well when you told him you're hot for him too?"

Zack stops. Turns. _Snarls_.

Yuffie shrugs it off, but she stores that away and applies her brain to it later while sitting on the roof. She always does her best thinking on the roof. It must be something to do with the air up here.

Cloud's tantrum is more about getting completely the wrong end of the candy cane than about freaking because his best (male) friend has fallen for him. He saw Aerith and Zack playing tonsil hockey and scuttled away to lick his wounds about being cut out of the loop when his two best friends found love in each others' arms. He's so busy feeling like a spare part, he doesn't seem to realise yet that they each have an arm free to wrap around him, too. That their arms never actually went away, except in his head.

Part of Yuffie finds the whole thing hilarious, but the rest just rolls her eyes. And _she's_ supposed to be the melodramatic teenager who flounces off in a huff?

Except that, as she soon learns, it's not as simple as just correcting Cloud of the conclusion he's jumped to. Or just assuming that Cloud and Aerith are even open to the idea of three being better than two in a romantic relationship.

"Which, admittedly, might seem kind of weird to some people." Yuffie rocks forward, grasping her knees so she doesn't fall off the roof. "Okay, _most_ people. You just kind of assume romance goes in twos, right? But why? Procreation goes in twos. That's, like, logistics and stuff. But that's _bodies_. I always thought romance was about more than bodies. I thought it was, like, this great cosmic mix of the heart and the heart and the universe and … stuff. And I'm no maths whizz, but there are way, way more than two bodies in the whole freaking universe. Universes, even! So why still the two thing? Answer me that. If I can be friends with more than one person, can't I be in love with more than one as well?"

"Coo?" says the pigeon. _What do you want me to say? Did you miss the part where I'm a pigeon?_

"Cid said that on his old world they had something called 'soap operas'." Yuffie crumbles bread between her fingers and throws it like a rain of soft hailstones. "They were, like, these stories where totally random and majorly exaggerated things happened to the characters every week, which were supposed to reflect normal life, only they never did. Well, mix that up with one of Chicha's romance-books-I'm-not-supposed-to-know-about and you have something approaching the atmosphere I'm living in right now. It's totally stifling to my creative juices. You'd think they'd have twigged by now that they've got their wires crossed, and that they could be really, really happy if they tried a bit harder, but no, they're all too busy being angsty."

"Coo," the pigeon replies half-heartedly, disappointed that it's white bread again.

"They're all idiots. Very attractive idiots, even when they're pouting, but still. I'm living in a giant cuckoo clock. And every time it strikes the hour somebody sighs deeply, looks mournfully out of the window, or goes outside to hit something. I almost wish the Heartless _would_ attack, so they can vent and bond in battle, or whatever it is men do to make up after they've had a fight; and then run into Ponytail's arms and have a big fat Happily Ever After like in that dumb book of fairytales."

"Coo."

"You said it, buddy. I think it's time for a Great Ninja Intervention"

* * *

Aerith looks up when the door bangs open. Yuffie cartwheels into the bedroom that's supposed to be hers, but which she's never actually slept in. She stores some clothes in the closet but other than that the room is devoid of her charming touch.

"I," she pronounces, getting right up in Aerith's face so she could tell what she ate for lunch just by inhaling, even if she hadn't had exactly the same and been there while they all stared glumly at their tuna sandwiches. "I, the Great Ninja Yuffie, am totally gonna lock you three in a room and just leave you to get on with it if you don't start talking to each other soon."

"Excuse me?" Aerith is completely nonplussed, albeit in a very dejected way.

She hasn't been as stompy as Zack, or as gloomy as Cloud, but her quiet despondency is probably all the more corrosive for it. Aerith doesn't make a song and dance out of being miserable to let people know about it. Instead, she keeps doing the everyday stuff, which needs to be done whether you're heartbroken or not, so her unhappiness seeps under your skin and crawls into your head and heart like a disease.

_No a flesh-eating virus_, Yuffie decides, staring hard into those big green eyes and absently wondering whether it would hurt to touch one naked eyeball with another the way it hurts to stick your finger in your eye when cleaning eyelashes from your tear ducts.

"Yuffie -"

"You," she enunciates. "And Hero. And Cloudy. In a room. Alone. With or without a bomb and an attached a timer, so if you don't resolve your differences in under fifteen minutes you all go 'splody. I haven't decided about that part yet."

Aerith just looks at her like she's from another planet. Which, okay, technically she _is_, but that's beside the point.

"Yuffie, I know you mean well, but this is something we have to work through on our own."

"Like hell you do. Did it ever freaking occur to you that maybe, just maybe, _I_ would like you guys to be happy as well?"

Aerith narrows her eyes, not understanding the implications beneath this altruistic, selfless and very un-ninja-like statement (inasmuch as it's not motivated by money, the way of the shinobi, or clan honour). Godo would have a fit if he heard Yuffie talking these days. Then again, Godo would have had a fit about anything, given half a chance.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

And that's when Yuffie gets it – really _gets_ what's going on here. And it make her throw up her hands in true theatrical fashion and cry, "I do not freaking _believe_ this! _None_ of you have a clue! You three are just so … so … nyargh! You're so backwards you've gone all the way around the world and you're staring at the backs of your own heads. Seriously." She stretches out both arms, jumps back from Aerith and pivots on her heels. "Is it something about this place? This apartment? This _world_? Is it a fungus living in the wallpaper, giving off spores that make people never tell each other how they freaking well _feel_ about each other?"

Actually, the idea has merit. Yuffie isn't a scientist by any stretch of the imagination, but she feels like she should be calling herself a social scientist after living here. She certainly has enough test subjects. Aerith, Zack and Cloud have been going around in circles since the day she met two of them in Dark Forest and they took her home to meet the third part of their strong-but-delicate little triangle. Tifa, who's usually so outspoken, still hasn't told Cloud a damn thing about the contents of her own heart. And, yeah, Yuffie admits, she hasn't exactly been Miss Spelling Bee with Leon herself – although she's dropped enough hints that he has to know by now about the Crush to End All Crushes. However, this _is_ Leon, to whom teenage girls are alien creatures. Their ways are not his ways. Regardless, the evidence is there for one ball-busting conclusion: everybody is nuts and destined to be unhappy unless they start talking to each other about stuff that matters instead of whose turn it is to buy milk.

That lock-'em-in-a-room-and-let-'em-fight-it-out idea is looking better and better. She could sell tickets …

"Yuffie, I really don't want to talk about this right now."

"Big surprise."

Screw letting them work through things on their own. So far all that's brought them is heartache, wires so crossed they're a Cat's Cradle, and endless hours of Yuffie poking Kairi to make the kid giggle her way out of becoming a total manic depressive at two years of age.

"Okay, Ponytail. Sit down, shut up, and listen."

"Yuffie, really, I don't want to -"

Yuffie shoves her. Hard. Aerith looks shocked as she stumbles backwards, catching her knees on the edge of the bed. She plops backwards into a sitting position on the mattress.

"Sit down. Shut up. Listen. Learn." Yuffie pronounces each word so carefully it's like cutting glass with a scalpel. "I'm about to clear up this whole mess and let you into a secret about you, Zack and Cloud. This is how it is …"

When Aerith looks shocked after Yuffie has drawn her a picture of the situation as she sees it, Yuffie doesn't even know why she's surprised.

"You mean Hero never told you the part where he's totally in love with both of you at the same time?"

"We haven't really talked about it since Cloud left," Aerith admits. "I suspected there was more to all this than just him worrying about losing Cloud's friendship over kissing me. Some of the things he said … they make a lot more sense now."

"Hallelujah. We have a breakthrough. Now, after all my hard work, you're not gonna go all weird and say you don't like Zack anymore just because you share the title of his 'One True Love' with someone else, or because he likes guys as well as girls, are you? And, in point of fact, I'm wrong. Yes, yes, the Great Ninja Yuffie fluffed up her lines – because it's not guys-plural, it's guy-singular. Cloudy. And you, Ponytail. And Hero. One, two, three. Kind of like it's always been, only with more fringe benefits and paper hearts than before."

"I don't think it's going to be that simple, Yuffie."

"Why not?"

"Being friends with someone is very different than being in love with them, and being in love is very different than being in a relationship."

"And you'd know this because you've been in so freaking many. Give me a break."

Aerith flinches. Yuffie's inner Godo cheers. Or, no, Godo would never cheer. He nods approvingly at the way his daughter went straight for the jugular just then, which makes Yuffie roll her eyes and sheathe her claws to soften the blow the way her father never would.

"Okay, so the whole three-way thing is a little outside the box, but since when have any of us liked the inside of the infamous box anyway? You heal people with a thought and talk to the dead. Hero talks to his sword _and it talks back. _Cloudy rides around on a giant chicken and makes delivers for teddy bears with bat wings and bobbles on their heads. We moved _worlds_.Next to that, being in love with two people at once seems pretty damn average to me."

"Tifa," Aerith says simply.

Yuffie tips back her head. "Yeah, well, okay, so you've got a point there. But shouldn't that be part and parcel of the whole 'put Cloudy out of his misery and tell him what's really going on so he quits thinking the two most important people in the world to him haven't skipped off into the sunset without him' thing? He's a big boy, in a totally non-smutty way, and he's old enough to make his own decisions about stuff. _Including_ whether or not he wants to pick up on Tifa's signals."

"You've obviously given this a lot of thought."

"Damn skippy." Yuffie realises this is one of Cid's phrases and resolves to take a wire brush to her tongue later. Stealing his cusses is fun. Stealing his other stuff is just plain pathetic. "Do you have any idea what it's like living like this when you can see what's going on and nobody else can? It's lonely being the most intelligent one in the building, I can tell you. But it's worth it if you guys can finally work this out and get back to being the happy chappies you should be."

Aerith bites her lower lip, yet again cluing Yuffie in to the fact that she lives with morons who don't want to be happy. "This may not be something we can work out, Yuffie."

"Oh for fffff-" Remembering the afternoon spent tutoring Kairi how to say 'kit', 'mitt', 'grit' and 'wit', Yuffie reels the invective back in and tucks the line under her tongue. "Do you love Zack? And don't try to answer a question with a question, 'cause you're my friend, Ponytail, but so help me I'm gonna put some teeth down some throats if people don't stop making things needlessly difficult."

Aerith wisely replies, "Yes."

"As more than a friend?"

It takes a moment longer, but Aerith has obviously also given this some thought. Yuffie's just glad to see she hasn't spent all her time being wistful and pretty while doing the ironing. "Yes. I do."

"And he's already made it plain how he feels about you and Cloudy. So, second question: do you love Cloud the way you love Zack?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Me no likey that answer."

"I've never thought about it. I've never thought about _him_ like that."

"What, not ever? Not even when you lived together and shared the same bathroom, and you washed his underwear?"

"Yuffie!"

"What? You mean he washed _your_ underwear? Well, I suppose Cloudy is pretty domesticated after all. I'll bet he blushed when he saw your skimpies."

"No!"

"You didn't wear skimpies?"

"I mean no, I've never considered Cloud that way."

"I think you're lying, but I'll let it slide if you answer one more question. Snap decision: if it came down to losing them forever and ever and ever, or sleeping with them, which option would you pick?"

"Yuffie, that's a terrible question!"

"See this pocket?" Yuffie gestures to her shorts. "I've got something in here that can jog your thoughts along nicely." She draws out her fist. "See?"

Aerith pulls out her own special weapon: a reproachful stare that not even Yuffie, with her legendary tactlessness, can conquer.

Yuffie doesn't quail, not even a little, but she does back off a few steps and calls it dancing. She's not a bad dancer, she thinks, though none of her moves are from any formal dance her father or the other women of her clan tried to teach her. Those dances were all about letting men take the lead, or performing stories in which, invariably, she was expected to objectify herself for the Y-chromosomes in the audience. Yuffie's natural 'screw _that_' response kicked in early on that one.

"Okay, new question: how far would you go to save their lives?"

"As far as I needed to."

"Would you die to save them?"

Aerith doesn't even hesitate. "Yes."

"Then freaking well get out there and _fix_ this before they choke to death on their own misery. Man, do I have to do _all_ the thinking around here?"

Aerith gives her a very strange look. It's almost like the look the pigeon gives her when she unloads the day's events to it, and it stares and coos as if to say: _I say it every time, you stupid human chick: I. am. A. Pigeon_. Except Aerith's look has a lot more curiosity and a lot less rat-with-wings behind it.

"What?" Yuffie demands, gracefully spinning off into a graceful jeté that crashes her gracefully into the vanity mirror. "Ow, fff … arts. Fartsfartsfarts. That smarts. Hey, I invented rhyming cursing! I'll call it 'rhursing'. Or 'cyming'. Or 'Ponytail, you appear to be still casting a shadow'. Get lost, sort out your love-life, and stop staring at me, will you?"

* * *

Cloud is just about to leave to leave and start the day's deliveries when the door knocks. Since Leon left a while ago, there's a slim possibility it might be him, but it's so unlikely it's barely a passing thought. Leon has been more than generous letting him stay here for a while, however, and Cloud is conscious about overstaying his welcome, so on the off-chance he has forgotten his keys, Cloud opens the door.

"Oh."

He doesn't slam it again, because that's not in his nature, but his hand does twitch on the handle.

"Hi, Cloud," Aerith says. "Can I come in?"

"I'm just leaving. I have deliveries-" He looks down at the hand touching his wrist. Just like not slamming the door, he can't bring himself to brush it away.

"Trust me, if I don't talk to you now, Yuffie's likely to kidnap us and get explosives involved."

"Excuse me?"

"Long story." She drops her gaze for a millisecond, but shifts it back to his face again. "It's _all_ longer and more complicated than we thought."

Cloud narrows his eyes. There's extra weight to her words. "Where's Zack?"

"I thought this might be easier to hear from me."

Cloud's heart drops like a lead weight from the top of a tall tower. He never thought he'd get the break-up speech before actually going out with someone.

"You'd better come in." He stands back to let her pass, checks to make doubly sure there's nobody else lurking in the hall, and then quietly shuts the door.

Aerith stands awkwardly, like she's never been in here before. Odd, since Cloud knows she has brought Leon so many meals on nights when he wouldn't come to them, or come up under the pretence of fetching Yuffie just so she can talk to him, for no reason other than Leon often needs someone to talk to, and even more often doesn't realise it.

"So," he says to break the silence. Then he feels foolish because he has no idea what should come next in that sentence.

"So," Aerith replies.

Awkward doesn't even begin cover it.

Cloud isn't as angry as he was before. He's not sure he ever _could _be that angry again – angry enough to move out, angry enough to shut himself away, angry enough to feel like his heart is going to burst right out of his chest – mainly because the shock has had time to wear off and _he's_ had time to think about it with the luxury of hindsight.

Weary resignation and a kind of dull inevitability have taken the place of his anger now. If he's honest, all Cloud has ever wanted is for his friends to be safe and happy. In his mind that usually involved them being safe and happy with _him_, carrying on as a trio like they always have. His initial anger stemmed from them changing that – even worse, changing it without even asking him what he thought about it. However, if Zack and Aerith have found a new type of happiness in each other, it would make Cloud a gigantic hypocrite to stay mad at them for doing exactly what he has said he wanted all along.

The problem with being a decent person is that life likes to make you prove it. A lot. In new and inventive ways.

So he sucks up his courage and what's left of his dignity, says, "I'm happy for you guys," and is genuinely shocked when Aerith laughs out loud. "I'm … huh? What?"

She keeps laughing.

"I don't get it. What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that Yuffie is _right_."

"What? What does Yuffie have to do with anything?"

"You'd never believe me if I said she's probably the most perceptive matchmaker in Traverse Town."

"Huh?"

"Cloud, I'm sorry." Aerith's tone turns sober. She has a sort of distant expression on her face. She's not looking at him, but past him, as if there's something very far away just beyond his left shoulder. Cloud would turn around if he didn't already know the only thing there is the wall and a light switch. "I'm sorry for everything. Zack would be too, if he knew I was here."

"So Zack doesn't know you've come to break it to me?"

Her eyes come sharply into focus again. "Break what to you?"

"That you don't want me around anymore."

"_What_?!"

"Well, I just thought … you sounded like … when you came in," Cloud says, flustered by her astonishment "When you said this would be easier for me to hear from you, I thought you meant … Look, I mean it, I _am_ happy for you guys. Honestly. I can't say I wasn't shocked, and seeing you kissing in the street wasn't how Iwould'vechosen to find out you have feelings for each other, but I'm over that now. And I _am_ happy for you." That's the third time he's said that line. Maybe if he repeats it enough it'll sound real. Maybe if he says it a hundred times a day for the rest of his life it'll eventually _feel_ real. "I really am -"

"Cloud?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"But -"

"Just let me talk for a second, will you? You can be such an idiot sometimes. You think we don't want you around anymore? Nothing could be further from the truth."

"But you guys are in a relationship now. I may not be an expert on the subject, but I know that two's company and three's a crowd. I'm just giving you guys an out so things don't become awkward." And because it hurts less to excuse himself discreetly than be left out and gradually realise that the friendship they had isn't the same anymore. Possibly isn't even _there_ anymore.

So much of their lives has been defined by their friendship. It seems impossible that it's all going to change, but it has to. Cloud knows this. He _does_.

That doesn't make it any less painful. Not even close.

Especially when Aerith is standing in front of him, staring at him like … actually, like he's crackers. Of all the expressions Cloud was expecting, this isn't one of them.

"A relationship?" she says thoughtfully. "I'm not sure what's going on between Zack and me now. That kiss in the street … it was the first time, Cloud. There was nothing before that. Nothing from me, at least. Zack, on the other hand … do you remember how worried we were about him after he got back from Ambleton?"

"He was in love with you and didn't want to tell us. I worked that out for myself."

"You're half right." She hesitates for a moment. "He wasn't – isn't – only in love with me though. That's what a lot of the soul-searching was about. That was why he was so weird with _both_ of us."

It takes a few seconds for Cloud's brain to hoist this information onto the examination table, poke it and prod it, and finally stick a label on its foot. When it does his eyes widen and his lower jaw just about hits the floor.

Aerith reads his reaction and nods. "Please don't be angry with him," she says softly. "He couldn't help it."

Cloud swallows. "Why …" He swallows again, mouth suddenly very dry. "Why would I be angry with him?"

"Oh come on, Cloud, don't play dumb. He's been breaking his own heart over this – bad enough his feelings for _me_ changed, and then for them to change towards _you_ as well … Cloud, Zack is incredibly conscious of the fact that you are both guys. But this just proves what José said: you don't fall in love with bodies, you fall in love with _people_."

Inside, Cloud is such a fizz of different emotions it takes a few seconds just to identify the top layer of bubbles that pop at him. Each bubble summons a different thought, so first he thinks 'Me?' then 'Impossible', 'Ambleton', 'Friends', and 'Unreal'.

And relief. Cloud didn't even realise what the extent of the knots in his stomach until relief flows over them, dissolving the unsolvable puzzles he was ready to cut through to free his friends to be happy with each other, without him.

He shuts his eyes.

"Cloud?"

"How?" he asks, still with his eyes shut. "How can he want both of us at the same time? Leaving aside the … gender thing for a second. Both of us? How is that even possible?"

"How can you be friends with two people at once? There's room in every heart for more than one person. So why not room enough for more than one person this way as well?"

"You mean you're … okay with this?"

"After my own bit of soul-searching, yes." She takes a breath. He can hear it even over his own pulse, which is racketing in his ears like hailstones on a corrugated iron roof. "Because I feel the same way."

Cloud opens his eyes and blinks at her. "You do?"

She doesn't even have to answer. He can see it in the tangled clasp of her fingers. He can see it in the tilt of her eyebrows, and in the slight crinkle of skin at the corners of her eyes as she squints in the light from the window.

And he can see it in the memories he has of her; years of casually soft touches, smiles mirrored three ways, and shared experiences, right back into childhood, that were always cut into thirds.

A part of Cloud is shrieking because, as much as he cares for both of his friends, this is so far out of his comfort zone it's done a complete loop and re-entered it from the other side.

Zack is a guy.

Zack is his friend.

Aerith is his friend.

Aerith has seen him retching blood, and used to wipe his nose and teach him about flowers when they played in the sandbox.

Zack cut sticks from trees when they went apple scrumping, and taught him that boys have to be manly, before they both realised you can be manly and still know how to identify snowdrops, fall asleep against each other, and not get weird, like the other boys at school, just because someone of the same sex slings his arm around you to cheer you up when you're feeling down.

They've always lived life by their own rules. Why should they stop now?

_I love them_.

_I love them both._

_I've always loved them._

_I really don't think I could live without them in my life._

The thoughts appear in his head before he can stop them – fully formed, no effort necessary, as though they've just been waiting for the rest of him to be in a position to accept them. As though they were jus waiting for him to stop lying to himself about being able to carry on after having their friendship and then losing it again.

Really, the only things that have ever stopped these thoughts from appearing are peer pressure, social normality and the searing terror that he might lose them both if he asked for more than what he had. Cloud has always felt like he should be grateful for anything he can get, and it isn't his place, or his right, to ask for more. He isn't important enough for that. Son of a whore. Bastard child. Unwanted. Shameful. Disgraceful addition to the town. Those sneers and slights were a long time ago now, but they've always rested in the back of his mind in some form.

If they'd stayed in Hollow Bastion their whole lives, it's probable none of this would ever have happened. He, Zack and Aerith would've continued just being friends, until they bent to the will of the place and either married other people, or consigning themselves forever to being bachelors and a spinster.

But this isn't Hollow Bastion, where disapproving gazes follow those who refuse to conform. This is Traverse Town. This is the place where magic is the norm, and creatures more bizarre than the fiercest monsters in their world walk the streets without anyone taking a second look. This is the place where Aerith is allowed to show the parts of her gifts Hollow Bastion made her hide – and not only that, but to be proud of them. This is the place where miracles have already happened and dreams are allowed to come true.

And maybe … just maybe … this is the place where dreams you didn't even know you had can come true, too.

They have always been in his heart. Right in the centre. He would die for them. To protect them, he would die himself. You can't fake that kind of emotion, and you can't bury it. Not forever. Not unless you want to go insane.

"Cloud?"

"What do you want me to say, Aerith?"

"I don't know. That you can forgive all the misunderstandings, if nothing else?"

"I want …" Cloud pauses. He wants to reach for her, but he's not quite there yet. "I want to be happy," he says at last. "I'm tired of living life on its own terms, or anybody else's. I just want to be happy. On _my_ terms for once."

"Is there room in there for me and Zack?"

"You're my best friends, Aerith. No matter what life has ever thrown at us, I've always been able to cope because you two were there. I don't ever want to lose you. All this," he spirals his hand, "has taught me I'd miss you too much to let you go unless it's what you wanted. If it's what would make you two safe and happy, being together, I'd step back and let it happen. But _only_ then."

"Just friends, then." She nods, eternally accepting.

And now he does move. Her hand is warm and remarkably tiny in his. There's no dirt under her fingernails, despite all the time spent at her church recently. She always goes there when she's troubled, finding a voice for her problems in the care of her flowers and the careful turning of soil. Cloud has seen her, walking to and from the dilapidated building. More than once he has wanted to get down from his chocobo and run after her, but something has always stopped him. He thought she'd be happiest without him there to get in the way. He thought neither she nor Zack needed him the way he needs them.

Man, he really _is_ an idiot.

"Cloud?"

"It won't take me long to move my stuff back in, if there's still a place for me."

She smacks the back of his head, but immediately pulls his ear so she can reach to lean her forehead against his. "Like there ever wouldn't be?"

Then she kisses him; pushes her face up into his and brushes their lips together in little more than a tentative graze, and the _feel_ of her actually steals Cloud's breath.

"Is … this okay?" she asks, like she's frightened he'll bolt again.

"Very okay."

When he dips his head to make it a proper kiss it's even sweeter, and if there was any remaining doubt in Cloud's mind it's swept away. This feels _right_. It feels natural.

So when they go downstairs and Zack leaps up from the couch, surprised to see them, it's Cloud who extends the feeling to him as well. The display of uncharacteristic forthrightness catches Zack even more off-guard than the kiss, but if he objects then he doesn't show it. He does, however, freeze up in disbelief, and when Cloud pulls away Zack stares at him like he can't believe what's going on.

"We really need to learn how to communicate if this is going to work," Cloud informs him gravely, leaning their foreheads together the way Aerith leaned against his own only a short time ago.

"Seconded." Aerith threads her hands through both of theirs. "You especially, Zack. No more secrets and half-truths. From now on, we talk."

Zack pulls back and looks from one of them to the other. "Are you guys serious?"

"If you still want this," Aerith replies, "then yes."

"I … I don't …"

"Please don't say you've changed your mind now," Cloud mutters, only half joking. "Not after all this drama."

Zack shakes his head so fast it nearly bounces clean off his shoulders. "I don't know _what_ to say."

"How about 'Yuffie is the smartest girl on the planet and should be worshipped with offerings of chocolate cake and blueberry muffins'?" None of them noticed Yuffie in the doorway to the girls' bedroom. She grins wickedly at them, twirling a pair of scissors from the cutting and gluing she's been doing with Kairi, who has apparently fallen asleep on the bed. "That's what was on the tips of your tongues, wasn't it? Apart from each other, I mean."

"Yuffie!" Aerith cries, as Cloud blushes scarlet.

"What? You're denying I was right all along? You three were meant for each other, you're just complete dopes at figuring out your own hearts. It's lucky for you that you've got a genius like me to help you out; otherwise you'd still be sniffling into your hankies like babies. All hail me, the Great Ninja Yuffie, also known as Romantic Expert Extraordinaire Who Really Really Wishes We Had Some More of Those Caramel and Fudge Cookies That Ponytail Made for Small Fry's Birthday Hint Hint."

And even more than the feel of Zack and Aerith's hands in his own, right now, this moment of laughter and relief and _love_, feels too good for it not to be right. It feels, Cloud thinks, like finally getting home after an extremely long journey.

And at the very end, after everything that hasn't yet come to pass has happened, it's this moment he'll look back on and smile at, cry over, and use to fuel his pursuit of a madman more than any moment before or after it.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_How do you expect me to concentrate on 'Billy Bantam and the Fearful Phantom' when there's a little girl downstairs crying buckets for a chocobo-head who won't come home?"_

-- The title of the story Yuffie's reading is based on the children's book _The Phantom of Billy Bantam_ by Penny Dolan.

* * *


	45. Tifa Picks Herself Up Again

**A/N:** For those who are interested, I'm re-releasing my other pre-canon fic, _The Most Dangerous Game_, in multi-chapter format at the moment, and would appreciate any and all feedback.

Also, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of Wayne Allwine, the voice of Mickey Mouse, who died on 18th May 2009 of diabetes complications. You know reality is different than fantasy when Mickey Mouse can literally die and you don't hear about it until a month later.

* * *

**44. Tifa Picks Herself Up Again**

* * *

'_Looking back, I have this to regret: that too often when I loved, I did not say so.'_ -- David Grayson.

* * *

There was a song in Hollow Bastion, sung on birthdays and late at night by drunk people going home from the tavern. It had several verses, but only the chorus was ever remembered properly. It was the kind of easily-remembered thing that was easy to both slur around bottle necks and sing ironically over cakes with too many candles without sounding inappropriate:

"_Time is a river, a river, a river; _

_Time is a giver, a taker as well. _

_Time is a river, a river, a river; _

_So won't you come sit here beside me a spell?"_

Time does flow like a river, because a river can't be stopped as easily as a stream, or collected like an ocean. Time just keeps going, rushing along at its own pace, with no thought for those trying to ride it. Once the current gets you you're at the river's mercy, and trying to get off involves first learning how not to drown.

* * *

Traverse Town doesn't bat an eyelid at the changing dynamics of Mr. Snoops's tenants; which is a good thing, as it gives them a chance to get used to the changes as well. After years of existing in one form, suddenly they're exploring new ways of knowing each other, and being known to each other. It takes time to understand what this means – for everyone. Cloud, Zack and Aerith have for so long been defined by their friendship that it feels almost like stripping their identities down to bare bones and rebuilding themselves one cell, one muscle, one scrap of skin and hair follicle and nerve ending at a time. The building blocks are the same, and look the same in a lot of ways once they're put together, but there are subtle structural differences in this new shape.

Yuffie spends the first few weeks dancing – literally. She calls it her Victory Boogie and does it whenever and wherever she wants. It involves a lot of hip wiggling and pointy gestures with hands and elbows, and for a while there's a portion devoted to some kind of head-jerk, like a chicken pecking the dirt, until she decides that's lame.

"And I," she proclaims, "am _anything_ but lame."

"Modest, though," Cloud says dryly.

"Pish-posh. Don't forget who made all your dreams come true. You'd still be in the doldrums were it not for the Magical Yuffie Fairy, Spirit of Romance, Love and All That Good Stuff."

"Are we supposed to bow down and worship or something?" Zack asks.

She pulls a face. "Don't be ridiculous." She twirls and strikes a pose. "But I accept offerings. Chocolate-based preferred, although I could also go for some shiny jewellery. With a few ornaments I could be the Great Nina Yuffie, Treasure Princess, Sometime-Magical Fairy and Spirit of Romance, Love, yadda yadda yadda."

Aerith smothers a giggle. "That's a real mouthful to keep saying."

"Sure is. But I'm worth every syllable." Yuffie does some complicated move that looks like she's walking forward, but somehow propels her backwards across the room – at least until she crashes into the umbrella stand and plonks backwards into it. The ceramic tube rocks as her momentum wedges her, backside first. Her feet leave the carpet, thighs crushed against her chest. "Oh hell."

"Ruined your mystique?" Zack asks innocently.

"My mystique is perfectly intact, thank you very much. Now will you all go away while I free myself so it can stay that way?" She rocks forward, feet grazing the floor, but bottom staying firmly in place. Her feet flail. "Hell on a pogo stick!"

"Stuck?" Zack asks, still mock-sweetly, as Aerith murmurs, "A pogo stick?"

"Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?" Yuffie tips herself sideways, rolls onto her front, and scrambles away on hands and feet, her whole body bent almost double and the umbrella stand waving in the air. "I have everything under control."

"Yuffie, hold still," Aerith sighs. "Let me pull you out."

"I can manage!"

"Don't be difficult."

"Who's being difficult? This is a fashion statement. Keep your mitts off the merchandise."

"Zack, quick, stop her!"

Zack blocks the doorway. Yuffie veers left, galloping for the bedroom and the lockable door, until Cloud moves to stop her.

"That has to be uncomfortable," he remarks as she skids to a halt.

"Shows what you know," Yuffie wheezes. "Who needs oxygen, anyhow? Breathing freely is so totally overrated."

"Yuffie, quit it. Your butt is stuck in the umbrella stand. Accept that you need help."

"Never!"

"Is this pride, stupidity or your … what did Merlin call it? Your 'unquenchable appetite for tomfoolery'?

"I like to think it's a little bit of everything." Yuffie pauses. "Wait, that didn't come out right -"

"Gotcha!" Faster than they can track, Cloud has grabbed her hands. "Zack? Aerith?"

"Heave!" Zack yells, as he and Aerith tug on the cylinder between them. "It was lucky there weren't any umbrellas _in _this thing, or that could've been _really_ uncomfortable for you, Yuffie."

"It's pretty damn uncomfortable now. Owie!" she yelps. "You're totally gonna dislocate my arms! Owie! Owie! Owie! Help! I'm being assaulted by ugly furniture! My butt will never be the same again! My mystique is ruined! Ruined, I tell you! Owie! _Owfuckthatsmartslemmegoyoustupidhunjofjun-_!"

With a loud popping noise that will be much funnier in retrospect, Yuffie bursts free. She flies into Cloud, bowling him over, while Aerith and Zack go hurtling backwards and crash into the couch. Aerith keeps going, flipping straight over the back and landing on a cushion. Zack, meanwhile, ricochets off, fumbles not to break the umbrella stand, and in so doing drops it on his foot. The 'KRUMP' is eclipsed only by his pained shout.

"That's it!" Yuffie said triumphantly, already on her feet and pointing like she _wasn't_ just in the most ignominious position possible with her clothes still on and no animals involved. "That's the missing move! The one I've been waiting for! The Victory Boogie is complete!" She mimics bouncing around on one foot as if she, too, just had a heavy object land on it, and then punches the air, thoroughly pleased with herself despite the fact all three of her housemates are sprawled on the floor like they've been gassed. "Thanks, Hero. That goes a little way to repaying your debt to me."

Zack holds his toes and balances on one leg. "I vote we hit her with the umbrella stand and call it an accident. Who's with me?"

* * *

When the town's small school holds a dance in the Summer it's _de rigour_ to bump and bop through the Victory Boogie, but nobody can quite remember where who started it. Even the teachers are coaxed into bouncing around on one foot, while their students attempt to walk forwards but move backwards. The punch bowl tips over twice.

Not one of them notices the figure hanging upside down from a tree branch outside the window, grinning like a loon.

* * *

"The moogles," Cid says when he finally returns to his shop, "are dancing."

Tifa still isn't saying much, but replies, "Yeah, they do it every time they finish an order."

Cid squints sideways at her. It's a miracle she let him back into the shop. He half expected her to bar the door like she's threatened before, but this time her heart wasn't in it. Still, the only way he was allowed out of his house was because he promised not to try and _do_ anything while he's here, which is a load of bullcrap, as far as he's concerned, but he's learned that chi-powered shoves are pretty effective in breaking off door handles to lock him in rooms when he's being difficult.

Tifa's face is downcast. Again.

"He's an asshole."

She sighs and shakes her head. "No, he's not. He's happy."

"Girlie, given the circumstances, that makes him an asshole."

"Being happy makes you an asshole?"

"It does when you can't see you're rubbing someone else's nose in it that _they're_ not half as happy as you are."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Cid grunts. "Makes perfect sense. Kid's an asshole. End of story." He doesn't add that Cloud wouldn't be an asshole at all if it wasn't Tifa he's hurting by being so blissfully in love. Neither does he admit that he's horrendously biased.

Cid doesn't get the whole three-way thing. He sneered when he first heard about it. Then he got extremely quiet at the idea of Zack and Cloud being together, even with Aerith's tits mixed in to balance the testosterone. He still does whenever he thinks of them.

Cid was raised on a diet of war stories, spittoons and clipping brats around the ear as they walk past, for no other reason than they're brats and are therefore bound to have done something wrong. Of everyone, he takes longest to accept this change in _those_ brats' relationship, and on a fundamental level he reckons he'll always have problems understanding it.

It's mostly Tifa pleading with him to stop curling up his nose whenever Zack or Cloud stop by that gets him to stop acting purely on the prejudices of his youth. Cid's an old dog, and while new tricks aren't beyond him, that doesn't mean he has to be gracious about learning them. Or willing.

"They're still the same people," Tifa told him severely, before she ever let him near his workshop, when he was still confined to bed and she brought him low-fat food that tasted shit and looked like it too.

"They're fruits," Cid replied.

Tifa's smack was only half of what she obviously wanted it to be.

"They're my friends. If you ever talk about them like that again, I'll … I'll …" She couldn't finish her sentence. She was actually shaking with rage – or so he thought.

That didn't make him relent, though. Cid's guns were stuck to his palms long ago. With welding equipment. He just doesn't know when to back off sometimes. "It ain't natural."

"They're in love."

"Like hell they are. That ain't love; it's just … just fucking."

Tifa's face registered shock and rage that he'd say something so personal and uncouth. Well, more fool her for expecting him not to.

"Love's about procreation and shit like that," Cid went on. "Male-female. Not Male-male, or two males and a female, or … fuck knows what else! It's an offshoot of a biological need to reproduce, kinda like how nuclear waste is a result of fission power. It's all instinct. Guys fucking guys is unnatural, like girls watching guys fuck – just a way for nature to cut out unsuitable stuff from the gene pool -"

Tifa's fist crushed the back of the chair she's had stood behind as if putting it between them so she didn't strangle him. Cid wasn't altogether sure it was accidental. She had a look that said she was a hairsbreadth from picking up the damn thing and throwing it at him, sickbed or not.

"That's the stupidest load of _garbage _I've ever heard come out of your mouth," she growled – actually _growled_. "Leaving aside the nonsense you're _assuming _about their personal lives, which you have _no business _speculating about, let alone drawing conclusions of, love isn't some … some _by-product_. Emotions can't be quantified like that. They just … are. You can't help how you feel, any more than you can stop _breathing_. Emotions just _are_."

"They just _are_ a load of crap," Cid replied. "And goddamn hassle."

"And you'd know? You never _show_ yours. You just complain all the time and pretend you're irritated because it's the easiest emotion to mimic, and you can't be bothered to try for anything deeper," Tifa snapped, and oh, shit, her eyes were brimming with tears.

Cid had never seen her cry until that moment. That had always vaguely surprised him. Even Rinoa cried. Cid had always thought Tifa was stronger than the average weepy female; stronger than Shera, at least, who was the only other woman he's spent large amounts of time with. Shera cried a lot, especially when she'd thumped her hand with a hammer, or fallen on her face tripping over a landing strut. Rinoa went for big, splattery sobs when the loss of her world got too much for her, whereas Shera had a way of crying that was almost like she wasn't crying at all – deathly silent, not change in her face, save for the sheen of tears pouring down her cheeks. Shera had cried most of all when he yelled at her, which was often.

This all made it extra shocking when she proposed. Cid had always treated Shera like she was incompetent, but she still wanted to marry him, which just proved how ludicrous and misguided emotions like love are. He'd thought Tifa above them, since she never acted on her feelings for Cloud. If emotions were so damn important, he thought, why hadn't she done something before it was too late?

"Just forget it," she snapped that day, stalking out of the room. "Just forget the whole stupid thing. Eat your dinner or don't. Starve if you want to. I don't care. I'm going out."

She was morose and untalkative after that, and allowed him back into the workshop with minimum fuss. That alone should have clued him in that something was wronger than wrong.

Tifa Lockhart, Cid has found, is a force of nature with a compassionate streak and a fantastic right hook. However, she is also still young enough to believe, despite all evidence to the contrary, in happily-ever-after. She has feelings, and they've been hurt. Badly.

And watching her hurt, Cid remembers what it was like to be twenty. Kind of. He remembers being a greenhorn and his first post in the Air Force, and the welter of feelings brought on by his first trip into the air. He worshipped that airship.

He also remembers the first time its beautiful curves rained death on enemy territory; orange domes scooping out landscape he later discovered only contained civilian dwellings.

Cid did fall in love, once, though not with a person. It was a passionate love, full of death and guilt and the open sky – contradictions and hassle and misguided devotion to something other people couldn't understand, and which he couldn't explain when he told them he wouldn't (_couldn't)_ leave the Air Force, even though he hated being ordered to kill innocents.

The memory startles him. So much so that he leans across and, like skinning his teeth back against a sharp pain, briefly pats the top of Tifa's head.

He almost shits himself when she umps up and collapses against his chest, sobbing her twenty-year-old-girl heart out. He freezes faster than metal doused with liquid nitrogen. Then, slowly, he raises one hand and pats her on the back. He feels her curling her hands into fists against his chest.

"S-sorry," she mumbles when she's got a hold of herself.

There's snot on his shirt. She won't meet his eyes until he hands her a tissue, mutters, "Fucking disgraceful," and doesn't qualify whether he means her or himself.

He never tries to insult Zack and Cloud for their sexual orientation again – not around Tifa or anyone else. He harbours animosity for a while because he is, against all sense, protective of the stupid girl. For this reason, after she allows (fucking _allows_) him into his workshop on a regular basis, he bullies her back into learning all about Gummi Ships, blasting at her that it's not overexerting himself if she's the one doing all the work.

"You'll be the best damn pilot in the sky after me, got it? No excuses."

"Cid -"

"No fucking excuses!"

"Got it," Tifa replies from under the innards of an engine she's putting back together better than before it was taken apart.

* * *

"H-Hi."

Tifa takes a breath. Turns. Smiles. "Hey, Cloud."

"Um … Leon asked me to pick up his order …" Cloud looks thoroughly uncomfortable. It makes her heart sink. He doesn't want to be here. She embarrasses him. She keeps her smile plastered on.

"Sure thing. It's in the back. Let me just get it for you."

"Um, okay."

When she returns he's still standing by the counter, but his face has fallen into a frown. It doesn't abate when he looks up at her.

"Tifa, I wanted to say … um …"

"Don't worry, Leon has a tab. On paper." She shrugs. "He and Cid worked it out a long time ago. It's one of the few things I haven't messed with."

"That's not it. I … um …" Cloud shuffles his feet. Then he takes a deep breath.

_Oh no_, Tifa thinks suddenly. _Don't say it. Please don't –_

"Tifa, you're a really good friend, and I -"

"Stop."

"Huh?"

"Cloud … don't." Tifa's smile finally faded. "At this point, I still have some dignity."

"I didn't mean to imply –"

"I know you didn't."

"But I don't want you to think you're not welcome -"

"I know I am."

"We … _I _never meant to -"

"And that's where you _definitely_ stop. Stop thinking about me. Stop thinking about anything except this … wonderful thing that's happened to you."

Cloud looks at her uncertainly, but the desire to believe what she's saying is clear behind his eyes. "You mean that?"

"Have I ever lied to you before?"

He stared hard at her. "I guess not."

No, because lying involves actually saying something, and that's the part where Tifa came up short.

Abruptly, she sticks out her hand. "Friends?"

"Um …yeah." Cloud's face lights up. "Gods, yes. I was really worried you'd be offended. Like we were just waiting for you to move out or something. It wasn't like that. Not at all. Well, you can guess by the fact I, um, got the wrong end of the stick and ended up embarrassing myself. As usual." He sighs at his own ineptitude. "You probably all really laughed at me, misreading the situation so totally."

Tifa's heart plummets. Oh. So he wasn't apologising for not choosing her, after all.

Well, why would he? He probably doesn't even _know_ she's been falling in love with him alongside everybody else. She was just the slowest off the mark at telling him so. How ironic. She thought she had first dibs, and all along she'd been second inline and never realised it. Nobody had.

Her cheeks start to hurt. "As if. Good thing it all worked out in the end, though."

"Gods, _yes_." Cloud is beaming. Not just smiling, but actually beaming. Either he's really, really happy, or so tense that all his fine motor skills have short-circuited. "I'm glad you're not weirded out by all this." His beam falters a smidge. "Because I am. A lot. And I don't know if I could cope with it all; not if I lost your friendship as well. Not that I've _lost_ my friendship with Aerith and Zack, you understand, but … well, things are different now and … and it's just … weirding me out," he finishes. "A little. It's the best thing that ever happened to me, of course, but … yeah. There's making it up as you go along, and then there's us, and it's … it's scary, you know? Amazing and fantastic, and like a dream come true after I thought I'd lost them both, but at the same time it's so scary I'm shaking like a leaf every time I pinch myself and realise I'm not asleep. It's … weird. Weirder than weird. You know what I mean."

And bizarrely, she does.

_Love makes the world go round – one of the many things it has in common with concussion_.

Tifa flips back the hatchway in the counter, leaving the way open for him to come on through to the back workshop. "You want a cup of tea?"

"Really?"

"I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it. You don't joke about tea around here."

Cloud beams again, and this time it's no short-circuit.

* * *

"You know, it's kind of ironic."

"What is?" Zack stares up into Aerith's face from the vantage point of her lap. It makes a very good pillow, and for once he doesn't have to fight with Cloud for space. Cloud's deliveries for the day have overrun and he's on the other side of town, carrying a box of glass paperweights and trying not to drop them.

Aerith draws idle fingers through Zack's hair. "My mother and Cloud's."

"What about them?"

"They warned us Hollow Bastion used to think we were all bed-hopping sluts just because we lived together at your house. Everyone was convinced we were sleeping together. It's just ironic that when we weren't an item people thought less of us than now, when we _are_ together and nobody seems to care."

"Some people care."

"You know what I mean."

Zack shifts into a more comfortable position, closing his eyes. Kairi sure knew what she was doing whenever she fell asleep like this. He could quite easily go to sleep now, too. He has before, several times, and always wakes up with the notion that everything will have been a dream, and he'll be back to sharing a bed with Cloud out of necessity and cold showers first thing in the morning.

Not that they've slept together yet – any of them. They're still figuring out the finer details of their relationship before the physical stuff, though Zack has noticed kisses getting deeper lately, and how they're holding onto each other longer than they used to in those first tentative days. Four months have skipped by so fast they put a crick in his neck.

"Do you still regret coming here?" he asks suddenly. "Or being sent here, I should say."

Aerith takes a moment before answering. "I still miss my mom. And some other things, but … not so much. Not anymore."

"Me neither."

"I feel guilty for saying it."

"Why?"

"Because of the darkness that's going to go to Hollow Bastion. If it hasn't gone there already." The melancholy of her words makes him open his eyes. Aerith's gaze is distant and wistful. Her fingers have stopped combing his hair and dangle, forgotten, as her mind goes elsewhere – back to their old home and all they left behind. "I still think about that dream sometimes. You remember – the one I had when we were brought here? I wonder what's going to happen to Hollow Bastion that we won't be able to stop."

Zack reaches up to grasp her hand. Aerith startles, eyes snapping back into focus at his touch.

"You don't have anything to feel guilty for. Except stopping. I was enjoying that."

She smiles and tweaks his nose with her other hand. "Cheeky."

"We're not responsible for Hollow Bastion anymore, Aerith." It's difficult for him to say it, since he devoted so much of his time to defending it in the years before they left. Protecting Hollow Bastion was Angeal's legacy and it took a lot of soul-searching for Zack to finally accept his part in that, like his uncle's, is over. "We have to trust that the people there can take care of themselves without us."

"I know, I just can't help feeling that we may not be totally done with that place yet."

"You think we'll go back someday?"

"Why not? Tifa knows how to fly a Gummi Ship now."

"Yeah, but … there are a lot of stars out there. Hollow Bastion could be any one of them."

"Or it could be the first one you hit when you turn off the radar, fly blind and trust to luck."

Zack frowns. "Hypothetically, but I'd hope that since Tifa's spent so much time learning how to fly a Gummi Ship properly she wouldn't 'fly blind and trust to luck'. Why are we even having this conversation, anyway?"

"Because you brought it up."

"Oh. Yeah."

Aerith chuckles and bends to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. He tips his head back so she meets his mouth instead, and it lasts long enough for him to raise the hand not already holding hers and cup her face, rubbing his thumb against the high bone of her cheek. It's a soft, sweet kiss, and when they break apart Zack leaves his hand where it is.

"I prefer Traverse Town," he murmurs.

"There _are_ advantages to being here," she replies, squeezing his fingers.

* * *

Tifa segues from uppercut to haymaker, overhead punch to roundhouse kick. She's dripping with sweat, brushing it from her eyes, but can't bring herself to give up for the evening. Cid is inside, probably asleep in his armchair even though he claims only old men do that. She jabs a few more shadow punches and then, without warning even herself, lets loose with a real one.

"Well that left a mark."

She whirls.

"What did that lamppost ever do to you?" Zack asks.

Tifa pushes hair off her forehead and runs her hand through it, leaving ridges where her fingers have been. She's panting too hard to reply, but nods a greeting at Zack and ignores the little flare in her stomach at his appearance.

"Can I talk to you?" he asks without preamble. His face isn't a bright smirk anymore, and Tifa is possessed of an urge to run inside and lock the door.

Why is everyone treating her like a little kid? The only person she has cried about this in front of is Cid, but everyone else is walking around as if on eggshells. She though her feelings for Cloud were hidden, but apparently he wasn't the only one who got the wrong end of the stick about how the rest of the world is looking at them and their heart.

"Depends," she pants, "on what you want to talk about."

"You know what."

"Really?"

"Don't play dumb, Tifa."

She squares her shoulders. "All right. I won't. But what do you want me to say?"

Zack hesitates.

"I'm happy for you guys. Seriously. You thought I wouldn't be? How selfish do you think I am? You're my friends. You deserve to be happy, and I, for one, am not going to stop you."

"A lot of people are going to be …" He searched for the right words.

"Weirded out?" Tifa provided.

Zack blinked at her. "Yeah. By the whole thing."

"So?" Tifa shrugged. "I'm not one of them."

"You're not?"

"Hell, Zack, are you spoiling for an argument or something? You want me to admit I was surprised? Okay, I'll admit it, but that doesn't change that I _am_ happy for you three. I'm not going to start chasing you down the street with a pitchfork."

"You're really not mad?"

"Will you listen to yourself?" She flips her hair back again. She needs a shower. She needs to sleep. She needs to get off this street and pretend this conversation never happened. "It's insulting that you even need to ask this stuff. Or are you just sussing me out because that's easier than looking at how your new relationship makes _you_ uneasy?"

Zack's expression says it all.

Tifa's voice sinks to a pitch less likely to summon dogs. "Zack, seriously, you're not an idiot. You know there's bound to be people who don't get what you're trying to do. There may even be people who decide they don't like you anymore, but frankly why would you want the respect of those who aren't willing to respect you right?"

He blinks at her, and at his own words from long ago. "You've been talking to Cloud."

One stabby ache, right through her heart, but that's all. "Yup."

"Is … he okay with you?"

She summons the words. She's giving him an out, while also acknowledging her own position. Her own giant futile, ineffectual, _wasted_ spot in the grand scheme of things. "Is there a reason he shouldn't be?"

Zack stares at her. Smiles. It's genuine, grateful, and just a little bit sad. She knows, in that instant, that he gets it. Gets _her_. She's both grateful and embarrassed at that.

"Not really." And she hears the half-apology he doesn't say: _Not anymore_.

* * *

The first Tifa knows of Merlin's arrival is Cid's snarl. "What the fucking fuck do you want?"

"Charming as ever, I see, Highwind."

"Go fuck yourself."

"And your vocabulary adequately reflects your plentiful wit."

Cid says some things involving the wizard's wand and what he should do with it, but Tifa thunders around the corner of the shelves and pounces before he can get too graphic. She likes Merlin, and wishes Cid would shut up and behave sometimes. He was good for a while after his heart attack, when he learned that Merlin came to visit him, but gradually the old hostility crept back into both of them and now it's all mud-slinging and glaring again. Some days Tifa reckons they actually like each other but enjoy arguing too much to admit it.

It turns out, however, that Merlin's reason for venturing into this den of technology is not to torment his old adversary.

The toothpick actually falls out of Cid's mouth. "You want to _what_?"

"Purchase a Gummi Ship."

He gapes. "Tifa, could you run what he just said by me again. I think the fucker's finally flipped."

Merlin huffs into his beard. "I fail to see what is so unusual about my request. You are in the business of selling Gummi Blocks with which to construct Gummi Ships. I simply wish to buy what you so heartily publicise yourself as a purveyor of."

Tifa points out that Merlin's background doesn't exactly lend itself to using technology. "Why do you want a ship, anyway?"

"I need to visit another world, of course."

"Need to be blasted into it one-way," Cid mutters, until Tifa not-so-subtly kicks his shin. "Frrrrk."

"I am not suggesting I would simply pilot the contraption willy-nilly. I have directions to a one world in particular."

"You do?" Tifa is surprised. Since she started working for Cid, several customers have bought, built and flown away in Gummi Ships, but not one of them has ever had a clear destination. Mostly they just wanted to find a world similar to the one they lost; although one or two remained unconvinced their worlds were truly gone and set off on impossible quests to find them. Merlin is the first to produce a map.

"Lemme see that." Cid snatches the paper, but hands it grudgingly back after a quick scan. "He's right. These schematics look like workable directions in time-spatial dimensions. I'd have to run them through the computer first to get a realistic flight path, but … fuck, this actually looks doable."

"Quite." Under his beard Merlin looks smug, but hides it behind a cough into his fist when he sees Tifa looking. "Therefore, I would appreciate it if you could administer to my request, and quickly. I wish to leave as soon as possible."

"What's the rush?"

"I need to consult with someone in that world who, unfortunately, cannot come to me at the present time. It is highly irregular, but I must instead go to him. Hence, I need transportation. Hence my presence in your charming establishment." This last part is said without irony, as Tifa has altered the workshop from a mishmash of spare parts into a clean, streamlined space where everything has a place and stays in it.

"How soon is soon?" she asks.

"Not soon enough – yow!"

"Baby. I barely touched you."

Cid rubs his shin. "What happened to 'care for the guy who had a heart attack'?"

Tifa is impassive. "He was caught drinking beer and eating a hotdog with fried onions and relish."

Cid growls and returns to Merlin. "Hey, Beardy, can you fly a Gummi Ship?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you know how to fly one?"

"No, but if some of the customers I've witnessed come I here are able, then I'm sure it's not beyond my capabilities. Distasteful as I find technology, it is primarily for its insistence that it should subsume magic. I am perfectly capable of using it if the need arises."

"But you don't know how to a fly a ship _now_."

"… Not as such, no."

"I thought not."

Tifa narrows her eyes at Cid. "What are you planning?"

"Your first inter-world trip, girl. You're gonna pilot Weirdy-Beardy here to his pal's in my ship."

"I'm _what_?"

"Excuse me?" Merlin blinks at both of them. "I asked for a ship, not an escort. My _own_ Gummi Ship, Highwind, not your cast-off."

Cid snorts. "Ain't nothing cast-off about my ship. Best one in any sky, anywhere, anytime. I designed her to handle lighter than a feather, and she can withstand anything short of total fucking annihilation in the heart of the sun. I'm the best pilot, but since you wouldn't catch me willingly getting into a crate with you, plus Sweet'll fit me with a catheter if I try to get more than thirty-thousand feet yet, Tifa here is my replacement. She can pilot any other fucker out of the _sky_."

Tifa glows at the praise, but more of her is wound up in irritation at this … it's not even a suggestion; he's ordering her around like he's still an Air Force captain and she's a member of his crew. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to," she says, wagging a finger in his face.

"What?" Cid is terrible at trying to look innocent. Babies cry and puppies whimper when he tries.

"You just want me out of the way so there's nobody around to nag you about eating and doing the things that are bad for your heart."

He nearly had apoplexy when he found out she went through his house and threw every single cigarette into the trash. She knows Cid well enough to have checked all his likely hiding places, and the unlikely ones as well: in the back of the toilet, down the sides of the sofa, cut into hollows of books he'd never read (seriously, 'How to Be More Sensitive in a Modern World'?) and even shoved into the middle of the roller blind. After that she rejigged his kitchen into a health fanatic's dream, and Aerith has helped keep things stocked up with dishes designed according to Dr. Sweet's medical advice. Cid's arteries are the cleanest they've ever been – and he's fought it every step of the way.

"Bullshit," he replies now, but sags under the weight of Tifa's gaze. "You're always saying you want to take a ship out for a spin. Well, now's your chance."

Tifa hesitates. She _does_ want to test her skills. She's been on flight simulators and flown twice out on excursions into the countryside – only one of which put her in a haystack, and she was much more careful the second time. And Cid _has_ been saying she should go up again sometime, only … she doesn't want it to be just an excuse for him to go off the rails, even for a short time.

She whirls to face Merlin. "How long for?"

"Excuse me?"

"How long will this trip take?"

"A, er, day. That's all the time that can be spared for my visit. Two at the most, with additional time for travelling, naturally."

Tifa nods, then spins on her heel to face Cid again. "Two days. If I find out you've undone all that hard work and set your recovery back while I've been gone…"

"Relax, will you? I don't need a fucking babysitter."

An idea germinates in Tifa's mind. "Hm," is all she says, in a thoughtful way that makes Cid look askance at her.

"What're you planning?" He follows her as she walks away. "Tifa, what's going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned about."

"Bullshit. You've got that look."

"What look?"

"That 'let's feed the invalid mashed up alfalfa and sprouts' look. My house smells like old people when you get that look. Tifa, get back here. Tifa!"

* * *

"So where exactly are you going?"

Tifa accepts the plate of sandwiches with a shrug. "Some world where skies are blue and life is good, apart from the purple bog monsters who try to rip your head off and eat your face if you get too close. Kidding, kidding," she adds at Aerith's horrified expression. "I don't know, actually. Merlin was pretty cagey with the details. I don't think he wanted anyone to go with him, like maybe he's threatened by Cid giving him a female 'bodyguard'. Men can be so childish."

Aerith doesn't flop down beside her, since she has her hands full, but there's an implied flop in the way she sits. "Tell me about it."

Tifa swallows. She has tried not to let her disappointment leech into her friendship with Aerith, but it's difficult. Aerith is exultantly, blindingly happy, and Tifa feels a stab of guilt that she could ever feel jealous or want what her friend has for herself. Aerith deserves to be happy.

That hasn't made it any easier for Tifa to spend time with her, though. Aerith is still in the stage of a relationship where most of her thoughts revolve around how much she's in love. She glows with it, but it just makes Tifa feel cold and stay away under the pretext of caring for Cid.

It's her own fault, anyway, she tells herself in private. She should've made her move on Cloud earlier, but her own embarrassment held her back. She rejected him for so long and felt self-conscious about suddenly taking an interest after all this time, as though doing so would be like saying 'Well, when there were other eligible men around I didn't want you, but now we're stranded on a different world together, I guess you'll do'.

The universe, as Yuffie would say, has a sucky sense of timing.

"Why don't you come with us?"

Aerith pauses in cutting the crusts off Kairi's sandwich to stare at Tifa. "What?"

"Come with me and Merlin. We haven't done anything together in a while, and I need girly time. I'm starting to cuss too much and think buckets are there to be spat into. I need de-Cid-ifying." Suddenly taken with the idea, Tifa leans forward. "It'd be fun. While Merlin's off with his friend, we could, I don't know, go exploring or something. Or just talk. Y'know, more than we have lately."

"I don't know." Aerith finishes preparing Kairi's meal and plonks the plate in front of her. Kairi responds by filling her mouth with as many bread soldiers as possible and choking until Aerith gently prises them out again. A lump of half-chewed bread makes a wet splat on the plate, followed by a wail. Aerith breaks off a tiny piece of her own sandwich and hands it her. "Small bites and chew slowly, Kairi, like big girls do."

"Big girl now," Kairi says defiantly, shoving the food in and chewing so theatrically that Tifa has to laugh.

"Man, I hadn't realised how much I've missed being around here."

"You should come over more often."

"I guess."

"Or you could just move back in. I'm sure Cid could manage on his own now."

"Hm." Tifa stops that line of conversation by taking a bite of her own sandwich. It's not just Cid that makes her hesitant to come back. She's not sure of her place within the apartment anymore. "He probably could, I'm just not sure I'd trust him to."

"Want some." Kairi sticks out her hand, staring at Tifa's sandwich.

"Don't be rude," Aerith admonishes, but Tifa just shakes her head.

"It's okay. Here you go, Kairi." She breaks off a corner and hands it over.

Aerith frowns. "It's not okay; she needs to learn some table manners."

On cue, Kairi says, "Thank you, Tifa," so sweetly it's like swallowing a bag of sugar mixed with honey. Then she ruins the effect by cramming both the corner of Tifa's sandwich and her own half-chewed one into her mouth at once. This time she manages to get it all down without choking and beams up at them, pieces of dough smeared across her face. "All gone. Big girl now. Finished everything."

"You are a big girl now, aren't you?" Aerith produces a tissue from somewhere and wipes at the little girl's mouth. "Well done."

"Finished everything, Tifa!" Kairi pulls away to hold up her plate, getting the carefully collected crumbs everywhere.

"Well done," Tifa echoes, grinning at the familiar pattern of a mealtime with a toddler. At least this time nothing splattery ended up on the floor or walls, and Kairi stayed awake rather than falling asleep facedown in her food. The comfortable domesticity warms Tifa in ways she didn't realise she was pining for.

Mealtimes with Cid involve a lot more grumbling and a lot less gratitude, though Tifa has started congratulating him for finishing whatever she puts in front of him, simply because he thinks anything not swimming in grease is disgusting. Generally this gets a mouthful of abuse that she's treating him like he's in his twilight years and about to shuffle off the mortal coil at any second, but she's used to it. She knows he means less than half of what he says. Cid is also much more civilised than when she first moved in, and had to pick her way through a carpet of crusted dishes and boxes from Uncle Remus's Southern Grill and Takeaway. Tifa considers that a major victory.

"So how about it?"

"I can't say I'm not tempted," Aerith admits. "But I thought the first time I left Traverse Town would be to go to Mosey City, or somewhere like that, not a whole other world."

"C'mon, it'll be fun. Just us girls. And Merlin, of course, but he wears a robe so we could make him an honorary girl for the trip."

"I'm sure he'd love that," Aerith says with a wry smile.

"Please? I've missed hanging out with you." That's true, at least. And maybe spending time together somewhere without Cloud and Zack, or anything to do with them, will help heal the rift that exists only in Tifa's head. "Plus I'm nervous about doing my first solo flight. I could use the moral support."

Aerith considers this for a moment longer, and then smiles brightly. "Oh, why not? It might be fun."

"It _will_ be fun. Merlin wouldn't have agreed to let me fly him if he was going anywhere truly dangerous. What little he did say made out this place as pretty nice."

"What about Cid? Can you trust him while you're away?"

Tifa's grin acquires a wicked edge. "Oh, don't worry. He won't be left entirely to his own devices."

* * *

_To Be Continued … _

* * *


	46. Overprotectiveness

* * *

**45. Overprotectiveness**

* * *

'_God save me from my friends – I can protect myself from my enemies.'_ – English Proverb.

* * *

"We should go with you."

"Zack, no."

"But -"

"Stop that sentence before you start it."

"He's right, Aerith."

"Cloud! Stop ganging up on me." Aerith rams her hands against her hips. "I'll be gone for a day, two at the most. I've spent longer than that at Dr. Sweet's!"

Zack stares right back at her, arms folded. If he was the kind of guy to pout, he'd be pouting. Only he's not. Completely _not_.

Well, maybe a little.

"Yeah, but when you're at Dr. Sweet's you're only a few streets away. You're talking about a whole other _world_."

"It could be dangerous," Cloud adds softly.

"Tifa's going, and Merlin. I doubt there's any threat in the universe that could stand up to both of them at once."

"Aerith -"

She holds up a hand. "I understand that you're worried, but please, it's okay. I've spoken to Merlin and he assures me that the world we're headed to is safe. Apparently they have all sorts of spells and magic to keep Heartless out even though their gummi shell has been breached."

"Has he been there before?" Cloud asks.

"Once. His friend flew his own Gummi Ship and nothing happened to either of them. Merlin didn't so much as stub his toe."

Zack's expression is thoughtful. "Who is it he so desperately needs to see on this other world?"

"He didn't say a name, but it must be someone pretty important for him to go to all this trouble."

"Hm."

"Don't you trust him?" This is asked with a meaningful tip of the head. Aerith knows that Zack trusts Merlin, she's just pointing this out to highlight how stiflingly overprotective they're being.

"I trust Merlin, and I trust you, and if I'm right in who I think you're headed to see, I trust him as well. It's just the rest of the situation I have problems with."

"_We_ have problems with," Cloud corrects.

Aerith sighs and lets her arms drop to her sides. "I'm touched at your concern, but I'm a big girl now. I wouldn't even consider going if I thought it wasn't safe."

"You're talking about going through Heartless territory between worlds to get there."

She nibbles her lower lip. "Not necessarily."

"Close enough to make me want to lock you in your room and not let you go," Zack says.

"Ooh, kinky!"

He closes his eyes and pinches the spot between them. "Do you have some sort of radar to pop into conversations at points like that?"

Yuffie slings an arm around his shoulder. Since he's a good bit taller than her, she has to stand on tiptoes to do it. "Nah, I'm just naturally talented." She slings her other arm around Cloud and hoists her feet off the floor, balancing on them both like a pair of parallel bars. It's not until moments like this that Cloud's height really reveals itself. Everybody thinks of Zack as the taller of the two, but in actual fact they're pretty even. "Hey, look, I'm a monkey!" Yuffie cries.

Kairi tugs at Cloud's hand and holds out her arms to be picked up. Cloud extricates himself from Yuffie and obliges, first swinging Kairi around in a small circle before hoisting her onto his shoulders. He always has time for Kairi, even in the middle of a dispute. She giggles wildly and pats the top of his head, before burying her face in his spiky hair.

"You smell nice, Cowed."

"Hasn't she grown out of that lisp yet? Hey, Yuffie, get off!" Zack tries and fails to stop Yuffie mimicking Kairi's position by climbing onto his shoulders. "You're too big!"

"Oh, now you've gone and hurt my feelings." Her grin belies this remark, but she does settle for clinging to his back instead, knees pressed against his hips and arms linked around his neck as though she's been walking all day instead of just outside playing Frisbee. "The penalty for hurting my feelings is high. Mush, slave! I require a tour of my territory on my faithful steed!"

"Yuffie, we were trying to have a conversation here."

"No, you were in the middle of being completely misogynistic to Ponytail." She leans down to stage-whisper into his ear, "That means discriminating against her because she has a uterus -"

"I know what it means!"

Yuffie just laughs and kicks her heels, throwing them both off balance. Zack keeps his feet but pointedly lets go of her legs, forcing her to slide indignantly off him.

"So how come you're so against letting her play hooky when she's gonna be in, like, the biggest, bad-ass-est Gummi Ship ever made? Seriously, Tifa showed me. It's built like a freaking _tank_ with _wings_. If we ever get one, I want one like that, only in pink. Neon pink. With yellow flames all up the sides. Yeah, that'd be so cool. Anybody who hasn't got me a birthday present yet, that's a hint!"

"You're not getting a Gummi Ship for your birthday."

"Spoilsport."

Aerith folds her arms. "I think our conversation is officially over, since you two are otherwise indisposed."

Kairi plants a loud kiss on the top of Cloud's head. When she raises her face, however, a long line of saliva attaches her to his tallest spike. "Yucky!" She bats at it.

"It's not over," Zack insists, absently shoving Yuffie away. She dances out of range and laughs at him, dragging down an eyelid and sticking out her tongue. "You can't -"

"Oh, for crying out _loud_, Hero. Stop being such an old fusspot. Considering how well-built Highwind is, Ponytail and Teef will probably be safer in there than in Traverse Town."

Cloud looks confused, frowning at Yuffie's words as he prises Kairi's fingers from his scalp. "You're making comments about how well-built Cid is?"

"No, duh. His _ship_. It's totally and completely … what's that word? It's on the tippy-tip of my tippy-tongue. The one where you're in love with yourself and stare in the mirror and think you're the best thing since someone said 'hey, let's add spikes to those metal discs when we throw them and call them shuriken'?"

Aerith ponders this for a second, sifting through Yuffie's trademark chatter to access the meaning beneath. "Narcissistic?"

Yuffie claps her hands and points triumphantly at her. "That's the one! Yeah, the Old Fart's ship is, like, absolutely narcissistic because he called it the Highwind too. Personally, I think it just sounds like the pilot ate too much of the three-bean salad."

Cloud processes this. "Oh, Yuffie!"

"What?"

Zack makes his Not Happy face. It's not quite as intimidating as his face when he's truly angry, or when in the heat of battle, but its meaning is clear.

Unfortunately, Aerith ruins the effect by tweaking the hanging forelock of his hair. She has become a lot more playful recently, probably because for so long she felt she couldn't be. Sometimes she doesn't know what comes over her, except that she's so filled with contentment, it bubbles up and makes her act in childish and vaguely Yuffie-ish ways. Maybe this is how Yuffie feels all the time – fizzy and so happy it almost hurts. It would certainly explain a lot.

"Don't pout."

"I'm not pouting."

"Hero, you _so_ are." Yuffie comes up lean sideways on Aerith's shoulder. There's something like pride in her eyes. "Consider this a stand for feminism in this household. Small Fry, get over here."

Kairi, used to being addressed this way, clings tighter to Cloud's head. "No!"

"You're ruining the united front, Small Fry!"

"No! Stay with Cowed!"

Cloud winces. "Kairi, that's attached to my – ow! Hair, Kairi, hair!"

Zack's Not Happy face cracks and a smile oozes out, though he tries to stifle it. Eventually, however, it breaks free and he sniggers at the sight of Cloud trying to pull Kairi down while she clutches desperately at whatever she can to stay put – including, but not limited to, his ears, his hair, his eyebrows and his nostrils.

Aerith laughs along with everyone else. Her smile only fades a little when Zack, remembering why he was trying to keep hold of his Not Happy face, turns to her with an expression caught between solemn and exasperated.

"Aerith, I still think it's too dangerous for you to – mrrf!"

"Woo! Go Ponytail!"

Aerith stops the kiss when she finally feels him relax. "Please understand. I want to do this. Tifa needs moral support on her first flight, Merlin will be there, Cid's Gummi Ship is, and I quote, 'built like a tank with wings', and … I just really want to go. I never thought I'd feel like that, but I do. I want to see somewhere apart from Traverse Town."

Zack licks his lips. "You couldn't just take a trip to Ambleton? That's safe."

"And boring as hell!" Yuffie interjects. "Your words, Hero. You can't take them back now."

Zack shifts his weight, knowing he's been caught out. "I'd be happier if we went with you."

"The Gummi Ship couldn't fit you and Cloud in as well as me, Tifa, Merlin and Merlin's books."

"He's taking his books?"

"Just a few, he says."

Zack rolls his eyes. "That's what he _always_ says. How about Yuffie? She's skinny enough to fit in, surely?"

But Yuffie shakes her head. "No can do, buddy." Her grin turns secretive and not a little fiendish, while her eyes widen in what she must think is an innocent expression. The sight is, frankly, very disturbing, like seeing a magpie flying up to a nest of cute baby chicks, and then noticing your most expensive piece of jewellery in its claws. "Ignoring the fact that I'm not skinny, I'm just developing at my own rate, and anybody who disagrees has to talk to my favourite sai, Mr. Pointy, I can't play sidekick this time. I've got plans of my own to take care of."

They all stare. She blinks innocently back.

Aerith pats the centre of Zack's chest, then reaches up and plucks Kairi from her perch atop Cloud with no apparent effort. "That settles it. You two _have_ to stay to make sure there's still a Traverse Town for us to come _back _to."

-

"Come, come, we're wasting time."

"Hold your horses. You're not going anywhere without me."

Merlin makes an irritable noise at Tifa, busying himself with the meticulous arrangement of his books in their bags. When asked why he couldn't just magically summon them in a puff of smoke once he got there, as he does every day in Traverse Town, he'd bristled and said, "Summon such delicate magical matter across entire dimensions without protection? Are you mad?" He's been in a snit ever since, caught between impatience to be off and irritation that he has two travelling companions whom he didn't choose himself. Years of being the Big Cheese of sorcery in these parts have made him self-important, despite his kind-heartedness, and he hates to have decisions made for him.

"Are you sure you've got everything you need?"

Aerith holds up the wicker basket. "Since I'm only taking lunch and snacks, yes."

Cloud's expression of fragile worry doesn't ease. Aerith plants a quick kiss on his lips and hugs him tight, which doesn't smooth the bunched skin between his brows, but does make him loosen up enough to hug her back. He holds onto her for a long while, until Cid, uncomfortable, coughs into his fist to remind them everyone's still there and waiting.

Reluctantly, Cloud releases Aerith. "You will be careful, right?"

"She'll be perfectly fine, dear boy," Merlin says without looking up. "Our destination is not inhabited by anything that could be considered an ample threat to Miss Gainsborough or Miss Lockheart's safety. It is a peaceful world, not quite utopian, but as near as makes very little difference. I would hazard to say that somewhere such as Mosey City is a more dangerous location than ours shall be."

"Hear that?" Aerith delivers one more kiss that produces a discreet twitch from Tifa, though nobody notices except Cid, who says nothing.

"Hey! Feeling left out over here."

Aerith pushes Zack in the chest, still with one hand on Cloud's neck. "Demanding, aren't you?"

"Yup."

Zack wraps his arms around her waist and twirls her around as effortlessly as Cloud twirled Kairi. Aerith responds in much the same way, ordering him to let her go but giggling and clinging on so he can't. Eventually he slows and she slumps against him, balance gone and legs wobbly. She's still laughing even as she reprimands him, while Zack grins unapologetically. Even Cloud breaks into a small smile, which pierces the centre of his worry like the bright centre of a dark flower.

Merlin spares them a quick glance and then shakes his head. "Twitterpated."

"Huh?" Cid narrows his eyes at the wizard. "That a technical term, Beardy, or are you making shit up and calling it real again?"

"Cid," Tifa quickly breaks in, claiming his attention with the canister in her hands. "Where should I store the emergency engine coolant?"

"Same place as always."

"But there's no room in the underbelly."

"There is in the compartment I built into the back." Cid can't resist a proud pat of the Highwind's nose. "This girl's got even more secrets than a real woman, and can handle anything thrown at her with just half of 'em."

Tifa declines to comment, instead feeling out the catch of the door inside the Gummi Ship's undercarriage, flipping it open and stashing the canister beside several other emergency items for if the ship breaks down away from home. After she's extracted herself, swiping her hands against each other, she snaps the lower door shut and announces, "That's everything."

"Everything," Merlin says, not quite acidly, "except the passengers."

Aerith levers herself out from where Zack and Cloud are simultaneously trying to hug the stuffing out of her. Her cheeks are pink and her hair's askew. She looks dishevelled, self-conscious, embarrassed and utterly, utterly radiant. "Sorry, I'm coming, honestly I … let _go_, you two!"

Grudgingly they do so, only to be replaced seconds later by Kairi. She pushes her way past their knees, throwing herself at Aerith with such force that she nearly performs the human equivalent of a saw on a tall tree. Aerith wobbles and bends at the waist to prise Kairi from her legs.

"No!" Kairi wails, apparently having figured out Aerith is leaving for more than a quick trip to work or the greengrocer's. "Don't go, Aeris. Don't go!"

"Oh…" Aerith gazes beseechingly at Cloud.

He tries to pick Kairi up, but Kairi just thrashes and kicks out in a very uncharacteristic way. She wails like she's been hurt, tears welling in the corners of her eyes and a thin stream of snot working its way from her nose.

Aerith pats her pockets and produces a tissue, and manages to crouch enough to wipe Kairi's nose. "It's okay, I'm coming back. I'll be home before you know it."

"D-Don't g-go," Kairi sniffs.

Aerith looks up. "What on earth caused this kind of reaction?"

Zack shrugs. "Don't look at me. I never told her where you're going."

"Me neither," Cloud adds. "Maybe Yuffie … hey, where _is_ Yuffie?" He glances around, as though just saying her name might summon her. Since they're surrounded by Cid's projects and toys, none of which he's ever seen before, this would be unlikely even if she _is_ there.

"Dooooon't gooooo!" Kairi continues to sob, as though she's just been informed Aerith is being marched to her own execution. "Stay! Stay w-w-with … s-stay …" She hiccups, crackling up her own words like writing on cellophane. "Aaaaaeerrriiiiis!"

Aerith is upset and embarrassed. Kairi isn't usually given to this sort of display. The only times she cries are when she has genuinely hurt herself or is terrified out of her wits, neither of which have happened now. Aerith can only attribute it to her age – Chicha has always said Kairi is an unusually good-tempered two-year-old. Chicha's first two children, she said with sadness, were angels until their second birthdays and then complete brats until they turned three. They whined, argued, threw tantrums loud enough to wake the neighbours on the next hilltop, were never satisfied with answers to their questions, and glowered at life where previously they'd smiled. In comparison, Kairi is a little ball of sunshine.

Except for right now. Fresh snot smeared across her cheek, eyes red, and howling like an injured coyote, Kairi looks anything like a ball of sunshine.

"Stay with Kairi! Stay with Kairi, Aeris!"

"I can't, sweetheart. I'll see you soon, don't worry, but I have to go n-"

"No!" Stubbornness sets the little girl's chin. "Staying with you."

"I'm going -"

"Staying with you!" Kairi shrieks, latching onto Aerith's knees again. "Going with you!"

"Oh no you're not." Cloud reaches down, but hesitates at Kairi's mutinous face. It's such an alien sight that his hands pause before they reach her.

That's all the opportunity Kairi needs. She scrambles to hide under Aerith's long skirt; giving the impression that Aerith has become a creature with one head, a bustle and four legs. The Kairi-bustle quivers, changing location as though walking around a maypole, making Aerith whoop with alarm as her skirt bulges alarmingly and the buttons down the front threaten to pop. Maybe it was a bad idea to wear this today, but it looked so nice, and pink has always been her favourite colour.

"Kairi." Cloud awkwardly attempts to chase her, but she evades him.

"Staying with Aeris." Kairi's voice is still sniffly, but there's an almost imperial determination in there too, as though she has fallen through the clouds below her sunshine and landed on a bedrock of spoilt willpower.

"Come out from there right this minute, young lady." Cloud rarely sounds so authoritative. He doesn't need to. Kairi adores him and will usually do whatever he asks. Now, however, he summons a much harsher tone. It makes his voice sound deeper, more masculine, almost like someone else has temporarily taken control of his vocal chords and is vibrating them at a different frequency. Even he seems shocked at his own firmness; blinking and looking up to gauge other people's reactions.

Kairi trembles but doesn't emerge. "Want to stay with Aeris," she whispers, on the verge of tears again. "Want Ae-Ae-Ae-Heh-haaaaeeeeeris…"

"Oh for goodness sake, bring the child along if needs be, but we must _leave_. We are already behind schedule." A giant pocket watch materialises in front of Merlin, rotating in mid-air to show its rapidly spinning hands to everyone else as well. "I do not make this trip lightly. Every second wasted is one more we shall never regain. So, if you would be so kind, may we please _depart_ already?"

Kairi's arms are warm around Aerith's calves.

"I suppose…" Aerith murmurs.

Cloud spots the thought before it can leave her mouth. "She _can't_ go with you."

"Why not?"

"Because …" Cloud fumbles for a reason. "… it's not … safe."

"Safe as houses." Tifa comes up, clearly as conscious as Aerith of Merlin's mounting acidity, plus the fact he _is_ a paying customer, since he refused to take back the money needed to hire the Highwind and her. "Safer, even, since houses can fall down and the Highwind can survive a black hole."

Cloud's eyes bulge. "Someone actually tested that?"

She shrugs, carefully nonchalant. "Sure. How else do you think Cid first escaped the Heartless and got to this world?"

"He flew his Gummi Ship into a _black hole_?" Zack looks at the grizzled old mechanic with new respect. "Wow…"

"What's the fu- dam- uh, what's the darn hold-up?" Cid follows Tifa over, face creasing up in disgust at the chunk of vocabulary he can't use with Kairi around. He actually looks _pained_ to use 'darn'.

"Kairi won't let go of Aerith," Zack says bluntly. "They'll have to both stay."

Tifa looks horrified. "No! I, uh, mean … can't you just pull her off?" She crouches and tries to entice Kairi out from under Aerith's skirt herself, but Kairi won't be dissuaded. After a few failed attempts and, unbelievably, a smacked to Tifa's hand when she grits her teeth and reaches to haul Kairi out, Tifa gets up again. "I don't know what's gotten into her. I know I'm not her favourite person compared to you two," she gestures without malice at Aerith and Cloud, "but this is weird."

Aerith is thoughtful. "Maybe …"

"What?" Zack prompts. "Maybe what?"

She glances at Cid. "Nothing. Kairi's just a sensitive little girl."

Just how sensitive, she neglects to mention. She's thinking back to over a year ago, when Kairi pre-empted the Heartless appearing in the Caspians' living room. Aerith hasn't thought of that since it happened. There's been too much in the interim, but now it leaps to the front of her mind.

_She was scared of them before they even appeared_.

Aerith wonders if Kairi now foresees something else they should be frightened of.

Except that Kairi's fear then was only a few seconds' warning. It's more likely now she's just being an awkward toddler.

Aerith is trying to convince herself and she knows it, but she can't think what else to do. Kairi _is_ two years old, and two-year-olds have inexplicable tantrums. Sometimes a spade really is just a spade, and there's nothing more mystic about it than that.

"Sensitive my butt," Cid growls. "Spoiled, more like. Just yank her out from under there and be done with it."

Aerith sighs and begins lifting her skirt. Cid sputters and hastily turns around.

"I wasn't going to flash you!" she says indignantly.

"Women," he mutters, dragging a palm down his face, squashing his nose and mouth and blowing out a long breath.

"Noooo!" Kairi wails. It's heartbreaking to hear. "Please, Aeris? I say please. Kairi is saying _please_, Aeris."

Cid mutters something like "Bucket," which everyone knows isn't actually that at all, but he says it too fast and turns to crouch like he's examining a fuselage. "Hey, kid, you wanna go with 'em?"

Kairi sniffs. "Yes."

"Then see that rocket ship over there?"

"… Yes?"

"Hop in."

There's a blur of frills and sandals, and suddenly Kairi has climbed up into the Gummi Ship and is sitting on top of Merlin's books like a little princess on her throne. She's still tearstained and blotchy, but she beams at them.

Cloud rounds on Cid. "You had no right to do that."

"Bite me." Cid turns away. "The Highwind ain't built for kids, but it's safe enough to take one all the way to …" He consults his copy of the printout detailing Tifa's flight path. "E34 by F67."

"Kairi, get down." Cloud advances on the craft.

"Cloud leave it. She can come with us." Aerith looks at Tifa. "If that's okay?"

Tifa shrugs. "Fine by me. And I think that as long as get moving, Merlin's fine with it too."

"But -"

"Cloud, it'll be fine."

"But we agreed ... back when we first arrived. We were staying in Traverse Town to keep her safe and _away_ from any Heartless."

"Then this is exactly the world she can visit." Merlin appears in a sudden gust of glittering smoke. Some might say transporting himself the few feet from the Gummi Ship is self-indulgent, but those people have obviously never seen a thoroughly peeved wizard on a time limit. "There hasn't been a Heartless attack there for decades, and there has _never_ been a successful invasion despite the fractured gummi shield. Sorcerers much more powerful than myself have enacted wards on the place that can withstand the combined power of a hundred warlocks." His eyes flash. "Now I really must _insist_ -" He grabs Tifa and Aerith by a shoulder each and transports them back with him to the inside of the ship. "- that we leave with all due haste."

Aerith's stomach lurches. It feels like when Zack swung her around, only sharper. Tifa grips the ship's controls for support and then realises what she's doing.

"Right. Okay then, buckle up, everyone. Aerith, Kairi will have to share with you. It's not ideal but it'll have to do. She's too small for a belt of her own."

Aerith stashes the wicker basket in the foot-well and yanks the seatbelt across, tucking Kairi in beside her so it just about stretches across her small body as well. It's uncomfortable, but it'll have to do.

"Going with Aeris," Kairi chirps.

"You," Aerith says sternly, "are a very naughty girl. When we land, you are in big trouble for that tantrum. That is _not_ how big girls act. You made Cloud very upset."

"Going with Aeris," Kairi replies, slightly abashed at the mention of Cloud, but still not apologetic. Very Zack-like, actually. She really is picking up a bit of everyone's personalities. "Going with Aeris an' Tifa."

"Let's go," Tifa says needlessly, more to reassure herself than because she needs to announce the fact the engines have started.

Merlin leans back as the doors close on the watching figures. "At last."

"Going with Aeris. An' Tifa. An' Beardy."

He sputters.

Tifa visibly relaxes, and Aerith smothers a giggle.

* * *

Since there's nothing left to do in the workshop, and Cid finds himself curiously unable to settle to any of his usual tasks, he does the unthinkable and closes early for the day. Ambling home, he watches the sky every few minutes until he realises what he's doing and purposefully keeps his gaze rooted on the floor. He points his mind at what he has to do tomorrow, what orders have to be filled, synthesising some more gummi, paperwork that needs to be filled in, the price of fish in Wander Harbour – anything except the Highwind and its passengers.

"Bastards," he mutters, not even sure himself who he means anymore. "Fuckwits." It feels good to grind his teeth against the words. He continues to think up as many as he can until he reaches his house.

Whereupon he uses them for real.

"What the fucking fuck are you fucking well doing in my fucking _house_?" Four. Not bad, but not his best. Each one is said with such force, however, that they count twice.

Yuffie grins at him from his favourite chair, one leg slung over the armrest. She has a book open in her lap, which surprises him until he remembers one of Leon's back-to-reality projects is teaching this illiterate brat to read and write.

"Teef asked me to keep an eye on you. Y'know, so you don't go running any marathons or putting lard in your tea while she's away."

Cid says something that makes Yuffie blink.

"Is that even physically possible?"

"Fuck off, brat."

"She's just worried about you. I think it's sweet – in a totally platonic, non-sexual, non-physical way, natch. Although you might wanna watch out for her making goo-goo eyes at you now that Cloudy's off the market. Mind you, considering Teef's been sad as a wet kitten ever since The Clueless Ones became less clueless, you probably don't have to worry too much about anything except cutting yourself on that big ol' fake smile of hers whenever they walk into a room." Yuffie licks her finger and turns a page. "This is really good. I never knew you had such juicy stuff tucked away, Old Fart."

"The fuck?" Cid catches sight of the cover. "Oh … fucktarts with fucksauce."

Yuffie blinks at him again and her grin stretches wider. "Hey, I _like_ that one."

"Give me that."

"No way." Yuffie giggles and bounces out of the chair, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen, where she throws out an arm and reads with aplomb, "'As he trailed a hand down her side, pausing on her hip, he looked deeply into her eyes and her knees seemed to turn to jelly beneath her. She parted her lips and let out a soft sigh as he claimed them with her own -"

Cid growls and gives chase, but Yuffie skips nimbly away.

"Ninja brat. I don't need nobody in my house 'cept me -"

"Now don't go overexerting yourself, Old Fart. Teef would never forgive me if you had another heart attack just because you don't want anyone to know you read dirty romance novels on the side. And hey, does Teef know about these? Does _she_ read them, or do you keep them all for yourself? Or are they hers and just _happened_ to be tucked inside that hollowed out self-help book next to your bed?"

Cid considers going for the poker by the fire, but decides against it. It'd be too much trouble to get bloodstains out of the rug.

_Tifa, when you get back, we are gonna have __**serious**__ words about this overprotective streak of yours._

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs **

* * *

"_I'm not skinny, I'm just developing at my own rate, and anybody who disagrees has to talk to my favourite sai, Mr. Pointy."_

-- A riff off _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. Mr. pointy is the stake Kendra gave Buffy.

Merlin spares them a quick glance and then shakes his head. "Twitterpated."

-- Stolen from _Bambi_.

* * *


	47. Entering Disneyland

* * *

**46. Entering Disneyland**

* * *

_Gardening is about enjoying the smell of things growing in the soil, getting dirty without feeling guilty, and generally taking the time to soak up a little peace and serenity._ -- Lindley Karstens.

* * *

Spires arc crazily towards the sky like white and blue flowers. Pennants trail, the stiff wind up there making them sound like books snapping shut. Everything is clean, and not just clean but Clean; super, bleached, stab-into-your-retinas-like-a-needle-it's-so-white _clean_. Even the brickwork near the floor being free from dirt despite ending in bushes and carefully tended flowerbeds. It's like something from Kairi's book of fairytales, complete with rolling green acres and guards at every door.

"Merlin," Tifa says quietly, "who exactly have you come to see in this place?"

"An old friend," he replies cagily.

"Who lives in a castle."

"Yes."

"With crowns all over it."

"Indeed."

"Does he own the castle?"

"Yes," Merlin replies after a moment.

"Is he a king or something?" When he doesn't reply she prompts, "Merlin?"

"He doesn't like it being spread around too much. It makes travelling between worlds difficult, so the fewer who know his lineage, the better."

"We're going to visit royalty," Tifa says evenly, "and you didn't tell us. I'm in my grease monkey outfit, I'm all sweaty, I have oil on my face and crud in my hair from when I checked the fuel tanks, and you're just now telling me that we're meeting royalty." It's not a question in the strictest sense, but it does curl into the air like one.

"He requested a long time ago that I not tell anyone."

Tifa doesn't nod. Her neck is stiff as concrete. "I'm just making sure."

Aerith watches Tifa from the corner of her eye. She seems completely calm. The trip was smooth, with nary a bump or swerve to throw them around, and not even a hint of any Heartless. Aerith breathed out deeply when they entered this bluer-than-blue sky, realising only then how nervous she was. Kairi squirming because Aerith was holding her hand too tight was also a small indicator.

"Hurting me, Aeris! Hurting!"

Aerith had relaxed her grip with a quick, "Sorry, Kairi."

But instead of harrumphing or whining, Kairi just looked up at her and said, "Don't be frightened, Aeris. Cowed says," and her voice became a passable, if childish, imitation of Cloud's, "'nothing can hurt you, Kairi, when the lights are on'. All light outside, Aeris. See?" She gestured out of the window at the castle that hadn't been there a second before.

And Aerith gaped.

She's still gaping.

The wonderful countryside they passed over was idyllic enough, but this? This is … perfect. And proper perfection, too – the kind of perfect that shouldn't be _able_ to exist in reality because it's just too … perfect. This is little-kid-imagination perfect and Aerith stares openly at the immaculate grandeur of the castle and grounds.

_Well, if the people here are worth anything, they won't care how we look_.

Still, she straightens her jacket when they dock and disembark in a room full of clanking equipment and marble staircases.

And pocket-sized rodents, apparently.

"Hey, Merlin!" squeaks one.

"Haven't seen you in a long time!" agrees another, jumping down from a row of dazzling screens and flashing buttons. "How've you been?" Together they slide down the smooth banister of a staircase, somersault through like acrobats and land at his feet.

"Very well, thank you." Merlin pushes his hat further forward on his head, a sure sign of impatience, irritation, hunger, constipation, or all of the above. The tip lolls forward aggressively. "Is the king in attendance?"

"He's, uh, waiting in the library," the first creature says, flicking its eyes at Tifa, Aerith and Kairi.

"Got a real harem going on there." The second creature smiles at them, revealing little buck teeth. "Didja get married while you've been away?"

"No." Merlin's tone is curt. He takes a deep breath and lets it out with such force it creates a little well in his facial hair. "I do apologise, I'm being unforgivably rude. Evidently too much time in that boor Highwind's company has soured me in the finer points of etiquette. Chip, Dale, these are Aerith Gainsborough, Tifa Lockheart and Kairi Caspian. Ladies, allow me to introduce two of the most excellent technicians since Cid Highwind proclaimed himself an authority on aerial mechanics."

"Technicians?" The buck-toothed creature wrinkles his nose. "Naw, we're just chipmunks who know a thing or two about fixing stuff and Gummi Ships. And fixing Gummi Ships!" He grins again. It's a cheerful, slightly distracted thing. Aerith finds herself smiling back. "Hey there. I'm Dale. I'm the smart one."

The other chipmunk bashes him between the ears. "Keep dreaming." He bows, holding down Dale's head and forcing him to do the same. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm Chip."

Kairi giggles and claps her hands.

Dale immediately breaks free and skitters across to her. He sits on the floor at her feet and waves. "Hey. Mind if I use you to climb up?"

Kairi stares at him, then at Aerith.

Aerith nods. "Just be careful and don't knock him off, Kairi."

Dale wastes no time. His little claws hook easily into the stitches of her dress. Kairi's giggles become explosive as he perches on her shoulder.

"Hey again. You're even prettier from up here."

"My name," she enunciates like she's been taught to if she ever gets lost in a crowd, "is Kairi." she trembles with the effort of keeping still with this tiny, fuzzy plaything so close to her face.

Dale's grin becomes indulgent. He clearly likes children. "And how old are you, Kairi?"

"I'm a big girl!"

"She's two and a half," Aerith answers for her.

"A big girl!"

"That sure is big," Dale agrees, reaching out to pat her cheek with one tiny hand.

Kairi, unable to control herself now, grabs the plaything and hugs it to her so tight that he squeals.

"Kairi!" Aerith hastily prises her fingers open. "He's not a toy! Gentle!"

"Ahhh," Kairi replies, rubbing the back of her knuckles over Dale's befuddled head. "Gentle. Gentle. Like the flowers?"

"Yes, like the flowers," Aerith sighs, gently scooping Dale into her own palms. "I'm sorry, are you okay?"

"Bfuh," Dale replies. "Strong grip for a tyke."

"I've warned you before," Chip says with an air of long-suffering exasperation, "fluffy tails, small ribcages and little human kids don't mix."

"But kids like me!"

"They're the only ones." Chip shakes his head. "I apologise for his stupidity."

"Hey!"

"It's all right. Kairi can sometimes get a little enthusiastic. It was very nice of you," Aerith adds, bringing her hands close to her face, partly to inspect Dale hasn't been damaged and partly to keep him out of Kairi's reach, "to make her feel so welcome like that."

There was a time in her life when a small anthropomorphic, talking chipmunk standing upright in her hands and saluting would've been unusual. "Just doing my duty, ma'am. And may I say, your eyes are awful pretty."

Chip shakes his head again. "Oh, brother."

Dale doesn't _seem _injured, but Aerith's never seen a chipmunk before. He looks sort of like the squirrels in Hollow Bastion, but without the tail or tufted ears. Plus those squirrels never wore yellow aprons stained with motor oil. They lived in Dark Forest when she was young, until the forest became unable to sustain them, and they all died out.

"Did she hurt you?"

"Nope." Dale shakes his head and puffs out his chest. "I've been through worse than that and come out laughing, ma'am."

"That's because you're too stupid to realise how much danger you were in." Chip seems about to say more, but notices the Gummi Ship behind them. He squints at it, bounding over to get a better look. "This sure has an unusual design. Is this a custom job? I've never seen such great bow craftsmanship before. Well, unless it came out of our workshop."

"This is the Highwind." Tifa strokes a hand down the side.

"Did you build it?"

"No, I just piloted it here."

"I wouldn't mind learning more about it. Those landing struts are pretty extraordinary. They don't look like they should be able to take the craft's weight, but here they are taking it. How's that possible?"

Tifa grins, hours of tutoring and being grilled on the ins and outs of Gummi Ships finally proving useful. "They're crossovers. The outer casing has been plaited around a super-light titanium cross-piece. See? If you just look here, you can see where…" and she goes off into a passionate speech, of which Aerith only understands about one word in three. Chip, however, is enthralled, nodding his head and asking questions that are even less understandable, but which make Tifa gesticulate wildly.

Aerith smiles. Maybe she should feel peeved that Tifa asked her to come along and has now found better company in a small rodent, but she can't. Tifa has seemed so downhearted lately, and Aerith can't figure out why. It's been months since the Great Revelation, as she has mentally taken to calling it; and in truth, Tifa never did react as passionately as Aerith thought she might after finding out. She was putting Tifa's recent low spirits down to worry over Cid, but his recovery is going well. Then she put it down to _living _with Cid, but Tifa denied that. It's good to see her friend smile so brightly again after so many watery imitations.

"And he says _I'm_ a sucker for the ladies," Dale smirks.

"Aeris." Kairi tugs at her dress. "Gotta go, Aeris. Gotta find a corner."

"Oh dear."

'Find a corner' is Kairi-speak for needing a bathroom. Chicha, as Aerith's font of knowledge about childcare, suggested a few weeks earlier that Kairi seems ready for potty training. Aerith was dubious but Kairi was enthusiastic. Her enthusiasm outstrips her success rate, however, and they've developed a series of signals for how immediate her need is. 'Find a corner' hearkens back to her old habit of going into corners, sometimes clambering over furniture to get there, when she was in nappies. It's not the most urgent signal, but it is insistent.

"Are there any, um, bathrooms we could use?" Aerith throws the question into the air, not sure who will answer it. Merlin's obviously been here before, but he's … well, _Merlin. _Chip and Dale are so tiny, but they do live here after all …

Actually, that causes Aerith to blink and wonder if _all_ the people in this world are as small as these two. There were huge doors on the castle, but that may not mean anything if this is a place where royalty live.

"I'll escort you, ma'am." Dale snaps off another salute. "I think your friend may wanna stay here, though."

Tifa is still engrossed with talking to Chip, who has moved to balance at her eye-level on the Highwind.

"Tifa?" Aerith calls. "Kairi needs a bathroom. Are you going to stay here or should we come back for you?"

"I'll be right along in a minute. I was just telling Chip about the handling of this thing."

"It's incredible," Chip breathes. "So innovative. Dale, you gotta take a peek at the schematics with me. There's so much we could learn about energy efficiency from this ship."

"Really?" Dale seems surprised at Chip's willingness to admit Cid's craft is better than their own designs. "Wow. I'll do it later. Right now, duty calls. Coming, Merlin, ol' buddy, ol' pal?"

"Indeed." Merlin has manhandled his books from the Highwind and gazes at them thoughtfully. He leaves his staff hanging in midair for a moment, putting it there like there's an invisible cloakroom hook, and taps the bag. It fizzes and shrinks, becoming a doll's house miniature of itself. "Much more manageable. I always find the arcane arts so much more biddable in the magical field of your world."

"You say that every time. I could never figure out why you never wanted to stay here."

"Prior obligations, my boy," is all Merlin will say, but an image of Leon pops into Aerith's head. Strangely, so does Cid. She remembers Tifa's theory that the two men would be friends if they didn't enjoy quarrelling so much. She wonders whether the rest of them now also come under the umbrella of 'prior obligations' keeping Merlin in Traverse Town.

They leave Tifa and Chip, agreeing to meet them upstairs in a little while. With Dale as their guide they make their way through several long corridors, each with the same blue and brighter-than-white décor as outside. Here and there are plinths with ornate vases of flowers and busts of more anthropomorphic animals. Unlike the animals in Traverse Town, however, these all have regal bearing and hard, blank eyes. There are a lot of mice with strangely round or oval ears, though they're bigger than either Chip or Dale. A similar ear motif is widely used throughout the castle.

Merlin leaves them when they reach a room with such tall doors Aerith would get a crick in her neck if she tried to look at the top. He bows politely, perhaps to make up for his earlier rudeness, and then smiles at the room's unseen occupant as the door crashes shut behind him.

"How does Merlin know the king?" Aerith asks Dale. Since she has the wicker basket in one hand and Kairi's hand in the other, he sits on her shoulder like a furry little parrot. His weight is negligible and his balance excellent as she walks, leaving her with the impression he's used to travelling this way.

"I dunno," Dale replies truthfully. "Seems like he's known him forever. These days the king usually goes to see him. The queen can close up the magic spells protecting our world behind him. Kinda hard to be as thorough as we have to be if you don't know when someone's arriving or where in the gummi shield they're gonna pop through, so it's easier to exit than enter."

"Oh."

Dale laughs. It sounds like tiny bells being clattered against a tabletop. "Don't worry, Merlin always appears at the same point when he comes here. It's perfectly safe. Some of us reckon the king just likes going to whatever world his friends are in because he's a born wanderer. It makes the queen kinda sad, on account of how much she misses him when he's away, but he always comes back to her in the end. He's lucky to have such an understanding wife. When he was prince he went all over the place and didn't come back for _ages_, but he doesn't talk about that much anymore. Here we are."

Even the bathrooms are sumptuous. Dale waits outside while Aerith helps Kairi. She spins the gold-plated faucets afterwards and then scurries out, intimidated by the opulence and slightly ashamed of her old brown boots.

"I'm a big girl," Kairi tells Dale. "I went potty all by myself."

"That's great," Dale says without disdain from on top of a particularly sulky marble mouse. Aerith reads the nameplate 'Mortimer Mouse III, Duke of the Ha-Cha-Cha Province', as Dale scampers up her arm to her shoulder. "Where to now, Miss Gainsborough?"

"Just Aerith, please. And I don't know. I suppose we'd better go to that place we said we'd meet Chip and Tifa."

"The Rose Garden? Sure thing. Just go down there, turn left after the stairs and carry on straight."

"Are there actual roses in the Rose Garden?"

"Be a pretty dumb name if there weren't."

This is all the warning Aerith has. It's not nearly enough to prepare her for when she sees it.

The first bushes are thick and tower above them, forming an arch over a pebbled path. Gigantic yellow roses dip in the slight breeze, as though bowing to them as they pass. The scent is sweet, but nothing compared to the main garden itself. At the entrance Aerith pauses just to take a breath of the perfume, and when she opens her eyes she's glad because for a moment she can't breathe.

Not even her church can compare with the sheer number and variety of roses. They're everywhere, clinging and swaying and sprawling, as though someone has taken a magical paint palette and tossed it into the middle, and wherever drips fell roses have grown in that colour. Tall pink blossoms loom over creeping orange, while pale pink muscle in between white and red, and scattered around are mixtures of two colours – white petals with red edges, mauve fading to dark purple at their tips, and cream fused with pink, white, burgundy, coral, and dozens of others.

Aerith gapes.

"Pretty special, huh?" Dale stands proudly, as though he was responsible for it. "The queen has a pretty green thumb."

"Your _queen_ did this?" Aerith's ideas of queens and princesses are informed largely by fairytales. She realises these must be somewhat inaccurate, but still, she always imagined queens filled their time with organising royal banquets, sitting on thrones and looking out of windows, sighing prettily and getting blood on their sewing because no queen ever uses a thimble. "You mean her gardeners did it."

"Nope. Queen Minnie loves her gardens."

"You mean there's more than just this one?"

Dale chuckles. "Like I said, she has a _really_ green thumb."

It feels odd settling on the grass like a layabout to wait. Kairi soon solves this by urging Aerith to her feet and leading her over to one of the arbours.

"What's that?"

"That's a rose, Kairi."

"Gentle?"

"Can she touch?" Aerith asks Dale.

He shrugs. "Sure. She can smell 'em too, if she likes."

Kairi then begins a complicated game of running from side to side, crossing the grass in the middle of the garden, giggling and sticking her nose close to blooms while shrieking, "Smells pretty! Smells nice!"

At first Aerith tries to keep up, but after the fifth time Kairi dashes past and she nearly falls over trying to keep pace, she just gets out of the way. "Be careful of bees, Kairi. And don't fall over."

Just watching her tires Aerith out. She stands close by to make sure Kairi doesn't wander away while she burns off some of her energy.

"Looks like she's having fun," Dale comments, still on Aerith's shoulder. Evidently he doesn't feel much like getting trampled either. "Are you her nanny?"

"No, I'm … actually, I'm not sure what I am to her." Aerith thinks about this for a moment. "One of several substitute parents, I suppose. We left our world together and just ended up as a unit afterwards."

"You and Miss Lockheart?"

"Plus three others, but they didn't come along today. We all pitch in as much as we can. Most of the time, when people se me out with Kairi, people just assume I'm her mother until I correct them."

"Well, she didn't call you mom, and you don't exactly look alike."

Aerith laughs. "You're the first one to ever guess we're not related straight away."

"I ain't half as dumb as Chip says. You don't get to be a royal mechanic if you're dumb. I mean, sure, sometimes things don't go exactly as planned … and the consequences can be kind of messy … and I did cost the palace repair fund quite a bit last year … and Chip did look pretty weird without his fur that time, but Lady Daisy made him that lovely winter hat to keep his ears warm …" Dale trails off. "Um … hey, did I hear you say you brought snacks in that basket?"

"Yes. They're to share with the others when they get here. And Merlin, but I suppose he'll be eating with the king now."

"Aw, but they'll take ages." Dale pouts. "Chip can talk the hind strut off an airship when he gets going. And those acorns I had for breakfast were a really, really, really, really, really, really, _really_ long time ago …" He flattens his ears to make his eyes huge and extra soulful. "I _did_ lead you here. Don't I get a reward for that?"

"I guess one cupcake wouldn't be missed."

"Ooh, cupcakes! Are they chocolate?"

"Do you like chocolate?"

"More than anything. Except acorns, and they're even better when they're dipped in chocolate."

"Well you're in luck, because I also brought chocolate muffins, and some chocolate and strawberry sponge cake, too."

Dale's mouth drops open. "I know we've never met before today, but I love you."

Aerith turns back to where she left the basket. She stops when, halfway to it, Kairi's happy shrieks suddenly cut off. Aerith looks back, scanning for her, but the Rose Garden is empty.

"Kairi?" She straightens. "Kairi, where are you?"

"Uh-oh." Dale leaps from her shoulder onto a birdbath. From there he picks his way carefully up the inside of a rose bush, emerging at the top sucking his paw. "Ouch, those thorns are _sharp_. Hey, Kairi, where'd you go? Kairiiii?" He cups both paws around his mouth and yells, "Where are youuuu?"

"Right here, cutie."

Dale jumps as another, equally small creature pops out of the leaves. Unlike him, however, this one is female and is definitely no chipmunk. She has ears as wide as a butterfly, and a squashed snout, as though it has been smacked flat with a frying pan. Aerith recognises a bat's wings as she yawns and stretches.

"You woke me from my nap with all that hollering. What's up?"

"Foxglove? What're you doing in the Rose Garden?"

"I was out all night collecting fireflies and Moonshimmer Moss for Donald. It was too much trouble to fly all the way up to the tower in all that sunshine." She yawns again, and then tries to hug Dale. "It was worth waking up early if you're the first thing I see though."

Dale squeaks and nearly topples out of the bush. "Foxglove!"

"What?" The bat peers down and spots Aerith. "Oh. You have company." She doesn't sound very pleased about this.

"We're looking for a little human girl. Small, red hair, answers to the name of Kairi," Dale explains, not looking down. "She was here just a second ago."

"I was asleep just a second ago, but for you, darling, I'll see what I can hear." The bat – Foxglove – gives a few experimental flaps of her wings. She swoops into the air and hovers for a few seconds, before descending to twirl around Dale like she wants to dance with him. "There's a small human in the Royal Pergola."

"Really?"

"Would I lie to you, sweetheart?"

"Is she okay?" Aerith calls.

Foxglove's huge ears twitch. "She's fine. I don't think she's going anywhere, but you might want to hurry and fetch her," she replies cryptically.

"Um…" Dale scrubs furiously behind one ear. Aerith never realised animals could blush until the fur of his cheeks darkens as the skin beneath turns red. "Thanks, Foxglove. Sorry for, uh, waking you up and everything."

She smiles. It shows pointy little teeth. "A kiss would make up for it."

His eyes widen in panic. "Uh…"

She presents him with a cheek. "Go on."

Dale leans forward to peck it, only to find himself wrapped up in her wings and bent over backwards, his branch wobbling precariously, as she gives him a kiss on the lips so passionate that even Aerith blushes. It lasts for almost a full minute, while Dale's arms wave wildly behind Foxglove's head. Afterwards he sways, leaves and rose petals tumbling to the floor, a bedazzled expression swamping his face.

"Come up to the tower sometime," Foxglove coos, twiddling her wing tips like fingers as Dale descends back to Aerith and they move off to find Kairi.

"Girlfriend?" Aerith asks, as Dale blearily points the way down a small path hidden behind clumps of polyanthus. Ladybirds stream away when she pushes her way through, telling her how this garden has managed to flourish free of the rose's natural enemy, aphids.

"Bfuh," Dale replies. "Gnzz."

The Royal Pergola is a wooden structure, rather like a summer house without walls. It, too, is swarming with climbing roses, but Aerith is more concerned with the familiar voice she can hear behind them.

"And I live with Cowed, and I live with Aeris, and I live with Zack, and I live with Yuffie -"

_Who could she be talking to?_

Aerith gets her answer when she reaches the entrance and sees Kairi, eyes shining, her head in the lap of a mouse in a pink gown. The mouse is large, around the size of José or Panchito, with the same round ears as the marble statues in the castle. She sits daintily on a bench, stroking the babbling Kairi's hair, but looks up at Aerith and Dale's entrance.

"Hello there."

"Aeris!" Kairi leaps up and drags Aerith inside. "This is Aeris!"

"Um, sorry if she was bothering you," Aerith apologises, but the mouse – the _queen_, Aerith corrects herself, looking at the elaborate tiara – raises one white glove and shakes her head.

"No need to apologise. I was enjoying her company."

"Queen Minnie." Dale confirms her identity by bowing deeply.

"Oh!" Aerith has never had to curtsey before. Her attempt feels awkward, but Queen Minnie treats her to a smile so beatific she instantly feels better.

"Please don't. I come here to relax and forget my duties as regent. All that silly ceremony needs to stay indoors where it belongs, not out here."

"You … have a beautiful garden." Aerith doesn't think 'beautiful' quite does the Rose Garden justice, but she's a little star-struck and it's the only thing she can think to say.

"I'm glad you like it." Queen Minnie's smile switches from beatific to genuinely pleased. She shrugs, a very un-queenly gesture. It grounds her, making her seem less imposing, though no less impressive. "Not many people like to come out here. Too many bees. Still, that suits me when I want a bit of quiet time."

"We'll leave you alone so you can get back to it. Come on, Kairi."

"No!" Kairi breaks her hand free from Aerith's and runs back, throwing herself at Queen Minnie like she's a normal person. "Wanna stay. Wanna stay with Keen Minnie."

"_Queen_ Minnie," Aerith corrects.

The queen just laughs. It's a silvery noise, like lace handkerchiefs and dinner sets with too many forks. "Actually, I like that. You're all welcome to stay. Your daughter is charming. She was just telling me about herself."

Aerith is embarrassed by Kairi's defiance, but can't say no to the queen. She sits down on another bench, grateful for Dale on her shoulder.

"You _are _a pretty keen gardener though, aren't you, majesty?" he says.

"I have my moments. Not too many of them these days, with the Fantasia Treaty taking up so much of my time. I can tell just by looking at you that you're not from our world." This last remark is directed at Aerith. "We don't get many humans around here. You've come with Merlin?"

"Yes."

She nods. "The Fantasia Treaty is why my husband couldn't go to meet him in that little village they usually go to. What's the name ... Amble-something?"

"Ambleton." Aerith's eyes widen. _Zack never said anything about meeting a king. Then again, I wonder whether he even knew, if the king likes to keep his identity secret_.

"That's the one. He was quite upset – my husband, I mean. He loves to travel, and I believe he was eager to check up on the young man Merlin brought with him the last time they met. When they parted ways the young man was caught up in some sort of moral dilemma. He confided in my husband, but the king wondered whether he'd come to a decision or not, and how things had played out for him." She smiles and arches an eyebrow. "It seems Merlin is building up quite a stash of young people to show off."

"I think the young man he met was my, uh …" Aerith blinks. She's never had to characterise what Zack is to her now, or Cloud. 'Lover' is still too pre-emptive – with Kairi and Yuffie around nothing truly intimate has occurred. There's nothing better for killing the mood than an attention-demanding toddler or a teenage ninja who keeps irregular hours and hides behind the sofa from the fallout of pranks and often falls asleep there – unless it's Madame Medusa banging on the front door because she reckons Cloud's delivery rates are too high.

"Ah," the queen says with a small nod. "So he decided to confess his feelings after all. Good for him. I'm sorry," she giggles – actually _giggles_ – at Aerith's expression. "But it was written all over your face that he's more than just a friend."

"You're telling me," Dale quips. "I'm getting a tan from the blush over here."

"You've gone red, Aeris," Kairi helpfully adds.

Aerith bows her head. "Anyway, Zack's fine. Better than fine, actually. If he'd known where we were headed today, I'm sure he'd have come instead of us."

"Oh, but then I wouldn't have met you and your lovely daughter." Queen Minnie tweaks Kairi's nose – another un-queenly gesture – making her laugh and hold her hands over her face.

"She's not my daughter," Aerith says reflexively.

"Oh?"

"I mean, uh…" Aerith blinks. Somehow it doesn't feel right to pass everything off with a few sentences like she did with Dale. "It's a long story."

"I have always enjoyed a good story, especially one told on a warm day in my Rose Garden. Provided, of course, you're comfortable about telling it. I won't press you if you're not."

Something about the queen's gentle kindness makes the words just pour out. Aerith can't stop them. She tells her all about being plucked from Hollow Bastion and dumped in Traverse Town, and how they've come to live together since then. She tells her how they've be muddling along raising Kairi as best they can, first motivated by guilt at the fate of her mother, then by love as Kairi carved out a place in their hearts. She tells her how it seemed like the Heartless followed them to their new haven, until all attacks stopped very abruptly a few months ago, and how they've dared to start hoping they might be safe at last. She tells her about how Chicha has been a godsend, her experience and advice steering them in the right direction for how _not_ to turn Kairi into a complete brat or a weak-willed nonentity.

She wonders whether to mention her theory about Kairi and the keyblade, and how they could be responsible for bringing them out of their world. Aerith has never spoken of it with anyone beyond her immediate circle, but Merlin and Zack both said the king is concerned about fighting both Heartless and the darkness, and he apparently confides in his wife a great deal. Merlin's theories about the vanished keyblades may be shared by them – but the queen's furrowed brow and raised hand stop her.

"You've all been through a great deal. I have to say, I commend you for being able to carry on after all that, and you certainly have done a wonderful job at 'muddling along' if Kairi herself is any indication." Kairi's head is once again in the queen's lap. This time, however, her eyelids are fluttering and her thumb is in her mouth. "She's adorable."

"Except when she has a tantrum." The words slip out before Aerith can stop them.

"You should see our court magician. You've never seen a tantrum until you've seen him in full swing." Queen Minnie's voice becomes soft and a little wistful. "I've always wished for my own son or daughter, but somehow the situation has never seemed quite right. The king was always away so much, leaving me to rule as regent in his stead, and I had so many duties sometimes it felt as though my brain was stretched too much to fit inside my own head anymore. Now there's this recurring problem with the darkness and these Heartless creatures. I'm glad to hear Traverse Town hasn't been attacked recently, but other worlds aren't so fortunate. My husband seems intent on trying to save each one personally, so that whenever he _is_ home he's busy dealing with whatever matters of state have piled up in his absence. Still, sometimes I do wonder…" She sighs, shaking her head. "Listen to me, talking nonsense and whinging. You mustn't listen to a word I've said."

"It's all right," Aerith says, though secretly she's a little shocked the queen would confess so much – especially to a stranger and one of her own courtiers. "Does the king know how you feel?"

"The king has a reputation for being both exceptionally wise and exceptionally innocent." Queen Minnie squints thoughtfully. "Then again, he did bring me back a puppy from his last trip. The little thing is from another world, so he can't talk or walk upright like normal animals, and he has an unfortunate habit of licking anyone and everyone the moment he meets them. It can play havoc with a lady's face cream, but he's cute as a gumdrop all the same."

"That was nice of the king."

"Mm, but puppies rarely look so pretty in pink as princesses, and they don't seem to enjoy wearing bonnets very much, either."

Aerith can't think what to say to this. Neither can she think how to respond to the queen's mischievous little smile, just a hairsbreadth away from being wicked.

"You seem shocked."

"You … I'm sorry, but you don't act like I expected a queen to act."

"Good. I'd hate to fall into one of those awful clichés. I prefer just being myself, not some pompous caricature of queenliness."

Aerith's like for her ratchets up a few notches. It's hard not to like Queen Minnie.

Dale's stomach rumbles, far louder than Aerith expected for his size. "Oops."

The queen taps her forehead with the heel of one hand. "How silly of me. You must all be terribly hungry. I shall see that the kitchens whip something up immediately and bring it out -"

"Um, actually, your majesty." Dale scuffs his foot on Aerith's shoulder. "Aerith brought chocolate cupcakes, and muffins, and sponge cake with strawberry sauce, but they're all back in the main Rose Garden …"

And that is how, when Tifa finally arrives, she finds Aerith sitting on the grass with a pile of baking, Kairi asleep in her lap, beside a chipmunk, a mouse, and a pair of old brown boots next to a pair of glittery silver shoes, white gloves and a tiara.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs **

* * *

_Aerith reads the nameplate 'Mortimer Mouse III, Duke of the Ha-Cha-Cha Province'._

-- Mortimer Mouse was the original name for Mickey Mouse. However, Lillian Disney, Walt Disney's wife, believed the name sounded too pompous and suggested the name Mickey instead. The second character to use the name was Minnie's ranch-owning cattleman uncle, who first appeared in the 1930 comic strip _Mickey Mouse in Death Valley_. The one referenced in this fanfic, however, is Mickey's biggest rival, and his competition for Minnie's affections in the old classic cartoons. Mortimer was introduced in the 1936 short _Mickey's Rival_. In the comics, he was briefly renamed Montmorency (Monty) Rodent (pronounced "Ro-Dawn"), but the new name didn't stick with fans, and he went back to Mortimer in later comics. He vanished for a while until the recent animated series Mickey MouseWorks and House of Mouse, where he's known for his catchphrase, "Ha-cha-cha!" He's the third Mortimer Mouse from Disney, hence 'III' here.

"_Foxglove? What're you doing in the Rose Garden?"_

-- Foxglove the Bat was a character from the animated TV series _Chip n' Dale's Rescue Rangers _in the late 1980s. She worked for a witch (though she defected after falling for Dale and rescuing him from the witch's clutches) and became Dale's primary love interest after the more famous Gadget Hackwrench – although mostly her affections seemed to scare him (foxglovefaq. tripod. com/directory. html).

* * *


	48. First Time

* * *

**47. First Time**

* * *

They leave that evening. An urgent message from Fantasia, one of the far-flung provinces of Disney Land, means shoving off earlier than Merlin would like. Apparently this world is also commonly known as the Magic Kingdom, due to its large number of spellcasters.

Even Queen Minnie knows some magic, she reveals while on her knees in the dirt, digging up a rosebush for Aerith to take home with her. Aerith tries to stop her from spoiling her immaculate garden, but the queen waves her away and tells her she'd rather this tiny runt of a bush thrive in Aerith's church than be bullied by its larger cousins here.

The king has to dash off to deal with the Fantasian ambassador, and so doesn't come to bid them goodbye. Aerith wonders what he's like, as Queen Minnie clasps her hand and urges her to come back whenever she wants.

"I've enjoyed talking about gardening with you. The royal gardeners are far too obsessed with the fact that I'm queen to do more than answer my questions with as little inflection as possible. You'd think I was about to order a hangman's noose if they started up a conversation first. It has been very refreshing to talk with somebody sensible like yourself."

"Thank you," Aerith says, genuinely touched and a little proud.

"And feel free to bring Kairi with you as well," Queen Minnie adds, glancing at Kairi with that same slightly wistful expression as earlier.

Suddenly the door to the docking bay bursts open and a puppy bounds into the room, followed by a white duck in a blue gown. The duck pants, leaning against the door for a moment to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry, your majesty. H e got away from me when he caught your scent."

"That's quite all right, Daisy." The queen greets the puppy with baby-talk and giggles. In return, it barks and wags its tail so hard its entire rear end sways from side to side. "Oo's a good boy, den? Oo's a _good_ puppy? Yes you are. Yes you _are_."

"Doggie!" Kairi, rested from her nap but tired out from playing with Queen Minnie, Tifa, Aerith and the chipmunks all afternoon, is ecstatic at this fresh fuzzy plaything.

The puppy is also ecstatic for the same reason. It bowls into Kairi, covering her face in overjoyed licks. This is followed by barking, whining, jostling, and raising its tail end in the air with its head down between its front paws. It bounces about, huge puppy-paws flopping about like a toy whose stuffing has all seeped into its toes.

It whimpers when Tifa scoops Kairi up and deposits her in the Gummi Ship.

"Doggie!" Kairi also wails.

"Sorry, kiddo, but we have to make tracks."

"Indeed." Merlin climbs in and settles himself beside his bag, which is much emptier now than it was when they arrived. "Evensong approaches and we must make haste back to our own world for a nice, restful cup of tea before bed."

"Doggiiiie!"

The puppy barks mournfully, deprived of its new playmate.

"It's all right, Pluto. I'm sure Kairi will come back. You can play together then." Queen Minnie squeals at the happy licks she gets for this promise. When she sees Aerith watching she smiles. "If you think he's affectionate with me, you should see him with my husband."

The puppy twines in and out of Aerith's ankles, and then tries to chase Chip and Dale, but they escape by scaling the sheer brickwork below the control panels. Unabashed, the puppy chases its own tail until it falls over, and finally sits panting. The rest lasts just long enough for the duck to creep up and grab its collar. The puppy yelps, but it's not in any pain. The duck's hands are slender but surprisingly firm, as though she's used to grabbing collars of those trying to run away from her without turning it into a chokehold.

"Well," she says, "at least he's house trained now. That could've been embarrassing with guests."

The small party of humans pile into the Gummi Ship and take their leave with much waving and shouts of goodbye. Aerith is saddened to leave Disney Castle – even if the silent guards are a bit intimidating.

Nonetheless, she's glad to get home. Traverse Town seems much dirtier and darker after Disney Castle, but her heart lifts when they disembark to the familiar sights and smells. They've only been gone a day, but returning to this place, where she's found more happiness than she did even in Hollow Bastion, convinces her the trip was a good idea. Finding out even queens in perfect palaces can be unhappy reminds her she should appreciate what she has. Aerith knows neither Cloud nor Zack would ever get itchy feet and leave her out of simple wanderlust, the way the king keeps leaving Queen Minnie.

Since they couldn't send word ahead of their arrival time, nobody is there to greet them except a bunch of moogles. Tifa docks the Highwind without mishap and goes through the post-journey checks with little winged puff-balls around her ankles.

"What are you doing now, kupo?"

"What is this for, kupo?"

"Why are you tying that up, kupo?"

"Did you have a good time, kupo?"

Tifa doesn't bat them away, but smiles and patiently answers each question in turn. Aerith keeps tight hold of Kairi to stop her trying to grab any red pom-poms. However, when one curious moogle does approach Kairi only hugs it gently.

"You are soft and warm, kupo," it remarks. "And you smell of sweet things, kupo."

"I had a muffin," Kairi tells it with pride. "And I ate it aaaall up."

Aerith sighs, remembering how little time it took for Kairi, after waking from her nap, to go from holding the muffin to wearing it. Queen Minnie found the whole thing hilarious and insisted on letting Kairi borrow one of her dresses to replace her chocolate-smeared one.

"After all," she'd said with a giggle that made her sound like a little girl, "we're about the same size."

Hence Kairi now wears a delicate pink and white summer dress with puffed sleeves, cinched waist and giant bow. There's a grass stain on the skirt from where she fell down while playing tag with Tifa and the queen, but otherwise she looks absolutely adorable.

The moogle allows Kairi to finish hugging it and floats away, unperturbed.

Kairi wrinkles her nose. "Itchy." She sneezes. "I'm hungry, Aeris."

Well, that muffin _was_ a few hours ago. "Tifa, Merlin, I'm going to take Kairi home now. Would either of you like to come with us?" The question is a loaded one: Merlin would be only a guest, but Tifa …

It hasn't escaped Aerith's notice that Tifa was reaching out to her today. It feels like they've become so distant recently, Tifa wrapped up with Cid and Aerith with Zack and Cloud. Stretched out on the grass of the Rose Garden brought it home to her. They talked about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other's company without the tedium of everyday life to interrupt. It was almost like old times. Tifa talked like she was trying to patch up something broken, and Aerith was quick to let her know nothing actually was.

"I know," Tifa said. Then she surprised Aerith by asking bluntly, "What's it like being in a relationship with two guys at once?"

"It's … not much different than being in a relationship with just one, I guess. I don't have much experience with either, so I wouldn't know the difference."

"With one person," Tifa said softly, "you want to give them everything. You want them to know everything about you – to _have _everything you're capable of giving. You want to be with them all the time, and nobody else. You want them to be happy, and you want to be happy with them. More than that, you want to be the _reason _for their happiness. If they're truly the one for you, you can't get enough of them and you kind of forget the rest of the world while you're with them." She shifted then, uncomfortably, and sat up to fiddle with her bootlaces. "Or that's what I've read, at least."

"You still read those romance novels?"

"There's nothing wrong with romance novels."

Aerith smiled and leaned back with her hands behind her head, listening to the sound of Kairi and the queen threading fallen rose petals on cotton to make a tiara for Kairi. "I guess not. Remember when we were twelve, and we sat with our backs against your bedroom door so your parents wouldn't catch us reading them?"

"You were so embarrassed the first time you got to a sex scene." Tifa's shoulders relaxed and she smirked at the memory.

"Well you didn't warn me it was going to be there. I thought romance novels meant just hearts and flowers and things. Romantic stuff. You know – _romance_."

"Are Zack and Cloud romantic with you?"

Aerith frowned. "Sort of. In their own way. Not like in books, though. They don't bring me flowers because I already have so many in the church. Zack got each of some candies to mark our one-month anniversary, but he ate them all. Cloud ended up sharing his box with me. We locked Zack in the bathroom because he kept threatening to throw up, and every time we ate a chocolate we described what it tasted like just to hear him groan." She smiled at the memory of poking strawberry crèmes into Cloud's mouth, while he fed her pralines and Zack complained he was dying in the background.

"That's … sort of a romantic gesture," Tifa said uncertainly.

"That's the best way to describe them – _sort of_ romantic. We know too much about each other to get too invested in it all, I guess. Even though I love spending time with them and they can be tender when they need to be. We love each other. We don't need lots of big romantic gestures to know that. The little things matter more."

Tifa had flopped back then, hands above her head and limbs like cooked spaghetti. "I think I can live with that. It's just … I can't imagine what it must be like. I just can't."

Aerith was a little puzzled at her wording, but said nothing.

"Have you -?" Tifa started, and then stopped.

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind. I don't think I actually want to know."

Staring at the sky, they fell silent for several minutes. Aerith thought Tifa had given up on the subject, but when she spoke again her thoughts were still on Aerith's unorthodox relationship.

"I suppose Cloud's more sensitive than Zack."

"What makes you say that?"

"It just seems obvious."

"Really?"

"You mean he's not?"

"It's … I can't really say who's more sensitive. They're guys. They hate to sound mushy, but they can get just as mushy as … as mushy peas when they want to."

"Mushy peas? You're describing your boyfriends as mushy peas? As a compliment?"

"I never said I wasn't only _sort of_ romantic too, did I?"

Thinking back on it, that whole conversation more like a covert grilling. Tifa was curious about how Aerith, Zack and Cloud could make a three-way relationship work, and Aerith had to admit she doesn't really know _how_ it works, just that it does, and better than any of them could've predicted.

"You fit together," Tifa concluded, a trace of something sad in her voice. "You match each other." She narrowed her eyes against the sunshine and said softly, "In romantic love, you want the other person. In real love, you want the other person's good."

"What?"

"Just something I read once."

Now, however, there's no sadness in Tifa's face as she stands next to the Highwind and replies, "No, I'll finish up here and then get back to Cid's. I want to check up on how my babysitter coped while I was gone."

"Babysitter?" Aerith is confused. "For _Cid_?"

"Well, my spy. I needed to be sure he wasn't going to overdo it just because I'm not here to keep him in line."

Uneasiness prickles through Aerith. "He's a grown man, Tifa. He can take care of himself."

"I know. That's the problem."

She wants to know what Tifa means by this, but the other girl is mobbed by moogles again, all of whom want to know why the shop was closed early today and why Cid walked in the wrong direction to get home.

* * *

"Hello? Anyone home?"

Silence.

Aerith sighs, flipping on the lights with the hand Kairi isn't clutching. The wicker basket clunks against the wall, and she puts it down on the table to make it easier to rush Kairi to the bathroom. That dress is far too grand to risk when Kairi's hopping from foot to foot like that.

It's only afterwards, bustling about making something to eat, that Aerith looks in the basket.

Kairi is sitting in her usual chair, on top of the booster Zack made out of a cushion and part of an old Gummi Ship seat. It's sturdy but ugly. Yuffie, Kairi and Aerith once spent an entire afternoon decorating it using potato stamps. Aerith cut potatoes in half and carved shapes in them, then helped Kairi press them into ink to make patterns. Yuffie snorted at the wobbly hearts and stars and painted a trail of flames from an equally wobbly shuriken on the other side, giving the booster seat a lopsided, bipolar feel.

The thump of the basket being pulled over alerts Aerith that she left it in grabbing distance. She turns to see Kairi grappling with a packet wrapped in pink paper and string. There's a little square card attached. Aerith pulls it off when she notices the three-circle-ear motif.

_**Just a little something to play dress-up with. I hope you don't mind. Kairi is an easy girl to spoil, but I can't help it. Please forgive my selfishness in not asking you first whether you approve. **_

_**Yours, **_

_**Queen Minnie.**_

Inside is a selection of beautiful clothes, the likes of which Aerith has never seen before. Not even Esmeralda's designs can compare with the sheer cuteness. There's a lot of lace, a lot of frills, and a lot of pink.

With each item Aerith extracts Kairi cries, "Pretty!"

"You've certainly made a powerful friend," Aerith remarks, holding up a small gown so exquisitely crafted from soft silk it feels like it should melt in her hands. "I haven't a clue where you're supposed to wear these. This must be why the queen called over that pageboy when you first tried on that dress."

"My new dress. Mine! I like my new dress."

So do Zack and Cloud when they finally get home.

"We thought you'd be gone until tomorrow," Cloud says without disappointment.

They're both sweaty and dirt-stained, and Cloud has a sword in his hand. It's a real one, all sharp steel and polished hilt. While it's nowhere near as long or wide as the Buster Sword, it still makes Aerith nervous to have in a home with a small child.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Cid. He found it in a pile of scrap a while ago and gave it to me today."

Zack shakes his head. He's much less grimy than Cloud, betraying who came off worst in their sparring. "You mean _Tifa _found it in a pile of scrap _ages_ ago, and cleaned it up to give to you, but never did for some reason. Then Cid found it today and gave it to you to spite her because she left Yuffie as his 'babysitter'." He makes quote marks in the air with his fingers.

"Yuffie?" Aerith's brain clicks. "Oh no."

"Oh _yes_. Actually, once she settled down and Cid _calmed_ down everything went quiet, but apparently there were a lot of pyrotechnics when he first found out."

"I can imagine." Aerith wonders what sort of reception Tifa will receive when she gets home. "Wait, _Tifa_ got that sword for you?"

"Uh-huh," Cloud says, distinctly uncomfortable.

"Yule's been and gone, and so has your birthday. Why didn't she give it to you, if she put so much effort into cleaning it up?"

"I don't know," Cloud replies, even more uncomfortable. "Maybe she meant it as a gift for one of those and just forgot or something."

"Yeah," Zack adds, not investing his words with much conviction. "Or something."

Tifa would never forget a birthday. Tifa remembers important dates like she remembers how to kick teeth out without getting blood on her shoes.

"Za-ack."

Aerith looks from one to the other of them. Her brain keeps clicking. "Oh …"

"Cloud reckons Tifa's had feelings for him since before we got together," says Zack.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to. That was easy to work out. _I _think they haven't gone away, though."

The conversation in the Rose Garden jumps into Aerith's mind, as well as the recent reticence.

"Oh. _Oh_." She feels foolish for not realising. Everyone talks about how perceptive she is, and how good she is at reading people, but in this she's failed abysmally. She thought it was all sorted out. She thought it'd been smoothed over. Her own happiness blinded her to how the implications of Tifa's _un_happiness. Or maybe she just didn't want to see and fooled herself into thinking she couldn't figure out what's been bugging her friend.

"Yeah," Cloud says. "Oh. What are we supposed to do about it?"

"Nothing."

"Zack!"

"What?" Zack raises his palms at them both. "Don't look at me like that. What _can _we do?"

Aerith is about to reprimand him for being insensitive when it hits her, just as fast, but not with the same force: he's right. There is, actually, nothing they can do. Tifa's feelings are her own, and short of turning back the clock nothing will alter them or the situation. She wouldn't want her friends to break up just so she could be with Cloud, she's too honourable to try and make a play for him while he's attached, but she's been keeping her disappointment bottled up for months. You can't just switch off your emotions like electricity. Tifa is tough, but she's not made of stone.

_No wonder it felt like she was clearing the air_.

Based on today, it seems like she's been reconciling herself to the fact that Zack, Aerith and Cloud are an item, and a happy one.

"_That's the best way to describe them – sort of romantic. We know too much about each other to get too invested in it all, I guess. Even though I love spending time with them and they can be tender when they need to be. We love each other. We don't need lots of big romantic gestures to know that. The little things matter more."_

"_I think I can live with that." _

And, apparently, coming to an acceptance of it within herself as well.

"She should've told me. I'm her friend. We said we wouldn't keep secrets from each other anymore."

"Give her a break, Aerith," Zack says. "What was she supposed to do – walk up to you and tell you she has feelings for one of your boyfriends? She was probably worried about how you'd react."

"I wouldn't have been angry. Or jealous. I _wouldn't_."

"I didn't say you would. Probably Tifa didn't think you would, either. She knows you. But she knew you'd feel guilty, like I bet you're feeling right this second, just like Cloud has had a fit of the guilts all afternoon. I tried to clobber some sense into him but it's not sticking. Tifa doesn't want to hurt anyone, even by accident. Personally, I think that shows how _much_ she values her friendships."

Aerith can see the truth of this, but it still smarts on a superficial level. "I can't believe she never said anything. For four months."

"Technically it's only _nearly_ four months. It's really three-and-a-bit months."

"Is that supposed to make things better?" Cloud asks, a sullen bent to his mouth.

Aerith's eyes slide to the window and the town beyond. "She must've been so uncomfortable whenever we started acting all lovey-dovey around her. I can't believe I didn't … that I was so selfish …"

"Did she show it though? Did she let us know it bothered her?" Zack asks.

"No, but I should've realised anyway -"

"And done what? Anything you said or did would have been an insult to her pride. She didn't want us to know. We should respect that, and the effort she's made not to let this influence our friendship. If it hadn't been for Cid giving Cloud that sword, we would've been none-the-wiser."

"I wouldn't," Cloud murmurs.

"That's because you're _too_ sensitive." Zack pulls Cloud into a noogie, clamping his head under one arm and grinding his other knuckles against his skull. "See? You feel things more than normal people."

"Ow! Zack! Gerroff!"

"_I suppose Cloud's more sensitive than Zack."_

That's what Tifa said, but Aerith watches them now, Zack bringing Cloud out of his funk after talking so much sense, she realises the real truth. Zack can be more sensitive than he seems when he shoots that flirty-verging-on-wicked smile.

Which he's shooting her right now.

Oh no.

"You try to noogie me, Zack Fair, and I'll put so much pepper in your food your head will explode."

"Yeah, and then you'll have to kiss a mess of pulpy bone and bloody brain matter." He releases Cloud and advances on her. "C'mere."

"Zack!" Aerith shrieks and runs to the other side of the table, putting it between them.

Kairi claps her hands, and Aerith's shrieks turn into giggles as Cloud recovers and latches onto Zack's back. He piggybacks like a little kid as Zack pivots, swatting at the grinning head above his own.

Cloud is laughing, which didn't seem possible a few minutes ago. Zack, however, has found the fun in the situation like he always does, proving once again why they function better together than apart.

Speaking of which.

"Pin him down, Cloud."

"What? Hey, no. Cloud, don't, or I'll – what are you doing by the sink? Is that a cup of cold water? Hell, Aerith lemme go, it was just a joke. You've got no sense of – blaragargh!"

* * *

"The king sends his regards."

"Hm?" Zack, feet and calves on the couch but head on the floor, turns his face towards Aerith in the armchair. "Who?"

"The king."

"What king? The one whose castle you visited?"

"Yeah. He passed along a message to Merlin. He says hi, and he's glad things worked out for you and your 'little problem'."

Zack looks thoroughly confused. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't know any king."

"Sure you do. You spent two weeks with him in Ambleton. Merlin's friend."

"Who, Mickey?" His eyes widen and he pulls himself into a sitting position – though since he leaves his lower legs on the couch this looks very odd, like a broken deckchair trying to unfold. "Mickey's a _king_?"

"Uh-huh."

"Really? Wow." He flops back, staring at the ceiling. "He didn't act very kingly."

"Neither did the queen. I get the feeling they're not like regular royalty."

"Yeah, they're nicer. I can't imagine Mickey would lock his daughter in a tower, or marry someone just because she could spin straw into gold. Wow." Zack shakes his head in disbelief. "Wow."

"You said that already." Cloud, curled up in the other armchair, appeared to be sleeping. His comment puts paid to this.

"I thought you said you were tired. I kicked your butt for hours today."

"And I kicked yours right back."

"But I kicked yours more."

"I remember you kicking your own butt pretty well. Shall I tell Aerith who fell into the water trough because he was crowing so hard he didn't look where he was going?"

"Jeez, give the guy his own sword and he thinks he's all that. Go back to pretending to sleep so we can talk about you behind your back without you ratting me out when I miss out the parts where I embarrass myself."

"I am tired." One blue eye appears over the arm slung across Cloud's face. "But who can sleep with you two chattering?"

"Or with Tifa still going around inside your head," Zack says dryly. "Admit it. That's still bothering you."

The eye disappears under Cloud's arm again.

"Cloud?" Aerith prompts.

"Yes, okay? It's still bothering me." Cloud is snappish, but not vicious. Mostly he just sounds weary, as though he has already travelled this path so many times in his mind he's footsore on the outside too. "Can you blame me? I grew up liking Tifa. She was my first crush. I'd suspected she'd started to return those feelings for a while, but when nothing happened after you two … when it looked like I was … well, I just assumed it was a passing fancy or something. Now I find out she's been …"

"Pining for you?" Aerith says gently.

"Man, I hope not. I already feel like a heel."

Zack sits up again. "Why the hell are you a heel? You didn't make her feel that way."

"Except that I did."

"You didn't lead her on, then."

"Didn't I?"

Zack scrambles to his hands and knees, crawls across to Cloud and places a hand on either armrest. He leans in, pulling at Cloud's shielding arm so he can look him in the face. Cloud resists, so Zack has to talk as Cloud squirms and tried to bury himself down the back of the armchair.

"Cloud, you didn't deliberately lead her on, because that would be cruel, and you're the least cruel person on the planet. You can't help what goes through anybody's head or their heart – especially not Tifa's. If she developed feelings for you, she did it on her own, just like she's now taking care of them on her own. Tifa's independent. She hasn't asked for anyone's help because she doesn't want it."

"But maybe if I'd -"

"If you'd what? Asked her out? Kissed her? Is that what you regret not doing?"

"No!" Despite everything in his history with Tifa, Cloud's denial is genuine. He doesn't mean it unkindly, and when he finally sits upright Aerith can see it in his eyes. Cloud just has a natural tendency for guilt and thinking himself responsible when things go wrong. He sometimes imagines he needs to be forgiven when there's nothing to forgive – like now.

"Good, because I was starting to get jealous."

Aerith rises from her own armchair to join them. "We understand if you have lingering feelings for Tifa, Cloud. Especially in the face of this. Like you said, she was your first crush. You were a little bit in love with her for a long time, or at the very least you were infatuated with her. It stands to reason you might still feel some of that now."

"But that's the thing," Cloud says, forehead falling into his hands. "I _don't_, even though I feel like I _should_."

Zack frowns, puzzled. "You feel like you should be falling in love with someone else?"

"Not love. I'm not sure what I … I don't even understand it myself. It's like … like I owe it to her to feel the way I did before, but I was fifteen when I last felt that strongly about her. I'm nearly twenty-one now. You can't feel the same way about _anything_ you liked when you were fifteen when you're twenty-one."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Zack hooks his fingers beneath Cloud's hands and pulls his chin up to press a kiss to his lips. "I'm pretty sure I still liked you when I was fifteen."

"You liked me as a friend when you were fifteen. That's exactly my point. Things change."

"Tifa understands you don't return her feelings anymore, Cloud," Aerith reassures him, and tells him about the conversation in the Rose Garden. "She wants you to be happy."

Cloud averts his gaze. He still doesn't look convinced.

"For crying out loud," Zack mutters. "Talk to her, if you want closure or whatever."

At this, Cloud switches to aghast. "I couldn't embarrass her like that."

"You'll embarrass her if you start acting this way when she's around. Tifa wouldn't want your pity, Cloud. She wouldn't want you to pretend you feel something you don't just because you feel _sorry_ for her."

Understanding dawns on Cloud's face, as Zack puts a name to what's been tying his guts into knots. "She'd _hate me_ if she knew that."

Aerith reaches out and ruffles his hair. It's soft. She never ceases to be surprised by that. It looks like it should be bristly, but each unruly blond spike is silken. She could sit and stroke Cloud's hair for hours. "She'd never hate you. Not ever. Nobody could."

Cloud just continues to look miserable.

Aerith sighs. "Sometimes you make problems for yourself just by _being_ yourself, Cloud." She puts her lips to his, breathing into his mouth as though trying to blow all his bad feelings away. Cloud closes his eyes, deepening the kiss until a cough beside them makes them break apart.

"Sorry, Zack."

"Don't be."

Aerith is suddenly very aware of the hand on her lower back. Cloud seems equally aware of Zack's other hand, which has found a place on his thigh.

"Zack?"

"Four months," Zack says. Is she imagining it, or is there a huskiness to his voice that wasn't there a minute ago?

"Is less than five," she replies when Cloud doesn't.

"Is a very long time," Zack corrects, moving his thumb in small circles around the base of her spine.

A tiny frission travels from there to the top. Her shoulders twitch and a shiver runs in reverse up her backbone. "Technically it's not four months, it's three-and-a-bit." She echoes his own words.

"Which is also a _very_ long time. Especially when spending it with two gorgeous creatures like you."

"'Gorgeous creatures'? Have you been at Tifa's reading material?"

Zack's thumb stops for him to look at her, nonplussed. "Huh?" In the history of seduction lines, this isn't a contender for the crown. It ruins the moment.

"Never mind."

Trying to recapture the mood, Zack pulls her slightly towards him. Since she's kneeling, all it takes this small push to make her almost fall and support herself against the side of his chest. Zack is warm, even through his sweater. She can feel his heartbeat, a steady 'ba-bump' that's actually not so steady anymore. It's more of a 'babumpbabumpbabump' that belies the easy smile and regular pattern of his breathing.

Nervousness grows like speeded-up fungus in the pit of her belly. No matter how much she might have considered this, how much time she's had to ready herself for this next stage in their relationship (especially given the almost-happened times before when they were interrupted), all her words take wing at the sound of Zack's heart inside his ribcage. His heartbeat is like him – vital and powerful and very, very alive.

"Kairi is -"

"Asleep. And she'll stay that way, since she's so exhausted from her day out."

"Yuffie -"

"We don't have to stay out here." This, unexpectedly, is from Cloud. He leans forward in the armchair. There's nothing fake about the hand that touches her lower back from the other side, or the way Cloud's fingers tangle with Zack's in a muddled stroke of her skin – and each others – through her dress. Cloud's face, however, is a study in nerves overlaid with seriousness to keep them from jangling right out of his body through his pores.

"I …" Aerith hesitates, involuntarily leaning back, away from them both.

Their hands stop. Cloud's falls away, but Zack's stays where it is, a solid presence that's clearly in control enough for him to remove it at a word from her. It hasn't moved, but it's gone from seductive to platonic in a moment.

"We won't if you're not ready, Aerith."

They've talked about this. It's not like it's totally unexpected. One of the defining things about their relationship is the scarily adult conversations – the kind that would, once upon a time, have made Zack in particular run a mile. They've discussed sleeping together and how it might change things, just as they've gotten used to the changes rendered from friendship to a relationship. They just haven't discussed them _recently._

"Aerith?" Cloud's nerve is failing him. He manages to put three separate syllables into her name. He hates seeming weak, especially compared to Zack, but Aerith can poke a hole in his facades like popping a soap bubble.

Aerith looks at them both, at the lines of their faces she's memorised over the years but seen again, in a new light, since they decided to try this; as though going back to a favourite childhood book, only to find it has been rewritten by a different author. The story is the same, but the path isn't as well-trodden or familiar as it used to be. There are new subplots, new details, and new things to experience that make it different, maybe even _better_, than the book you remember through a child's eyes.

Aerith leans in to kiss each of them in turn. "Come on, then. Before we change our minds."

It, too, is hardly the most romantic line in the world. It'd never make it into one of Tifa's romance novels, but as she walks to Cloud and Zack's bedroom, peppered by kisses and soft touches, Aerith couldn't care less.

This is real, not a story. This isn't a romance novel, or a fairytale; it's reality, and it's full of nervousness and mistakes and laughing at the wrong moment. It has questions and hesitations and daft things like kneeling on hair and strange noises that totally ruin the mood. It's falling off the bed, bumping heads, and sneezing over your lover when you accidentally inhale a bead of your own sweat. It's learning and realising and, most important of all, it's in no way false. This is truth written in eyes and skin and cotton, and each of them soon confirm that what they feel for each other is genuine, and that nothing – nothing whatsoever from their past, present or future – is ever going to change that.

What they don't learn, however, is that what you understand to be true when you're young and in love is not necessarily the _truth_.

Because this _is_ reality, which can be merciless as well as wonderful. It isn't a romance novel or a fairytale, and because of that it doesn't owe anyone, not even those genuinely in love, a happy ending.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	49. The Strange White Meadow

* * *

**48. The Strange White Meadow**

* * *

'_Let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair!'_ -- Susan Polis Shutz

* * *

Yuffie wakes to the smell of pancakes. She stretches, every muscle tight, and then flops back. Cid's couch is much less comfortable than her own, but the blanket Tifa gave her is warm and she's loath to leave it – even if it is plaid.

Eventually, however, the call of the bathroom drives her to her feet. Not to be thwarted by her own traitorous bladder, she wraps the blanket around herself and shuffles off, a tunnel of red and green tartan with a counterpoint of black hair sticking out the top. She even keeps it on when she trundles into the kitchen instead of going back to the couch.

"Morning, Teef."

Tifa whirls, spatula in hand and a look of surprise on her face. "Yuffie!"

"S'my name, get your own." Yuffie yanks out a chair, sticks her feet on it and sits on the table. "Why the shock? You knew I was here."

"I … forgot. I was a little distracted."

"Uh-huh. Your pancakes are burning."

"Damn." Tifa turns back and hastily chisels the small circles of batter off the griddle. "I wasn't watching them even when I was looking at them."

"Still bummed about Old Fart chewing you out instead of greeting you like the victorious adventurer you are?"

She pulls a face. "Cid always chews me out. I'm used to it."

"Kinky."

She doesn't even turn around, just tosses a butter knife over her shoulder, confident Yuffie will catch it before it hits her – which she does. "Don't be so vulgar."

"Vulgar – adjective, meaning lewdly or profanely indecent."

"Commonly used in the sentence 'Yuffie is so'."

"You love me for it."

"So you're a walking dictionary now?"

"Nah." Yuffie wriggles her toes, which have gone so cold in the night they feel like someone chopped hers off and replaced them with a corpse's for a laugh. Because corpses are so damn funny. Uh-huh. "I just went through the one Leon gave me and found all the dirty words. That was one of the dirty-by-proxy ones. So, getting back to the subject, if it's not Old Fart going apeshit at you for calling me in to baby-sit his wrinkly butt – which I was _so _glad I didn't see this morning, by the way. Total Lucky Escapesville. I was worried he'd be in the bathroom because the lock's broken, so you can't tell if anyone's in there before you go in, and the last thing I need is to see him sitting on the can again -"

"_Again_?"

"Can't talk about it. Psychological scarring." Yuffie shudders theatrically. "So if you're not bummed about him going ooga-booga about you mollycoddling him too much, what's got you so glum, chum?"

"Nothing."

"Ah. It's because he gave that sword to Cloudy, isn't it?"

"How did you -?"

"Your face when he told you. You looked like he'd collected a barrel of cute ickle puppies, and then tied you to a chair to make you watch him kick in their cute ickle heads and stomp their cute ickle brains into mush. Brain matter is such a bitch to get out from between floor tiles."

Tifa glances over her shoulder. "You can be really disturbing sometimes."

"Thanks." Yuffie kicks her feet inside her blanket. They move like a mermaid's tail, only she'd never be wimpy like a mermaid. Mermaids are just sushi with uppity ideas and opposable thumbs. Plus you can't throw shuriken or kunai properly underwater." She knows because she's tried, albeit without the mermaids. It was a manky experience that gave her a cold and made her sound like she had seaweed stuffed up her nose for a week. Yuck. "This house makes weird noises."

Tifa is momentarily thrown by this change in topic. "Huh?"

"It gurgles."

"Oh, that's the cistern. It makes the pipes bang, too."

"I noticed." Three in the morning and on her feet, ready to stab whoever's attacking, only to discover they're being invaded by a dire need for a plumber. "Our apartment doesn't have a horrible cistern or pipes that are all 'clangetty-bangetty-clang-bang-you-will-not-sleep-tonight-bang'. It's nice and quiet when everyone's asleep and you creep back in. And the sofa there doesn't try to eat you. Seriously, those cushions tried to smother me in the night. I think Old Fart told them to, just because I called him on reading those raunchy books. And stole one of his potatoes at dinner."

"So why _didn't_ you go home last night?"

"Are you kidding?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you don't know, I'm not gonna tell you. Can I have my pancakes now?"

"These aren't for you."

"Liar. You don't eat pancakes and they're too full of bad junk to pass Old Fart's ruby lips."

Tifa plunks the plate down in front of Yuffie, who grins and doesn't bother waiting for a knife and fork. When she has filled her mouth she reaches for the mug of coffee already on the table, but Tifa holds it away from her.

"_You_ are not allowed caffeine."

"Spppyyll-sprrt." Yuffie bangs on her chest with a fist, eyes bulging.

Tifa takes an unconcerned sip from the mug. "You shouldn't cram your mouth so full."

Yuffie makes a strangled noise, dashes to the sink and pours water straight from the faucet into her open mouth. A lot of it goes into her hair and over her face as well, so when she stands up again she shakes like a dog and slicks her fringe back over her skull.

"Wind resistance," she grins, striking a pose like a sprinter ready for the off.

"Why didn't you go home last night, Yuffie?"

"Why did you let me crash here?"

"Yuffie -"

"And why didn't you give Cloudy that sword instead of hiding it? Come to think of it, how did you think Old Fart wouldn't ever find it when you hid it in his own workshop?"

"I didn't think about it." Tifa's grip on the mug handle tightens – slightly. Her knuckles are barely white.

"Bull. I'll bet he was really pleased with it, though. Cloudy's all 'I hate fighting, don't make me fight, I only fight because I need to be able to defend my loved ones, I couldn't fight my way out of a paper bag' but you can just tell he and Zack are totally having a virtual make-out-session whenever they bash their swords together. It's like a super macho version of playing footsie."

Okay, those knuckles are snow-coloured now. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!

Yuffie folds her arms. "Knew it."

"Knew what?"

"You're totally in love with Cloud Strife." Tifa starts to protest, but Yuffie cuts her off with a barking laugh. "Puh-lease don't try to deny it, or say it's just a crush or some other guff, because it'd be sad to show you how my Great Ninja Skills can kick your Zangan-Ryu ass. Especially this early in the morning."

"I'm not …" Tifa breaks off, blinks rapidly, and takes a swig of coffee. It seems to give her strength to face the overwhelming force that is Yuffie Kisaragi, because she says in a voice like leather gloves with steel-weighted fingertips, "You can't say a word. Not to anyone. He's happy with Zack and Aerith."

"Pfft, like they won't have already figured it out? Give them some freaking credit, Teef! If _I _could figure it out, no way they won't have. You don't spend hours n' hours n' hours n' hours n' _hours_ sharpening and repairing and whetting and polishing a big-ass sword like you did if you don't care for the person you're giving it to. And you don't then _not give it to him_ unless there's something bigger going on beneath the surface."

Tifa doesn't slump. Her spine stays straight and her shoulders stay pushed back, but something inher eyes slumps. Just a little. "I didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea from such an elaborate gift."

Yuffie rolls her eyes. "Subtlety, thy name is _not_ Tifa Lockheart. Is it something about growing up that turns everybody's brains into love-addled piles of mashed potato? And not even good mashed potato – the dried packet kind with lumps in. Man, from where I'm sitting, getting older sucks major ass."

"Won't hear me disagreeing, pipsqueak."

Yuffie briefly considers sticking her foot out to trip Cid, but dismisses the idea. She's not cold-blooded. She'll let him have his first cup of tea before she pranks him. "Yo, it's the landlord. Everybody scatter!"

"Wise-ass." Cid, fully dressed and already clenching a toothpick between his teeth, bustles about preparing tea and sniffing at the smell of burned pancakes. He mumbles something incomprehensible while filling the kettle with water, but Yuffie catches the word 'outnumbered'. It makes her grin.

There's tension between him and Tifa, but not as much as there could've been, considering how Cid yelled at her when she got home yesterday, and her horrified expression when he told her he'd given her precious sword to Cloud. Tifa not asking Cid how he is, or whether he felt okay during the night is a major indicator that something has shifted in the balance of power between them. She didn't check the contents of the fridge to make sure he didn't buy lard covered chocolate, either. Yuffie imagines a giant spirit gauge floating above their heads. Then she imagines the glass containing it shattering, and stifles a giggle at Soaked Tifa and Sodden Cid.

"So what's your next step, Teef?"

"There isn't any next step."

"Self-sacrificing ninny."

"Yuffie," Tifa murmurs, dark eyes piercing, "there will be no next step. Got it?" Every answer to all Yuffie's questions is packaged in these words – even those she didn't know she wanted to ask.

Yuffie imagines a giant zipper on a huge-ass bag, zipping in all the what-ifs and could-haves and might've-beens and stuffing them on top of a closet in the bedroom of life. Then she imagines herself receiving an award for her fabulous metaphorical skills. Oh yeah, uh-huh, she's so in the zone she writes the zone's paycheques.

"Fine. I guess you know your own heart best."

"I won't spoil things for him. For _them_," Tifa corrects herself, fooling no-one.

Cid grumbles as he watches the kettle boil. Unlike pots, it does it pretty fast even with someone watching.

"What was what, Old Fart?" Yuffie demands, as Tifa's shoulders suddenly hunch.

"Hmmf."

"Excuse me?"

"None of your beeswax, pipsqueak."

Yuffie is disgusted and doesn't hide it. "Beeswax? _Beeswax_? You're my mentor for how to cuss without your tongue shrivelling up and dropping out, and the best you can come up with is _beeswax_? Your membership of the Potty Mouths Club should be revoked. But don't worry, I'll put in a good word and get them to reinstate you for the low, low price of some toast."

Cid grunts, placing two slices of bread under the grill. "They're for me and Tifa."

"Okay, then the price is telling me what you just said to Teef."

"None of your damn business." Cid turns away, but not before she spots the embarrassment twitching his forehead into furrows.

Yuffie peers at both of them, mulling it over like any Great Ninja would assess a situation. Then she grins. "You said sorry, didn't you? You said sorry and it's killing you that you felt like you had to say it."

"Fuck off."

"I knew I was right! You're sorry you went all spiteful and let her secret out, and Tifa's sorry she didn't trust you. It's just a big ol' melting pot of sorrysorrysorry. And incidentally, I have my own sorry to add to the mix." She uncoils her blanket low enough to hold up a hand, palm towards them, the other against her chest. "I'm solemnly sorry for creeping into the kitchen last night while you were both asleep (even though I'd stuck around to make sure you didn't, like, sleepwalk and try to smother each other or anything), and I'm sorry I ate that cheesecake someone naughty, who should've known better, bought secretly and then left in the fridge."

Cid whips around. "You did _what_?"

Yuffie wolfs the last of her pancakes. "Since you two aren't about to kill each other anymore, I'll bid you good day and make tracks. Oh, and Teef? Next time put butter on the griddle first. Toodles!"

* * *

Gradually, Cloud's trips outside Traverse Town become more frequent. Businesses send him to Mosey City, but also to more distant places like Saunterville, Ramble Falls and a quaint little place called Meander Village, which is famous for its crystal mines. Merlin gets him to bring back one of each type mined there, and happily accepts them when Cloud returns. He even gives Cloud a protective charm made from one, despite already paying him for the job.

"Nonsense, dear boy, it's bad luck to return such a thing. It's for good health on long journeys, and given the quality of these crystals, I do believe I shall be employing your services again for further samples."

Cloud is still reluctant at first, as each trip takes him away from home for days at a time. Leaving everyone behind is suddenly like peeling away layers of his own skin.

Eventually they convince him to look on each trip as an adventure. Zack is even envious that Cloud gets to see new places, meet new people and experience new cultures while they stay in Traverse Town 'mouldering away and picking out our own toe-gunk'. Especially now he has his own sword, the journeys themselves holds little fear for Cloud, and both Aerith and Zack feel reassured that if anything does happen he can take care of himself. Cloud is no pushover, except when he is, and a lot of that's behind closed doors when he gets home.

Tifa's feelings are never discussed again – with her or without her. For Cloud, there's sometimes a bite of guilt when he looks at his sword, but when dealing with Tifa herself he can detect nothing amiss. He thanks her for the gift, but she brushes it off, saying she was keeping it for his next birthday until Cid went and spoiled the surprise. She admires the clothes Queen Minnie sent for Kairi, challenges Zack to a hand-to-hand mock fight to keep his skills sharp, teaches Aerith how to keep her face and neck protected if she's attacked by Heartless taller than her knees, and shares a thermos of Darjeeling with them. She's bright and cheerful as ever, and if she ever felt out of sorts she seems to have gotten over it now.

She doesn't move back into the apartment, though.

"Why not?"

"Come on," Tifa says uncomfortably. It's hard enough telling Zack and Aerith. She's just glad Cloud is in Mosey City for this news. "I'd just be in the way. And … I'd feel awkward."

"You don't … have to. Feel awkward, that is. Um …" Zack shoots Aerith an unhappy, slightly desperate look: _Please rescue me from the hole I'm digging. _"It's still your home. Kairi misses you. We all miss you -"

Tifa fixes them with a stare that scrapes the surface of pleading without fully loading the bullet. "Please. Don't ask again." Just that, but it's enough.

"Do you resent us?" Zack asks at a later date, when he brings over the last of Tifa's things. She left them at the apartment because she fully expected to go back, and when the cardboard box drops on Cid's newly scrubbed kitchen table they both try to ignore how much it sounds like a nail in a coffin.

"No," Tifa laughs. "Why would I?"

"Because if it hadn't been for us you'd still be at home."

She shakes her head and beckons him close. When he leans in to listen, however, she flicks the end of his nose so hard it turns red. Zack rears back with a yelp, both hands over his nose and eyes watering.

"You don't apologise for being happy. That's the easy way to getting your ass handed to you in wafer thin slices. What the hell kind of friend would I be if I let you go around with half your butt missing? Besides," Tifa adds, kicking back and staring into the now-familiar corners, "I kind of like it around here. Cid and I, we have our own rhythm. I cook, he eats, we share the cleaning when I badger him to pick up a duster, and we both yell at the radio when it fritzes. I've even got him doing some basic _kata_ with me in the mornings and evenings to strengthen his heart."

"Really?" Zack's mouth drops open, remembering how hostile Cid's always been towards any kind of physical exercise.

"Who would ever have thought someone like _Captain Cid Highwind_ wouldn't already know how to punch without breaking his thumb?" Tifa says, coating her words with innocence so sweet Zack's teeth instantly lose a layer of enamel.

The only person who _doesn't_ speak to her about moving out is Cloud. Even Yuffie drops by to hang upside down from the rafters and fire questions at both Tifa and Cid about the nature of their living arrangement.

"I already live with one set of lovebirds. Thankfully they're not into pet name territory yet, in which case I might seriously consider hari-kari, but if I need refuge from the dewy-eyed looks, I wanna make sure I won't walk in on you two doing the humpy dance."

Both of them look for things to throw at her.

Tifa's hurt that Cloud doesn't come to try and talk her into coming home. She'd be lying of she said it doesn't sting. Still, Tifa is nothing if not a realist and knows why he can't (won't) come, even if he does want her to return. It'd be too thorny – for both of them. Him apologising for being happy and her trying not to look at the way the light picks out the shape of his jaw when it clenches. Her treacherous heart hasn't given up on its feelings for him, even if her brain has gone into lockdown. They self-propagate, feeding on themselves behind her resolve. It's the age-old problem: you always want what you can't have, and the more you can't have it, the more you want it. Thus, against her own wishes and better judgement, Tifa falls a little bit more in love with Cloud every time she sees him.

But she doesn't break. She's Tifa Lockheart, and while Tifa Lockheart may sometimes fall down, she never cracks and lets the light seep out of her. On the contrary – setting aside her own desires to ensure her friends' happiness exposes a core of something intense and dazzling inside her. She won't fully understand it until one day, in years to come, she tries to pluck it out of herself and give it away to save someone else's life.

"Cid," she says one evening, a month after Zack brings over the last of her things and a day after she finishes unpacking them. "Do you still not mind having me here? You were such a loner before, and you always complain that I'm too bossy, or that I put things away where you can't find them."

Cid just leans back in his chair, studying aging rocket schematics she unearthed from some scrap he bought, and which Cloud fetched from Saunterville. "Shut up and drink your goddamn tea."

Tifa smiles, sits back, and drinks her goddamn tea.

* * *

"You're growing your hair."

Yuffie preens. "I know. Gorgeous, isn't it? I figure it'll offset the whole lack-of-boobage thing. I may not have much sweater-meat, but I have great hair."

Chicha grimaces as little Pacha brings up milk over the front of her smock. While cleaning them both she keeps talking to Yuffie. Sounds of Kairi and Kuzco drift through the dining room window.

"Now kid, don't grip the ears so hard this time, 'kay? And if you tell anyone I let you call me Fluffy, I'll spit in your food."

"Shouldn't spit. It's unhygienic."

"How does a little squirt like you know words like that?"

"Pony ride! I'm a princess, and you're my white charger."

"No, it's the knight in shining armour who has the white charg-"

"I'm the _princess_ and you're the _white charger_!"

"Okay, okay. Sheesh. You got a placard to go with that feminism?"

Chicha turns off the faucet and dabs at Pacha's mouth with a wet cloth. "Why are you growing your hair? It suits you short."

"No reason." Yuffie tugs at it. She has fine hair that gets greasy easily, and looks lank unless there's a hint of damp in the air, at which is corkscrews like she stuck her fingers in an electrical socket. "Felt like a change."

The short sentences make Chicha look up sharply. She's gotten used to Yuffie's Yuffie-isms. She narrows her eyes at the expression of calculated nonchalance now spread across her face like a sheet of paper covering a stain on the carpet. "Didn't that Rinoa girl wear her hair long?"

"I wouldn't know."

"And Aerith and Tifa both have hair past their shoulders."

"Bully for them."

"You don't have to have long hair to look feminine, Yuffie."

"Never said I did. Or was. Or even wanted to. Or whatever. I just wanted to see what I'd look like without the Short n' Greasy look. Speaking of which, did you mix up any more of that honey shampoo? I could use a little sumthin'-sumthin' to jazz up the ol' whiffy-smells." She pulls a few strands of hair around to sniff theatrically, wrinkling her nose.

"The stuff you told me Leon said smells nice?"

Yuffie doesn't miss a beat. "Yup. That's the one."

Chicha watches her for a moment. Then she sighs. "Yes, I made some the day before yesterday. I made up an extra bottle just for you."

"Cool beans!" Yuffie's eyes shine and she bounces from foot to foot, rotating her arms as though skipping with an invisible rope. "You make me feel so loved, Cheech. It's been brilliant, coming over here whenever the Clueless Trio get all sickeningly affectionate. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy as a clam for them, but there's only so much of that crap a girl can take before she wants to puke, y'know?"

Chicha says nothing, but purses her lips and wonders whether his is what Chaca would've been like if she'd been allowed to grow up. Her fingers tighten protectively around her baby boy when she thinks of her family – book-smart but plain Chaca, adorably courageous Tipo, and her sweet, caring husband. The nights she's spent reaching for a warm bulk that isn't there, or remembering the smell of tiny bodies wriggling between them after a nightmare, make her throat clog even though it's been so long since the darkness took them. She knows she's been channelling her desire for her husband and children into Yuffie, Kairi and their mishmash family, but they're all content for her to do it and she's grateful to them for that.

Kuzco helps. He was upset when Merlin told him flatly that, without a sample of Yzma's original poison, there's no way he will ever be reverted to human. He seems to have come to some sort of acceptance. Even so, those nights when she rises, unable to ignore how much her husband _isn't_ there beside her, she often finds Kuzco sitting at the window, watching the stars with a contemplative expression.

"I really was a bastard, wasn't I?" he asked once.

Chicha, who doesn't see any point in sugar-coating the truth, replied, "Yup."

"How was I not assassinated way before this?"

"Bodyguards. Food tasters. Palace sentries."

"How was I not murdered _by _my bodyguards? I was a putz to them as well. And I dumped wine on my food tasters' heads. _And_ I gave wedgies to the palace sentries, and put itching powder in their underwear when I was bored. And I made everybody line-dance. _Line-dance_, Chicha. In _clogs_. That alone deserves water torture."

"You're not the same person now."

"I'm not a person at all now."

She looked at him then, a small bundle of fur and deflated ego in the moonlight. Kuzco _isn't_ the same as he was before the Heartless came. She couldn't have stomached living with him if he was. Pacha, her wonderful, long-suffering husband seemed fond of the kid, too, and Kuzco did try to save them all when shadows nipped at their heels, butting them along and carrying pregnant Chicha on his back. He's the reason she survived when her family didn't.

So she wrapped her arms around him, startling him with a hug. "You're more a person now than you were when you wore a crown."

Kuzco relaxed. A little. "Damn thing was too heavy anyhow. I never liked it. Plus the earrings were hella kitschy."

"I wear the same kind of earrings."

"Just saying."

Inside his llama body, Kuzco is still a spoiled teenage boy who never learned proper social skills. It took being transformed and marooned in this world to teach him what it is to be human. He's not Tipo, will never be Tipo, just like Yuffie will never be Chaca. Still, Chicha thinks to herself, it doesn't matter. They're still kids, even if they don't think they are.

So when she brings Yuffie the honey shampoo, she catches her hand, ignoring the way Yuffie becomes subtly rigid at the unnecessary contact. "You do realise Leon's too old for you, don't you?"

"Cheech, whoa, don't get all fuddy-duddy on me. You're currently quite high in the coolness stakes. Don't ruin your rep."

"I'm serious, Yuffie. He's been kind to you and your friends, but this crush …"

"Is a crush. Crushing to my ego, I know, but it's still a crush. I'm not gonna strip off and hide in his bed or anything." Her eyes dance, perhaps a little overbright, but still reassuringly playful. This is the first time she has admitted out loud to Chicha that she thinks of Leon in a romantic way – at least without trying to evade the issue. Although her tone is laced with mischief, Chicha still feels uneasy.

"You're a teenager. He's … how old?"

"Not old enough to be my dad. Well, not physically, anyway. Then again … Man, actually you have to add twenty years on top, from when he was all frozen, don't you? I take it back. He's ancient. He's even older than _you_."

Chicha frowns. "I'm not _that_ old-"

"Yoink!" Yuffie whips her hand away, still holding the bottle of shampoo. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Cheech. Leon's always gonna be in love with Rinoa anyway, so as far as crushes go, he's a pretty safe option because he'll never freaking _do_ anything."

Chicha watches her escape to the garden to collect Kairi. Rinoa had long hair. Chicha never met her, but she's heard the stories the same as everyone else. Rinoa was dark-haired, dark-eyed, beautiful, playful, looked a lot like Tifa but with Aerith's soft curves. She wasn't angular or tomboyish, like Yuffie. She didn't have short hair, wear shorts, or sometimes look like she was wearing half a tree's worth of leaves and dirt.

_Leon's always gonna be in love with Rinoa._

Apprehension curls in Chicha's gut, as she remembers being a teenage girl watching the llama breeder's son and putting her hair up when she heard he liked girls with slender necks.

* * *

"Cloud, I don't understand -"

"You're not meant to."

"But -"

"Pothole!"

Aerith holds his waist from behind, tensing so she doesn't fall off when the chocobo bounces through the pothole. It doesn't matter how much Cloud tugs on the reins, the miserable creature has aimed for every one so far. It doesn't outwardly rebel by breaking its course, but it's determined to shake one or both of them off.

"This bird doesn't like me much."

"This bird doesn't like anyone."

"Kweh?" The rooster itself does a passable impression of innocence.

Its long legs eat up the ground. When Aerith glances back she can't even see Traverse Town anymore. "Where are you _taking _me?"

"It's a surprise."

The wild look in Cloud's eyes when he arrived home was enough to propel her out the door when he said to go with him. However, rather than panic, Cloud's energy springs from some kind of childish happiness – which he apparently wants to share with her.

They approach a patch of grassland. Aerith has never been this far in the direction before. She thought it was all sand and rocks, like the ground immediately ringing Traverse Town. Bushes and lush green tufts streak past on both sides, flatness gradually giving way to a sheer drop, where they stop. The chocobo paws the ground, tossing its head as if it wishes it had proper wings so it could jump off the edge of this cliff.

Cloud twists in the saddle. "Well?"

Aerith just stares. "I never … Cloud, this is …"

Below them, at the foot of the cliff, is a meadow of wildflowers. They stretch in all directions. Where they hit the tree-line of an encroaching forest the flowers don't stop; they just twine in and out of the trunks, eventually vanishing amongst shadows cast by trees so wide, three people together couldn't get their arms around them. Remarkably, despite not all being the same kind of flower, every single one is white. It's an extraordinary sight, especially since this has obviously all happened naturally. There aren't any neat rows, and white weeds are mixed in with larger, more exotic blooms. Everything sways in the breeze, like a shiver across the skin of a giant they've accidentally wandered onto. Petals whisk away like waves crashing against the cliff face, spiralling up to where Cloud and Aerith stand.

Aerith holds out a hand. Petals catch in her hair. She laughs, breath well and truly taken. "How did you _find_ this place?"

Cloud looks embarrassed but still pleased with himself. "I got kind of lost finding my way back from Stroll Town. There was a mist last night. I nearly went right off this cliff before I realised it was there. We stayed in this spot until it lifted so we wouldn't take a fall when we didn't know where we were, and when the sun came up I saw all of," he gestures, "this."

"It's _beautiful_."

"I thought you might like it."

"I love it. Is there any way down to it?"

"Not from here, but I think there's a trail further along."

There is. It takes a good hour to negotiate their way down, especially since the chocobo is none too helpful – at least until Cloud mentions a pair of spurs he spotted on their last visit to Mosey City. In Mosey it's a status symbol to ride on a giant running bird, or in a rickshaw pulled by one. There are many shops that cater for just those purposes. It's how Cloud finally got a proper saddle rather than having to ride bareback after his first one broke.

When they reach the bottom they have to first pass through a portion of forest before they can reach the meadow. The air amid the trees is fresh and clean. Aerith takes deep breaths, marvelling with Cloud over how different this all is to Dark Forest.

"Don't be fooled," Cloud says seriously. "We don't know what kind of animals live in this place. There could be wolves, or bears, or anything."

But Aerith can't imagine that anything could spoil the tranquillity of this place. It's too perfect. Sunlight filters through the high branches, where birds twitter to each other, and somewhere above them a squirrel squeaks to its mate. She briefly thinks of Chip and Dale, but then they break through the tree-line and her breath catches again.

The field is even more spectacular up close. It's like something from a dream. The scent is heady, a mix of wood sorrel, celandine, stitchwort, ramsons, Lady's Smock, primroses and many others that wave to her like old friends.

Cloud just smiles, faltering only when she slides from the chocobo's back. She accidentally knees him in the back when she slings her leg over the saddle. "What are you – oof!"

"I'm going to enjoy this properly." She holds out her hand. He stares at it until she jerks it towards him, flexing her fingers. It should be an impatient movement, but instead it's filled with barely concealed childlike glee. "Coming?"

The chocobo is already trying to peck the ground, where acorns and groundnuts lurk. When Cloud ties the reins to a low branch it doesn't spare him a glance.

He and Aerith walk out into the meadow, picking their way almost reverently until Aerith tightens her grip of Cloud's hand and starts running. Dragged along in her wake, he stumbles to keep up.

Suddenly they discover a slope the blooms have obscured. It's only a gentle gradient, but enough that they both lose their footing and roll down. Flowers are crushed, but more spring back up again, nodding their heads reproachfully at the two humans who land in a giggling heap at the bottom.

Neither makes any move to get up. They're not hurt, but looking up at a sky framed by daisies and amaryllis makes Aerith reluctant to move, and Cloud stays where he is because … well, she's not sure why, other than he wants to stay with her. Their grip broke when they fell. She feels his hand seeking hers again and laces her fingers with his. She regains her breath, still struck by bursts of giggles that Cloud eventually accompanies with his own chuckle.

"I'd say I haven't done that since I was a kid, but … I don't think I've ever done that. There weren't any meadows like this in Dark Forest, and any clump of flowers with more than five blossoms had poison oak in it somewhere." Aerith stretches, pointing her toes and wondering if it would be silly to kick her boots off. A thought strikes her, interrupting this question. "Do you remember when we were going flower-picking and Zack came along to protect us from monsters, and then he ended up with poison oak on the back of his neck when he fell in it?"

"You had to put liniment on it when we got home."

"And he kept squirming because it was cold."

"He smelled really bad afterwards."

"Unlike this place. Mmm." She inhales and breathes out slowly, allowing her eyes to drift shut so she can savour it.

"Aerith?"

"Mm?"

"I love you."

She rolls onto her side, propping her head on one hand. There are bits of white petal in her bangs and dirt stains on her dress, mirrored in the smear of mud on Cloud's forehead and nose. He must've really somersaulted down that slope. There's mud in his hair, too, and all his spikes have been flattened, giving him a bedraggled, kicked-puppy look. She leans across and kisses him at an awkward angle, then pulls back to spit out half a leaf.

"I love you too. Ftheh! But not your foliage. Pthh!"

Cloud settles back with a sigh. Aerith watches him, memorising the shape of him in the flowers even though she knows his face by heart. Seeing one of her passions mingled so deeply with another stirs something inside her that's rather like elation, but a lot more like contentment. He left his sword with the chocobo and his saddlebags. He didn't even pause to untie the bags from his trip when he got back to the apartment, just deposited Kairi with Yuffie and Leon, learned that Zack is at Cid's, and then bundled Aerith onto the chocobo like he'd heard she was about to be kidnapped and her only hope of survival was escape on a crotchety yellow bird. Without his sword Cloud looks softer, more like the gentle soul he is, even though he only carries it when he needs to instead of all the time like Zack.

She pulls herself up and he tips his head to look at her, not letting go of her hand. He's startled when she straddles his stomach, tucking her skirt under herself out of habit, and presses her free hand against his chest for balance as she kisses him. It's a deep, lingering kiss. When it finally ends he stares at her.

"What was _that _for?"

"Just a thank you," Aerith murmurs, leaning her forehead against his and feeling his pulse reverberate through her own skull. It's like an affirmation of her own heartbeat.

"Oh, right. I'm glad you like it here. It's a nice place, isn't it?"

"Not just for that."

"Huh?"

"It was a thank you for … everything." She's too sated by happiness and sweet scents to go into detail. The charm of the moment has sapped her energy, leaving her lazy and fulfilled. She slumps sideways, slithering off Cloud to lie beside him, leaving one leg trailing across his torso and flinging her free arm across as well. It's a very compromising position, but she couldn't care less. "For being you. For being here. For … everything."

Cloud says nothing for a moment. Aerith closes her eyes, so comfortable she actually thinks about taking a nap. Then a hand settles on her waist and she blinks them open again.

"Sometimes I can't believe I ever got so lucky," Cloud mutters. "You and Zack and … _everything_."

She laughs. "_Everything_."

"It's a good word. Very … inclusive."

Aerith snuggles against him. Any other guy might have pushed it further, but Cloud doesn't. They stay that way for what seems like hours, but might actually be less than half of one. Eventually, however, her nose stops tickling and more practical thoughts begin to creep in from the edges.

"We should probably get back. Zack will be home soon, and he'll fly into a blind panic when Yuffie tells him how you were acting."

"I would've told her if it'd been a real emergency." Cloud strokes a line from the bottom of her ribcage to the curve of her hip, then reaches up to do it again, as though reassuring himself she's there. "Let's just stay here for a minute."

"Cloud -"

"Just a little longer." He turns his head back to look at the sky, where his namesakes scud past, as white as the flowers around them. "I want to remember this."

A sudden shiver goes through Aerith. She can't explain it – the breeze is warm, the earth cool but not cold, and she can feel Cloud's body heat pressed against her. Yet she shudders as though it's Winter instead of Midsummer.

"Are you okay?" Cloud asks, concerned as her whole body stiffens.

"I'm fine," she replies, forcing herself to relax. A frown pleats her forehead. She holds Cloud closer to warm herself against the sudden chill.

"Aerith?"

"Just a little longer," she says into his neck. "I want to remember this too."

Cloud hesitates, and then wraps his arms around her more fully, holding her tight until the bored chocobo bellows. The noise breaks the spell, and they finally prise themselves out of their flowery bed to go home.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	50. Grandmother Willow

**A/N****: **Summer seems to have flown by this year. I went away on holiday and came back to find this thing now has four hundred reviews. Wow. Thanks to everyone who has given feedback so far, and I hope you continue to say what you do and don't like about this fic. Now the Summer Hiatus is over and we're ready to engage thrusters once more.

* * *

**49. Grandmother Willow**

* * *

When Kairi is three there's a meteor shower. It's not unusual – there have been more and more lately, signalling that while the Heartless haven't ventured back into this world, they're still out there, still a threat they have to worry about in that nebulous way you worry about infectious diseases and hurricanes. Several blazes of light fall around Traverse Town during the small hours, signalling that yet another world has fallen, and setting up whispers that the Heartless will return and finish what they started here.

Sometimes Zack stares up at the night sky and wonders which stars will still be there tomorrow. There's always a vague clutch of something he doesn't like; an embarrassing feeling that makes him hope, horribly, that if any world has to be targeted next, then it isn't this one. His conscience usually kicks him for being so selfish, but if it came down to a choice, 'them or us', he'd struggle.

Heroes are supposed to work for the greater good, right? That's what makes them heroes. They're defined by their good deeds and their ability to never give up if there's something – anything – worth protecting and fighting for. So Zack feels like he's betraying a part of himself every time he looks at Aerith and Cloud, or Kairi, Tifa, Yuffie, or any one of the other friends they've made here, and thinks: _Them. Definitely them. Not us. _

On days after these thoughts, and especially after meteor showers, he goes out to personally find and comfort survivors who've fallen here. Guilt suffuses him whenever he has to look at their confused, anguished faces and hear them ask the same old questions: _What happened? Have you seen-? Did you find-? Is there anybody else who survived? Anyone apart from me? _

Them or us. Them or us. Them (_I can't find my daughter, mother, sister, brother, lover_) or us (_I love you Zack; Don't look so glum, Hero; I'm a big girl now_).

So the shower that falls a few days after Kairi turns three isn't anything more remarkable than a sharp reminder that the Heartless are still out there. Zack heads out the next morning for where the fragments fell, but it's Leon who finds the old woman. She's dazed and confused, and it takes both of them to guide her back to town.

Leon is surprisingly gentle. Zack has seen a lot more emotions from him than he ever used to think possible, but gentleness has never been high on the list. He doesn't lie and tell her "It's all right", or "You'll be okay", but he does keep a hand on her elbow as he manoeuvres her to the Survivor Centre.

The Survivor Centre is an initiative both Leon and Zack have put a lot of time and energy into. Seeing how the increase in world orphans is going beyond Traverse Town's limited resources (mostly confined to the goodwill of those already there), they decided months ago to set up a place where the newly landed can be taken; somewhere they can sit and process what has happened without also worrying where they're going to sleep. After an incident of one survivor, grief-stricken and overwhelmed, committing suicide, they also set about finding counsellors. Dr. Sweet's advice has been invaluable, and the place is now manned around the clock by a series of residents who know what it feels like to wake up and discover you and the clothes on your back are all that remain of your world.

The old woman isn't as frail in mind as she appears in body. By the time Zack brings her a second cup of tea she's nodding and sighing that she suspected something like this was going to happen. Her scattered wits are gathered up into a crocheted bag on a hook in her mind, leaving her free to peer around and comment that this place needs a good sweep with a broom.

She accepts her world's fate without difficulty, wincing once but absorbing the spasm into her many wrinkles. It doesn't escape again. Even Leon seems surprised, though the only indication is a slight thinning of his lips.

Even more surprisingly, the old woman sees this and _understands what it means_. She chuckles sadly. "I'm not cold-blooded, just practical. Don't misunderstand me. If I think too much about the enormity of what you've just told me, I'll go mad. Being practical seems a safer option. It won't change anything, but when you get to be as old as I am, you need to hang on to every marble you can. Besides, I can't say this was entirely unexpected."

Leon and Zack exchange a glance.

"The spirits have been whispering about falling worlds for some time," she goes on, unperturbed. "The barriers between worlds are becoming weaker as people's hearts get darker with selfishness and greed. There was a lot of selfishness and greed in my world, so it was inevitable it would be targeted eventually." She shakes her head, eyes melancholy. "If only they hadn't taken the princess away and had let that poor man live instead of using him as an excuse to start their silly war. Better yet, if only they'd let them stay together instead of separating them. All that needless fighting over scraps of land. She and he could've ushered in a new era of prosperity and harmony, but no, that would've been too easy. No matter how many generations pass, they never seem to learn that it's people who matter, not acres, or shiny rocks caked in dirt."

"Ma'am," Zack says, drawing her back from her memories.

"Ma'am? Now _there's_ something I haven't been called in a while. Mostly I've been 'Aah, what's that?' and 'Run for your lives, these woods are haunted!' but you can call me Grandmother Willow."

"Zack Fair."

"I know, dear. You introduced yourself on the way here. I'm old, not brainless." Curiosity crosses her face, which then lights up in sudden understanding. She struggles to her feet. "It's been so long since I had to wear flesh, I've forgotten what half the sensations are. Could one of you boys please help me to the little girls' room?"

"Wear flesh?" Leon says as he takes her arm again.

"Yes, dear. The last time I had a human body was four hundred years ago, when I was a lot younger. Four centuries as a tree hasn't done me any favours physically. I keep trying to feel more my roots and straining my toes by wiggling them too much. Still, you learn to cope. Time and tide take on a different bent when you have a few centuries under your belt. Before being a tree I was a rock for a hundred years, and in my youth I larked about as a rosebush, with a few years here and there as a rabbit, and a handful of very interesting years as a moose. I've been around a bit, but a tree suited me quite well, until those Heartless uprooted me and tried to bore through to my heart. It was a case of transform as quickly as possible and just try to outrun the darkness."

"What -" Zack stops himself, embarrassed.

Grandmother Willow's eyes twinkle. "What am I? A spirit, a phantom, a life-force looking for a body, or a wandering soul – as I said, I've been called many things. Right now, however, I'm an old lady with a full bladder. Excuse me."

Later, Grandmother Willow talks to Dr. Sweet and assures him she doesn't need post-traumatic stress counselling, thank you very much. After a few centuries of watching humans kill each other, and then seeing nature take everything back again, you learn to deal with tragedy and accept that there's always a Something After. No, she assures him, she's perfectly fine, but a soft place to take a nap would be lovely. And if he could just bring her a living plant to talk to, so she can get a handle on this world, that'd be lovely as well.

Zack looks at Leon behind Dr. Sweet's back, but Leon shrugs.

"Not the most unusual thing I've ever seen either," Dr. Sweet says without turning around.

And Zack has to admit the same.

* * *

Aerith is shocked when she walks into the church and finds someone already there. "Oh!"

The old woman looks over her shoulder. "Ah, you must be the flower girl they told me about."

"I, uh … hello?" Aerith takes a few steps forward, thrown by her sanctuary being invaded. Nobody comes here except their little group, and even then only Leon comes on his own. Everybody else tags along with her. To find a stranger kneeling by her precious flowers is strange. "I'm Aerith."

"That's not what they call you," the woman says with a small smile.

"They?"

"The flowers." She gestures expansively at the delicate yellow winter jasmine and cheerful pansies Aerith's spent weeks protecting from the cold. Yule has been and gone, but a sharp frost retains its hold on Traverse Town every night, reaching even into the church and Rinoa's protected soil.

"The flowers … talk to you?"

"The flowers talk to everyone, but not everybody listens. I have a feeling you know something of what they say." The old woman taps the side of her nose. "But not the whole story. Hidden meanings to each bloom and colour are all very well, but I prefer a more direct approach." She bends her head as if to sniff a bright purple pansy. "They tell me you take care of them and have hands as gentle as … oh my. I believe this one has developed something of a crush on you, child." She rolls her eyes. "Pansies. So emotional."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"You can call me Grandmother Willow."

The name clicks. "You're the woman Zack found yesterday."

"Ah, your young man?" The old woman blinks, bending her head to a jasmine blossom. She blinks again, several times, and rapidly. "Well, now! Not your _only_ young man." Aerith's stomach clenches, but the old woman only looks at her with bright and happy eyes the colour of new shoots through snow. "I thought humans had given up on polyamory when they invented marriage. I guess old trends really do always come around again if you wait long enough."

"Poly-what?" Aerith recalls what Zack said about this woman. She also remembers some of the things she, Zack and Cloud have done in the privacy of this church, amidst the giddy scents of her flowers, and flushes scarlet.

"Don't be embarrassed, child. I only wish there was more love in the world – or at least more was allowed to exist." She sighs deeply, despondently, as though referring to something else. "Oh my. I'm having a little difficulty … dearie, could you help me -?"

"Oh! Yes, of course." Aerith helps her up, unsure how hard to grip her arm. Grandmother Willow's bones feel light as a bird's, her skin parchment-thin with spidery blue veins bulging across the backs of her hands. Her pale hair is piled on top of her head in a bun, but tendrils have broken free and dangle around her face like branches.

"Thank you. They were right. You really are a nice girl." She pats Aerith's arm. "This body won't last much longer, but I'd be glad to leave such merry plants in your care. You've done a wonderful job with them. Jasmine are usually so _snobby_."

"Uh…" Aerith honestly can't think what to say to this, but she doesn't have to. Grandmother Willow pats her skirt down and draws in a breath.

"Right. Now where can I find this Kairi girl the flowers have told me so much about? I'm quite interested to meet her."

* * *

Kairi loves Grandmother Willow. No sooner is the old woman through the door, she's sitting on her knee, telling her in great detail about her latest crayon masterpiece. Such simple affection is commonplace – Kairi is a friendly soul with room in her smile for anyone and everyone – but it soon becomes apparent that she's developed a special affection for the kind old lady who isn't really an old lady at all.

To be truthful, nobody is entirely sure _what_ Grandmother Willow is, but she's so caring and placid, with such sensible advice always on hand, that nobody's willing to press her. She's there and she's a survivor, just like them, and as long as she isn't any danger (a ridiculous notion, as anybody who gets to know her can soon attest), they're happy to leave it at that.

One thing that characterises Grandmother Willow is that she loves stories. She knows so many it almost defies belief, until people remember how old she is. In her world, she explains, there were many tribes and each one had its own lore – customs for how to behave and legends about how the world came to exist. She knows them all, or so it seems, as she sits and tells an open-mouthed Kairi all about shrewd Coyote, who stole fire to give to the first people so they wouldn't die of cold; about Glooskap and his people, the Wawaniki; and about the origins of the wind and the colourful spirits that live within it.

"Story!" Kairi cries whenever the old woman comes to visit, and Grandmother Willow smiles, sits, and tells yet another new tale.

Cloud and the other adults linger to listen sometimes. Something in Kairi's curiosity stirs Grandmother Willow, and there's more than just fondness for this scrap of red hair and skinned knees. Memories dance in her eyes when she looks at Kairi, and she hugs her tightly and often. Cloud's a little jealous at first, but seeing Kairi's happy face dispels his feelings, just like seeing his smile and Aerith's dispels Zack's guilt.

Eventually, however, the stairs to their apartment become too much for Grandmother Willow's knees. By this time she's gained her own house in town, sharing with a few other, much more dignified old ladies who sniff at Grandmother Willow's many plants, and the way she always leaves the windows open so wildlife can creep into town and into her home. Animals are drawn to her, sensing something in her that calms and takes away their fears of manmade buildings and tempting them into Traverse Town when they'd usually give it a wide berth.

"There's nothing that can compare to a wild fox nudging you awake as it sits next to your hearth," she says with that enigmatic smile she sometimes wears, as though she's in on some huge secret nobody else is even aware of.

She insists the stories continue even though her old bones can't make it to their apartment, and so Kairi is brought to see her several times a week. Where other children her age would rather be out playing every waking moment, as soon as anyone mentions Grandmother Willow she's on her feet, having abandoned whatever else she's doing, and is standing at the door ready to go.

"I love Grandmother Willow," she proclaims when Aerith kisses her goodnight, and again when Yuffie plays Ninja Wars with her across the furniture. "I love Grandmother Willow's stories."

"She's a very sociable young lady," Grandmother Willow herself informs Cloud one day, months later, when he falls asleep in one of the old ladies' stiff-backed armchairs, exhausted from a recent trip to Saunterville. Kairi bounces on his stomach to wake him up, which doesn't strike Cloud as very sociable at all.

"He's just like Sleepy Tortoise," she says, looking over her shoulder at Grandmother Willow. "From the story. You'll never win any races like that, Cloud."

"You need lungs to win races," Cloud wheezes.

Grandmother Willow laughs like a drain at Kairi's baffled expression. "Kairi, dear, why don't you go and fetch the tin of biscuits? They're on the side just there, and the lid's already off. You can have first pick, if you like."

"I like biscuits. They're yummy. I like Aerith's cookies best, but your biscuits are nice too, Grandmother Willow." Kairi bounces off Cloud, relieving his chest of all air once more, and hurries to make the important choice between coconut macaroon and chocolate digestive.

"She certainly is a special young lady," says Grandmother Willow. "You should be proud of her."

Cloud, still breathless, can only nod.

"She knows how to listen with her heart. That's a very rare talent." She gets a contemplative look. "I wonder if you understand just _how_ special she truly is."

"Excuse me?" Cloud finally rasps.

"Oh, nothing. Just the ramblings of an old fool."

Cloud isn't deceived for a second. Grandmother Willow may be old, but she's no fool. There's extra weight behind her 'special' and it makes him pull himself up in his chair and lean towards her, elbows on his knees. "Kairi _is_ very special. She's also very important to me. To all of us." He allows the hidden meaning of this to sink in.

"I never said she wasn't. The very _idea_ – preposterous. You've been missing too much sleep with all your travelling, young man." Grandmother Willow looks at Kairi again and raises a loose fist, as though considering resting her chin on it but then thinking better of the idea. Her arms are thin beneath her shawl, her legs even thinner under her skirt. She doesn't get out much anymore and her muscles are becoming wasted. It's a little disturbing to see, since she's so swaddled in clothes and blankets she looks like she rolled in glue and then threw herself at her wardrobe. "In all my centuries, I've met only a handful of people with a genuine ability to listen with their hearts. The last one was my princess, who was precious to me the way Kairi's precious to you." She shakes her head, but Cloud hears the muted ache in her voice. It's about the only time she ever shows genuine sadness, when she talks about 'her princess'.

"Do you miss her?"

"Terribly. She could've saved our world, given half a chance. But no, the evil in the hearts of others put paid to that. Sometimes the light of a single heart can shine through the darkness and drive it back – it only takes one star to lead you home when you're lost, after all. But sometimes one heart can overflow with goodness and light and still be just one heart. A single matchstick can't hold back a bursting dam, no matter how brightly it shines." She bites the tip of one finger in thought. "I wonder which will be the case this time?"

"Grandmother Willow." Kairi plunks the biscuit tin unceremoniously on her lap. "There aren't any macaroons," she says like it's a major oversight, and her little scrunched up face sends the old woman into fresh fits of laughter.

These stop, however, when she coughs so violently that Kairi steps away from her, eyes wide.

Cloud is out of his chair and at her side in an instant, but she bats him away. "Don't fuss so, I'm all right. I wasn't able to construct a body with much life left in it when those accursed Heartless uprooted me. I'll be fine, don't worry. There won't be much more of this."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cloud asks, alarmed, but she says nothing more on the matter, just reaches for Kairi and pulls her with difficulty onto her knee.

"Now tell Cloud, young lady, how do we listen?"

Kairi pats the side of her head and her front. "With our ears and our hearts," she intones, with even more solemnity than she treated the problem of the missing macaroons.

"Good girl. Now, how would you like to hear the Sioux story of Unktomi and the Arrowheads? I don't think I've told you that one before…"

* * *

Cloud thinks about Grandmother Willow's words well after the end of the visit, and even after Kairi has gone to bed that night. When he retires himself he doesn't sleep, but lies with his hands under his head, staring at the ceiling in silence until Zack leans over.

"You've been awful quiet this evening. Well, more than normal. What's up?"

"Zack, do you think Kairi's special?"

"That's a dumb question. Of course she's special."

"How special?"

Zack frowns. "How long is a piece of string? I don't know. Why do you ask?"

"Something Grandmother Willow said. It got me thinking."

"About …?"

"Keyblades."

Zack withdraws his hand and props himself up, bed sheets pooling around his waist. "What about them?" he asks carefully.

"She said Kairi has the ability to 'listen with her heart', and that only her lost princess could do that. She also said some stuff about one heart trying to hold back the darkness. It made me think about … well, about Kairi's future."

"She could just be rambling. She _is_ ancient."

Cloud just looks at him without blinking, until Zack drops his gaze. "When have you _ever_ known Grandmother Willow ramble when she's not telling a story?"

"Okay, point taken. So that's what's bugging you?"

"I don't know what's bugging me, exactly." Cloud scratches the centre of his chest. The skin there is smooth and unblemished, but still prickles like a scab waiting to be peeled off. "I just wonder sometimes whether Aerith was right, and what that might mean for Kairi."

"There's no point worrying about stuff that may not even be an issue," Zack advises, pushing hair from his face but keeping his gaze trained on Cloud's frown. "Kairi's never shown any further indication of using a keyblade, right? And the Heartless haven't attacked in over a year, so she's pretty safe from them. Nothing about her has drawn them here like we worried it might, which is quite a large sign that she _isn't_ some chosen child who's supposed to fight the darkness all on her own."

"I guess. But that first time was a doozy of an indication, don't you think?"

"There _are_ other possible explanations for how we got here, Cloud. It doesn't _have _to be because of her. There's so much more we know now than we did back then, and amongst all that there's _bound_ to be a more believable explanation than Kairi being able to call on an ancient weapon nobody's even sure _exists_ anymore. Well, outside legends, at least. It could be something really simple we just haven't heard about yet, and Kairi's a normal little girl who had a lot of bad shit happen to her when she was really young but came out of it with a great personality anyway. I'd say that makes her special enough, wouldn't you?"

"I suppose so." Still, Cloud gnaws on his lower lip until Zack leans in to cover it in a kiss and his mind becomes occupied by something else entirely.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	51. The Three Harpies Attack

**

* * *

**

50. The Three Harpies Attack

* * *

"Slut."

Aerith is more shocked at the vitriol than the fact the insult is directed at her. "Excuse me?"

She turns from sorting the medical cards in Dr. Sweet's hopelessly messy filing cabinet. Madame Medusa is there, flanked on either side by the other two thirds of the Three Harpies. Since being so harshly and publicly rebuffed by Leon when she accosted him in the street, Madame Medusa has taken to going around with her two friends – although 'sidekicks', 'flunkies' and 'bodyguards' are all equally good descriptions of Sarah Felton and Muriel P. Finster.

Miss Finster refuses to let anyone use her first name, and has a personality so brutal people adhere to this without question. She's an overwhelming force of old-style discipline coiled behind winged spectacles, regulation knee-length skirts and tightly curled, brillo pad hairdo. Her pupils at the town's only school secretly whisper that when she's washing her dishes she saves money on shampoo by just scrubbing out pots and pans with her hair and then dunking her head in the water. She knows this, of course. Very little of school life gets past Miss Finster, which is one of the reasons Yuffie never even considered going there and why Miss Finster probably wouldn't have let her attend if she had.

Sarah Felton, on the other hand, is more insidiously vicious. She looks softer than the other two, her voluptuous figure like a pat of butter left too long in the sun. Gravity has worked its magic on her stomach, hips, bottom and chest, giving her a matronly shape. Her insistence that everyone call her 'Aunt Sarah' completes the image, and she can be quite charming while ripping people's reputations to shreds and finding new knives to stick in their backs.

All three women stare at Aerith now, but it's Madame Medusa's green-eyed fury that stands out most.

"You heard me," she snarls, placing both hands flat against the reception desk and leaning forward, bringing her red lips so close Aerith can see where lipstick has run into the creases around her mouth like blotting paper soaking up ink. "_Slut_."

It's so ridiculous coming from her that Aerith actually laughs.

Madame Medusa narrows her eyes.

"Just as I thought." Miss Finster folds her arms and shakes her head. "No morals. No morals at all. It's a sorry prospect for future generations if they're being raised in an atmosphere of wilful depravity."

Wilful … what?

"Such wantonness," Aunt Sarah sniffs, pointing her nose in the air and smoothing her snowy chignon, as though just being near Aerith is enough to make her hair curl in as much disgust as her upper lip. "Shameful."

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," Aerith replies, keeping a lid on her irritation by tapping files together into a neat pile. "Is there something I can help you with? An appointment, maybe?"

"You can help us by keeping your _sluttish _ways behind closed doors. _Some _of us don't like to air our dirty laundry in public," Madame Medusa hisses. At Aerith's continued blank look she goes on, "We saw you, coming out of that broken down church with those young men. _Both_ of them."

Ice suddenly forms in Aerith's belly. No need to be specific about _when_ they saw her – she instantly knows. It was only yesterday, after all, when she spent too long tending her flowers because she kept sitting back on her heels and wondering what else they might have told Grandmother Willow. Cloud and Zack came to fetch her when evening fell and she still hadn't come home. Something about the way sunset filled the church with light so thick and gold it was almost syrupy was a potent aphrodisiac.

Despite being together for over a year now, they still feel like they're still in the first flush of romance. Maybe it's because there are three of them, or maybe it's just because of who they are, but everything still seems fresh and new, and they enjoy all aspects of their relationship to the point where going too long without each other's company is like a physical ache. When they're together they're constantly touching each other – not lustfully, or at least not always. A brush of an arm here, a hand on a shoulder there, a foot poking a knee under the table, or just a few seconds of lacing fingers to affirm their love without saying a word. They're discreet when urges are just too much, however, and yesterday was one of those times.

Discretion only stands up so much against the town's local harridans, though.

She kissed them both when they emerged from the church – spun-out lip-locks full of passion and raw physical heat, plus everything that makes her occasionally feel like her heart will burst right out of her chest because it can't contain everything she keeps pushing into it. Sated, happy, and thinking the empty street meant everybody was home and nobody was watching.

Aerith draws herself up. There have been snide comments in the past year, but this is the first open attack. She thought they were well past the danger stage, and that the nature of Traverse Town as a hub of oddities made them stand out less.

Apparently not. These three women were born and bred in Traverse Town and were among some of the most vocal protests when world orphans 'started taking over'.

"Brazen hussy," Aunt Sarah says primly, while Miss Finster continues to shake her head.

"Excuse me," Aerith says with as much control as she can muster, "but I don't think my personal life is any of your business."

"It is if you parade it about in the street," Madame Medusa snaps, slapping her hands on the desk. "Anyone could've been watching. _Children_ could've seen you."

"So what if they did?" Hm, not a good idea to get into a slanging match with these three. They've had more practise and could mince her into sausage meat in under a minute. Even so, Aerith bristles at their accusations.

"Humph, typical."

"Quite right, Muriel." Aunt Sarah nods and wags a finger at Aerith, making her enormous bosom tremble with indignation. "What sort of an example are you setting. Letting two men use you for such carnal pleasure like that?"

"It's worse than that," Madame Medusa shushes them. "It's not just that she's sleeping with both of them, she's got them sleeping with each other, too. Probably trades her own body for the reward of watching them perform." When Aerith opens her mouth she cuts her off. "Don't even bother trying to deny it. I've suspected as much for some time. You disgusting creatures – you for getting those boys to perform for your sick pleasure, and them for actually doing it!"

Aerith is so shocked she can only open and shut her mouth without making a sound.

"Not denying _that_, are you?" Madame Medusa leans back, satisfied. "You're revolting. Worse than that, you're _unnatural_. All three of you – freaks and sluts!"

Aerith swallows her shock and allows her anger to surge to the surface. "I don't think," she says, keeping her voice level only through supreme willpower, "you have any right to judge us."

"I may have a reputation, _slut_, but I've never actually acted on it. I've always been faithful to my husband physically, and I've never suggested anything so _perverted _or _sexually deviant_. But you … it's a wonder you're allowed to keep that child under the same roof. Or is that little girl just another part of your twisted games? I wouldn't be surprised. I hate to think how you deviants must be using her in your twisted games."

This time the shock is only momentary, as Aerith's anger sweeps it away like a wave of boiling hot water over an ice cube. "How dare you!"

"Is everything hunky dory out here?" Dr. Sweet's reassuring shape appears in his office doorway. "Miss Gainsborough?" He uses a formal tone, distancing her by placing her on a professional level above the three women. The message is clear: they may be older, and Traverse Town natives, but this isn't their turf.

Aerith takes a deep breath, tamping down on her rage. "Everything's fine, Dr. Sweet." Amazingly, she can still speak without clenching her teeth. "These three ladies were just leaving."

He arches an eyebrow, obviously sensing the tension between them. He'd be an idiot _not_ to – the weapon-grade glares and concentration of acid looks could have melted the reception desk to liquid. Dr. Sweet is no idiot. Not by a long shot. "Were they bothering you, Miss Gainsborough?" he asks bluntly.

Aunt Sarah and Miss Finster shift uncomfortably. Dr. Sweet is the only doctor in town, and they're both at that stage in life when menopause is a very real threat. Neither fancy facing it on their own. Only Madame Medusa keeps her gaze trained on Aerith.

"Apparently they think it's acceptable to march into my place of work and make judgmental remarks about personal life, Doctor," Aerith replies, equally bluntly. It feels like tattling, but she owes these women no allegiance. While she may have said nothing and allowed them to leave before, the implication about Kairi still has her fizzing like a sparkler doused in oil. "According to the grapevine, I'm bringing down the moral tone of town."

"I reckon spreading malicious gossip's a damn sight further up that there morally wrong ladder than being in a loving relationship and raising a happy little girl I just recently checked and found in the pique of health." Dr. Sweet's words reveal that he heard at least the tail end of Madame Medusa's accusations. His expression reveals what he thinks of them, and her. "I think it's time you three ladies left my surgery."

They do, but not before Madame Medusa mouths 'dirty slut' once more, and then scurries away like a rat down a sewer.

Aerith sags, abruptly so tired she can barely stand up.

Dr. Sweet gives her a consoling pat between the shoulder-blades. His hand nearly spans her whole back. "Coffee?"

She manages not to grimace at the thought of Dr. Sweet's bitumen-flavoured paste. "Tea, please."

"You got it. Hey, Aerith girl?" He puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it in an almost fatherly gesture of reassurance. He's not quite bristling, but he's as near as he ever gets. "Take no notice. You done been happy as a clam dropped back in the water since you set up with those guys of yours. May not be traditional, and I ain't even gonna hazard at the logistics, but it sure as hell beats being lonely and miserable. Those three witches could learn a thing or two from you. Might clean up their wrinkles some. They think the sun comes up just to hear 'em crow. Probably more mad at you on account of how your guys are well and truly off the market now."

"Thank you, Dr. Sweet. Actually, I just found it funny that _Madame Medusa_, of all people, called _me_ a slut."

He laughs. "Dayum. Woman's got some nerve. You know she even sent me one of her 'special packages' when I first got to this 'berg?"

That doesn't surprise Aerith in the least. What does surprise her, however, is how unsettled the encounter has left her. Despite Dr. Sweet's support she's restless for the rest of the day, and when she goes home that evening her footsteps drag more than usual. She's half convinced the three harridans will be waiting for her outside to launch a fresh attack. They aren't. Still, she can't help imagining twitching curtains following her all the way home.

It must shows in her face.

"What the hell happened?" Zack demands when he sees her.

"Nothing." Aerith sinks into an armchair with a sigh. "Rough day, that's all."

"Looks like it was _sandpaper_-rough." He squints at her. "_Sandpaper-as-toilet-roll_ rough."

"Thank you. Now I have that mental image to add to the stuff already going around inside my head."

"I please to aim."

"Mm."

He frowns. Leaving aside the shirt he's mending, he comes to squat in front of her. Everyone in the apartment is domesticated now, with the possible exception of Yuffie. Even she knows how to sew on a button, she just prefers not to. Likewise she acts as though any broom or mop she touches will spontaneously combust and scar her hideously, so it's better just not to go near the things. Somehow Zack has taken on all the mending as part of his share of household chores, and can often be found biting off thread and pretending he's too tough to need a thimble.

"So tell me about your day. Unload on me."

Aerith shrugs. "It was a day."

"Did a bad case come in?"

She always comes home dejected when they get someone so badly hurt that even her healing can't save them. Aerith lives in fear of days like that, though thankfully her magic has increased so much since it synchronised with this world's field, there have been only a handful of cases even she can't help.

She's too tired to relive Madame Medusa's poison. It doesn't matter anyway, and it'll only cause bad feelings in those she loves. "Just leave it, Zack."

"You're not telling me something."

"I said leave it."

"Can't do that, I'm afraid." He cups her face with his hands. His palms are calloused and rough, but his touch amazingly gentle for someone who can slice boulders in two when he picks up his sword. "You're wearing a frowny face. I hate it when you wear a frowny face. Your forehead gets all wrinkly and you look like a prune. I love you, but I hate prunes. They taste like chocobo poop."

What feels like a giggle ripples up Aerith's throat. Zack's words are hardly the most comforting she's ever heard, but they're very Zack, and do make her feel better. You can't stay depressed if Zack's around. It's only when he wipes away her tears that she realises she's crying.

"Hey. _Hey._" He pulls her towards him, radiating concern. "Hell, what's the matter?"

"N-nothing."

"This isn't nothing. This is way more than nothing. What's going on, Aerith?"

"It's stupid. I don't even know why I'm crying. Get off." She doesn't make any move to pull away, and Zack makes no move to release her. He holds her against his chest, pillowing her head on the warm planes of his muscles. Her tears wet his shirtfront and she hastily scrubs her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I'm not even all that upset."

"So the tears are just for fun? Did somebody hurt you? Did someone _say_ something to hurt you?"

He's so on the mark it summons another giggle.

"Someone said something, didn't they? What?"

"Just Madame Medusa and her cronies being their usual darling selves. That's why it's stupid. I should expect as much from them, so I can't understand why I'm …" A hiccup cuts off her words. She presses tighter against him, reminding herself why it doesn't matter what anyone says. She could never give up Zack or Cloud. She'd sooner give up breathing. "I l-love you, you kn-know."

"I love you too," Zack says, bewildered. "Was that ever in doubt?"

"No."

"Am I supposed to prove it? I can go on a quest, if you like – bring you back something nice from a far distant land with a volcano. Something that says 'I love you from the bottom of my heart' and also 'Please fetch medical assistance for my third degree burns'."

"Idiot."

He lets her cry herself out and keeps hold of her afterward, as though she's some delicate glass figurine with a hairline crack that might cause it to shatter if he doesn't hold it together.

"Do you want me to go talk to them?" he asks at length. Zack's not savvy about gossip and the rumour mill. He's too open and forgiving, plus his Y-chromosome makes him incapable of understanding female catfights that don't involve actual fighting. To him, going and speaking to Madame Medusa seems perfectly reasonable.

"Oh gods, no!"

"Huh?"

"That's the worst thing you could do. It'd just give them fuel."

"But if I told them to stop –"

"Zack, no. If you go and see them now they'd probably just say nasty things to you too." And she doesn't want him to know exactly what they're all being accused of. While Zack might shrug off being called names, he's protective and impulsive enough to do battle against those who insult Aerith or Cloud.

"But –"

She presses a finger against his lips and shakes her head. "I feel better now. That's enough. Honestly, I can't understand why I overreacted so much. I guess I'm just tired, visiting Grandmother Willow so much."

"How is she?" Zack asks in a very different tone of voice.

"I called in on my lunch break today. She's okay, but not brilliant."

"No improvement?"

This time it's Aerith who lays a comforting hand on Zack. "She's old, Zack. Her mind is still strong, and her body's fighting, but it's starting to shut down on her."

"It'll devastate Kairi if she dies."

Aerith nods, unable to disagree. Grandmother Willow has been getting steadily weaker and weaker, though she still smiles and gestures for visitors to come in, come in, sit down and warm their bones in front of her fire for a while. She feels the cold so much more than she used to. Aerith has sat in short sleeves and no shoes before now, while Grandmother Willow huddled in a blanket and held her hands towards the hearth's flickering flames.

"Even wood has its uses after it's been cut down," she's said more than once, throwing another log on the fire and shooting Aerith a significant look.

"It's not a case of 'if' anymore. It's 'when'."

"She's that bad?"

"I can't heal old age, Zack." Aerith closes her eyes and leans into him. "There are a lot of things I can't heal, even though I wish I could."

* * *

Leon is waiting for Yuffie when she leaves the apartment in the morning. Or … not quite morning anymore, the big hand not yet having touched the twelve. But she's had her breakfast-elevenses-snack so she counts it as morning. He leans against the wall, doing that broody thing he does so well, and radiating disapproval until it's almost a corona around his head. When he looks up his narrowed eyes tell her that, yes, it's her he's waiting for, and no, not for any good reason.

_Well shit. That was fast._

She doesn't say this part, obviously. Nope, she just chirrups, "Howdy-hey-hey, resident broody-knickers. I thought you cut down our reading lessons to thrice a week." Which she still can't understand, except in ways she doesn't want to, because it's not like he has anything better he could be doing. Okay, maybe being the town law keeper and all, and whatever he does when he trains alone (beats up brick walls, maybe?), but surely that doesn't merit cutting back on his quality time with her?

"Madame Medusa's house was egged and toilet-papered last night."

Yuffie feigns innocence. "Really?"

"Sarah Felton's and Muriel Finster's, too."

"Fancy that. Maybe one of those kids at that crappy school finally had enough of the Ebil Meanies and took his-slash-her terribly immature revenge. Terribly, _terribly_ immature. Terribly. Isn't it shocking what education teaches young people these days? Terribly shocking. Terr-"

"Yuffie."

"That's my name; don't wear it out."

"_Yuffie_."

"Yay, you know who I am. I'm all aflutter now. Thank you, invisible doctor man, for curing my poor Leon's terribly terrible memory loss. But will he ever play piano again?" She pretends to fan herself, but freezes when Leon grabs her wrist.

He stares levelly at her. She expects him to go off on one of his rants, the way he has before when he gets wind of her less legal pranks. He had a complete tantrum (inasmuch as he's capable of tantrums, which means a lot of sulky silences and glaring like a toddler deprived of its rusk) when she carefully and meticulously smeared special super-adhesive glue all around the door to Madame Medusa's shop, but accidentally caught part of her bandana while it was still wet and had to leave an incriminating square behind. She thought she was more thorough this time.

Evidently not.

But Leon doesn't growl. He doesn't even grump. Instead he asks in a scary if-she-ever-got-scared-which-she-_doesn't_ way-too-calm voice, "Do you know anything about this?"

"I know about toilet paper, but if you think I'd gonna show you how to use it, I'm here to tell you _no way_." Yuffie's brain stomps on the wriggly little thoughts of Leon's bare ass and pivots on her toes to make each thought pop like an overfull tick.

"Yu. Ffie." That's how he says it. Like it's two words, the first syllable hustling to the tip of his tongue and diving off into the pool of empty air between them, while the second hangs back until his epiglottis boots it out as well.

"Lee. On." Tit for tat, that's the way to play it. At least it is if you want to distract yourself from the bundle of incoherent _he'stouchingmehe'stouchingmegetoffgetoffholdondon'tletgoohfuck_ responses swirling around the base of your brain like the last bit of water waiting to be sucked down a blocked drain.

He stares at her. She doesn't quail. She hates bird impressions. He stares some more.

"She made Ponytail cry." The words pop out before she has a chance to hold them back.

Leon's stare shifts slightly. His eyes don't move, but something in them alters. She's still trying to figure out what it is when he drops her wrist.

"Gossip-mongering is harder to stop than that."

"Wanna bet?"

"You're not turning this into a hate campaign."

"Who, me?"

"Yuffie –"

"You keep saying my name like you're trying to remind yourself who I am. Should I get it tattooed across my forehead or something? Would that make it easier? Of course I'd have to get 'is great' added on the end, just to hear you say that as well every time you read it aloud." She grins so wide it makes a huge effort to crawl right of her face and into her scalp to search for nits. Ew. "Anyway, could you solve a word-based dilemma I'm having? See, I wanna know if a _hate_ campaign is anything like a _smear _campaign. Y'know, like the one Madame No-Boobs-a and her shoulder devils have tried to start against Ponytail, Hero and Cloudy. And can you also tell me – 'cause try as I might, I just can't wrap even my super-flexible and super-intelligent brain round this one – _why _it's so bad for them to be in love and happy? Leon, you're staring. It's rude to stare. Didn't your mother ever teach you that?"

"Didn't _your_ mother ever teach you two wrongs don't make a right?"

"My mother didn't teach me squat, on account of her already being dead when I was a cute widdle baby."

Leon does something slightly too long to be a blink. "You don't respond to malice and spite with petulance. You have to be smart, not reactionary."

"The who in the what now?"

"The best way to deal with a problem like that is to refuse to descend to the same level of pettiness. It's all about public appearances, like politicians trying to tarnish each other's reputations without endangering their own. Have you ever heard of the Kingdom of Resplendia?"

"Sounds resplendent."

"It was a neighbour of Lord Ansem's kingdom. Lord Ansem had dealings with their king, but the Resplendian king constantly put Lord Ansem down because Ansem wasn't a 'real' monarch. In his eyes, Lord Ansem wasn't as worthy as himself because he didn't have any royal blood in him, never mind the fact that he turned a backwater little town into a thriving scientific hub, and completely turned around its economy. But instead of responding with the same type of attack and publicising the hereditary insanity that ran through the Resplendian royal family, Lord Ansem made himself the height of decency so the king would look bad next to him. He let the king make a fool out of himself by getting people to respect him so much that when the king publically tried to put him down next time, everyone disagreed and made the man look as stupid as he was."

"Say _what_?"

"Put simply: give someone enough rope and they'll eventually hang themselves."

Yuffie doesn't even try to stop her mouth falling open. "Okay, back up. There's so much in that little speech that makes me think you're not really Leon at all. You're his evil twin or something, right? No, wait, you're the _nice_ twin, 'cause there's no way Leon would a) say that much b) imply that I'm right c) tell me something about his time as a Royal Guard d) talk about Lord Ansem like he's _not_ a murdering toe-rag who created the Heartless or e) hint that he's gonna help me show up Madame Medusa and her Gruesome Twosome for spreading shit about my friends."

"Our friends," Leon corrects her, simply and unequivocally.

Yuffie's mouth snaps shut. "Well. Shit," she says after a moment. Then she rocks back on her heels and into what is, for her, a more digestible response. "So … do we draw up a battle plan, or what?"

He doesn't roll his eyes, but it's obvious he wants to. "Or what. Follow me."

* * *

Thick grey rainclouds hang in the sky. They reflect Aerith's mood as she trudges to work. The past three days have been … less than stellar.

_That's putting it mildly. _

A steady stream of minor ailments, too minor even for a healer or doctor's attention, have been pouring in just so people can squint at her like a curiosity in a shop window. One or two even asked outright, "Is it true you're in a threesome?" But some of the questions thrown in the street make that one totally vanilla, thanks to Madame Medusa's poison-spreading. The things people think Aerith has been _doing_ – that she's _capable_ of …

"I'll never work for her again," Cloud declared last night, seething so much steam almost poured from his ears.

"I don't understand _why _she's doing it," Zack said. "What could she hope to gain? It's not like we kept it a well-guarded secret or anything. People know. They just never cared until now."

"Not everyone knows, or they didn't," Tifa replied, having brought Cloud home after pulling him away from an argument when a client asked the _real_ reason why he was so fond of Kairi when he isn't blood related. "And it's not just your relationship that's caught people's interest. It's the rest of what she's saying."

"She's making things out like we sacrifice goats and have orgies and all sorts of ridiculous stuff," said Zack. "None of it's even close to being true."

"Gossip doesn't have to be true. The juicier, the better, and juicy doesn't automatically mean truthful."

Cloud just glowered more, obviously recalling how malicious gossip made his mother's life so difficult, and prejudiced narrow-minded people against both she and him for so many years. In this world or that one, breaking with the norm too much can open the floodgates in people's minds until they think that just because you're capable of one thing, you must be capable of _anything_.

Aerith can understand the intensity of Cloud's resentment. Traverse Town has always been so accepting of the unusual. Until now they've been left alone to live their lives without interference. Now the same thing that tormented him as a child has reared its ugly head again.

"We're not evil," Cloud hissed. "We're not hurting anyone. We've done more to _help_ this town than anyone else. What has Madame Medusa ever done except please herself?"

"Maybe she just doesn't like seeing people happy," Tifa suggested. "Maybe she feels threatened or something."

"By _us_?"

"I don't know. I'm not an insecure middle-aged woman, am I?"

The plain truth is that they're an easy target for rumours because their home life can't be easily quantified and explained in a single sentence. That doesn't make what they have any less important or potent, just less understandable to outsiders.

Maybe that's the real problem. The love between Zack, Cloud and Aerith is still passionate and strong, while Madame Medusa has long since fallen out of love with Mr. Snoops. She stays with him out of respectability and the fact he's one of the richest men in Traverse Town. Her jealousy and resentment that they are not only happy, but respected in the community without having to make the same level of sacrifice, rankles with her. In attacking them, she's also attacking her own bitterness over her lot in life. She can't stop them loving each other, but she can take away their respectability and punish them for making her feel so rotten.

None of which makes Aerith feel any better this morning.

She pushes open the door to Dr. Sweet's as the first rumble of thunder arrives. "Looks like I got here just in time," she says, injecting cheeriness into her voice. "There's going to be a downpour."

"Aerith, girl, you should come look at this."

"What is it?"

Dr. Sweet doesn't reply. He's too busy looking at the pile of envelopes he just hefted from the welcome mat. The pile is so big that he couldn't open the door. He rubs his shoulder where he used it to force his way in to his own surgery.

Aerith gapes. "Are these all for us?"

"Nope. They're all for _you_."

"Excuse me?" She picks up one. There on the front is her name, neatly written in black ink. The one underneath is the same; and the one under that. Not one says 'Dr. Sweet'. "_All_ of them?"

"Looks that way."

The first appointment isn't for another hour, so she and Dr. Sweet sift through the pile, sorting it into smaller stacks across the surgery's front desk. Not all the envelopes have Aerith's name on them; some have 'Miss Gainsborough;, some simply 'Healer', one or two 'Flower Girl', and lots have 'I'm sorry, but I didn't know your home address' written somewhere as well. They've all been pushed under the door. Carrier pigeons arrive later with even more.

"I don't believe this," Aerith murmurs, splitting an envelope and scanning yet another letter.

"Start believing, girl. Looks like you got a lot more support in this here town than you done thought."

Unlike Hollow Bastion, where the rumour mill reigned supreme, and people listened to gossip more than their own common sense, the people of Traverse Town have brains of their own. Brains they've used to stir themselves into rallying around the people who've brought so much to their town. Madame Medusa is local, and her marriage to Mr. Snoops may have brought her enough standing in the community that people mostly ignore her behaviour, or snicker at it behind her back without passing too much judgment.

However, Aerith and her ragtag family have earned respect through hard work and integrity. That resonates far more. Each letter voices support for Aerith, Zack and Cloud, or compliments how their refusal to give up has inspired the writers to do likewise. Some handwriting is familiar, but most authors are strangers. Aerith's heart lifts with each one she reads.

"This is…" she says at last, when the last envelope has been slit and a pale pink, rose-scented note plops out.

Dr. Sweet reads over her shoulder. "Ain't that nice," he says with a grin.

"This is…" Aerith is still stuck for words.

"This is the time where I tell you your lunch break's early and you take all this home."

She glances at the clock. "It's barely ten."

"We're having two lunches today. Not get, before I gotta get nasty." He grins again, ruffling her hair with one massive hand. "Toldja it'd all work out in the end. People can really come through for you if you give 'em chance to." The gravity of his voice says he has learned this lesson once before.

Aerith clutches the last pink note to her chest. She can only nod, a strange lump of ill-defined emotion clogging her throat. "Thank you, Dr. Sweet."

"What're you thanking me for? You see my handwriting anywhere here? I been telling you since the beginning what I think. Now shove off so I can get some dang work done."

* * *

"That." Yuffie says with such sincerity she can practically see the hair stand up on Leon's neck, "was so. Freaking. _Cool._"

Leon just grunts.

"Seriously. I know you told me the pen can be mightier than the gunblade and all, but I thought you were, y'know, just making crap up so I wouldn't get discouraged when I kept writing 'C' and 'G' backwards. This is, like … it was so freaking _cool_! The way you got all those people to get off their fat, lazy asses – and hairy asses, some of them. That guy with the string vest, who burped when he opened the door? Just … urrgh." Yuffie gives an exaggerated all-over body shiver and wipes her hands down her arms. "But you just stared him straight in the eye and then – blammo! Mr. Hairy Lazy Ass has taken one of your pens and –"

"Yuffie."

"Yeah?"

"You're giving me a headache."

"I hear massaging the temples is good for that. You should get someone to massage your temples. Want me to give you a massage?"

He looks straight at her. Though she stares straight back, teeth straight and on show, her intestines go into a complicated dance with her pancreas as an unwilling partner. Why are his blue eyes so much sexier than other people's blue eyes? Cloud's baby-blues are cute, but sexy? She knows he's sleeping with Zack and Aerith, but she's still never seen a hint of sultriness in Cloud's eyes when he smiles. When Leon gives one of his rare barely-turning-up-the-corners-of-his-lips the temperature goes up by ten degrees.

"Is that a no?"

Leon blinks. Slowly.

"That's a no, isn't it? Nutbunnies. I wanted to see if I could crush your head between my bare hands. I heard it takes only a little bit of pressure in the bright place to – who's that? Hey, that's Ponytail! Why's she home so early?"

Far below, Aerith scampers along the street and up to the apartment. Yuffie can't hear what's going on inside, but she saw Aerith's expression, and the bundle of letters held tight to her chest – letters remarkably similar to the ones they've been watching people bring to the apartment all morning.

"Score," Yuffie smirks, linking her hands behind her head and leaning back against the roof tiles.

Leon is already lying down, eyes shut and expression neutral. It doesn't look like he even glanced at Aerith, but took advantage of a pause in Yuffie's babble to catch a few zees. Yuffie squints at his profile.

"Everyone deserves to be happy and in love," he says, so matter-of-fact his voice could be a clipboard covered in percentages and ratios of happiness to merit.

"Or in love and happy."

"It'll rain soon." Yet another (handily timed) peal of thunder.

"So we'll go inside when it does." Yuffie yawns and turns onto her side. "Wake me when I'm about to get washed off the roof. Going splat on the floor isn't big on my list of 'To Do' things."

Leon just grunts again and keeps his eyes shut.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

… '_sidekicks', 'flunkies' and 'bodyguards' are all equally good descriptions of Sarah Felton and Muriel P. Finster._

-- Miss Finster is the scourge of the playground in the Disney Channel cartoon _Recess_, while Aunt Sarah is the owner of the Siamese cats in _Lady and the Tramp_. She didn't have a surname is the original (that I was aware of), so 'Felton' is a reference to her voice actress, Verna Felton (en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Verna (underscore) Felton).

* * *


	52. Weep for the Willow

* * *

**51. Weep for the Willow**

* * *

"We're not from this world, are we?"

Tifa's surprise doesn't come because of the question, but because it's nothing to do with what they're talking about. Kairi just wanted to know what the funny smell is in Cid's house, and Tifa had to explain it's muscle liniment because Cid overstrained himself during _kata_ yesterday.

"Because he doesn't practise often enough, and he thinks he can fool me into thinking he does his exercises even when I'm not around."

Kairi immediately wanted to know what _kata_ are, and then wanted to know whether Tifa would teach her some as well.

"I'm going to Big School soon," she declared proudly, the capital letters clear as day. "You can teach me things, because I'm going to be learning stuff anyway."

Actually she's going to start nursery school, but when Cloud explained she'd learn to read and write when she went from there to the 'Big School', Kairi was delighted. She hasn't stopped chattering about it since. At nearly four years old she has a lot of energy for chattering, most of which goes past at breakneck speed, so when she breaks off to ask this question it takes Tifa a moment to catch up.

"Well," she says, tugging Kairi's sandal off and helping her out of her jacket. Tifa hangs it on the right peg without even thinking about it. "No, we're not. But you already know that. We've told you before that some of us grew up someplace else, while you have Traverse Town to grow up in –"

"Grandmother Willow said there are squillions of worlds and they're aaaaaaaaaaaaaaall separated."

"I … well, yes." They haven't gone into specifics since Kairi is only three ("Almost nearly practic'ly four!") Although she hasn't been back to Disney Castle since their original visit, she has dim recollections of playing in the Rose Garden, and knows that once in a blue moon Merlin goes to Ambleton to meet someone from another world. "Most worlds are separated, but some of them aren't anymore –"

"Because they're sick. The worlds are sick, aren't they? Are the worlds sick, Tifa?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"Do they have spots? I got spots when I was sick. I got spots and they _itched_."

"Those were chickenpox spots."

"Do the worlds have chickenpox? Someone should put that stinky calamine lotion on them, like Aerith did to my spots. Do the worlds have chickenpox spots that need lotion, Tifa?"

"No."

"Oh." Kairi frowns. "Do they have measles? Pacha had measles. Chicha was really frightened until he got better. She kept hugging him and kissing him even though he thinks kissing's soppy, and she kept getting spit on his head and making it wet. He looked really funny." Kairi tugs her own hair up into spikes, mimicking Pacha's black spikes. "Like this – ooourgh!"

Tifa laughs. "No, the worlds don't have measles, either. There isn't a name for the way they're sick."

"That's stupid." Kairi frowns. "I'll think of a name for it. Or I'll ask Grandmother Willow. Grandmother Willow said that once upon a time, all the different worlds were sick, but children's hearts made them all better. She told me a story about it. Do you think me and Pacha could make the worlds all better?"

"Oh." That makes more sense. "Well, I guess you could say that the worlds are sick, but I don't think it's as simple as that to heal them."

Kairi twists her face into a thoughtful expression. "Aerith could heal them. She's good at healing."

Tifa can't help smiling at her innocent faith that adults are all-powerful and can make anything better. Was she that naïve when she was young? Tifa once believed her parents could do anything. Her mother and father were always right _because_ they were her mother and father. The idea there were problems they couldn't fix was impossible – until she grew up and realised they were just people, not gods, and there are some things not even parents can fix.

When the front door to the apartment bangs. She opens it to find a breathless Cloud. Her heart does that same damn little flutter, until she notices he's panting. His eyes flick between her and Kairi.

"Is Grandmother Willow here?"

"What?" Okay, that wins today's prize for Questions She Didn't Expect to be Asked. "No. Why?"

Cloud's eyes flick again to Kairi. He drops his voice. "She's gone. She took the chocobo."

Tifa can't believe it. "But … that's not possible. She's so frail –"

"It is, and she has. I'm not sure what she needs it for, but I thought that maybe, since Kairi's spending the day with you, she came to see her…" His gaze skitters out into the street, looking up and down but seeing nobody but regular passers-by.

Tifa's about to speak when a small hand takes hers.

"Grandmother Willow left," Kairi barely whispers.

"What?"

"She told me this morning."

"But you haven't seen her since last Thursday."

Kairi shakes her head. "Not told me like _that_, silly. Like this." And she pats her chest. "She taught me how to listen with my heart, and my heart heard hers. She's going away. Far away, she said. To a place where the wind has colours in it."

Tifa meets Cloud's gaze. Scenarios click through their brains and pass between them, each more horrifying than the last.

"We have to find her," he says. "Fast."

-

They do find her, but not until much later.

Leon and Zack vie at tracking the chocobo, each an expert in his own way. They leave town at different times, but arrive at their destination together. They come home together as well, bringing the chocobo and a small bundle wrapped in white cloth.

"She was in this huge field of white flowers," Zack tells them. "Just laying down like she'd stopped for a nap. It must've taken her so long to navigate her way down, but there was no time … I used the Buster Sword's magic and just jumped, but I still tore up my arm keeping Leon from smashing against the cliff face. How the heck she managed to get down there in one piece, I don't know…"

Aerith looks up from his blood-spattered bicep, patting the newly healed flesh and knowing it won't do any good. The raw pain in Zack's eyes is too fierce. He remembers the first time he lost someone important. He always does when he can't save someone. Zack is a warrior, and death is one of the coins of that realm, but losing those he's close to will always take him back to Angeal.

"The flowers were all curled around her, like they were stroking her or something. They were tangled in her hair and around her fingers and legs … when I picked her up afterwards, they came up by their roots. She was … she was light as a flower herself. Nearly gone when we got there. Barely had enough strength left to talk. I don't know how she managed the trip so far out …" His eyes are wet.

Leon takes up the story. Grandmother Willow refused to go back to town and instead gripped his wrist in clammy fingers when he bent to her, whispering, "This isn't the end. Not of me. This is just the end of my body. I'm like buttons mushrooms – I just keep popping up, and generally at a good meal."

"She had the cloth with her. She knew we'd come for her, to bring her back, so she took it with her."

Grandmother Willow, apparently sensing the end was near, had gone where she could die in the lap of nature. She told Zack and Leon she was just returning to the earth, like they all would one day, and that they shouldn't be sad for her.

"Serves me right for not making a better body. I always did hate wearing flesh, but needs must when evil drives, eh? Maybe next time a … a river … that'd be nice …" Her tone had turned serious as her breathing became more and more laboured. "Look after the girl. Sh-she's … important … more than you r-reali- … nggh – my … who invented lungs, anyway? She's … princess … my … my poor princess … Kairi is … is …" Her grip tightened on Leon's wrist and then slackened as her eyes slid shut and her mouth flopped open. A thin trickle of drool edged over her jaw and throat, which no longer beat with a pulse.

"She missed her princess so much," Tifa says after Leon has finished.

"Pocahontas."

Everyone looks at Cloud.

"Her princess's name was Pocahontas," he says awkwardly.

"She told you that?" Leon's gaze is hard and assessing. Grandmother Willow was always vague, preferring to talk in sweeping generalisations that allowed a listener to pull lessons from her words where details would render them inaccessible.

"No," Cloud says, embarrassed through his grief. His bond with Kairi means he spent a lot of time at Grandmother Willow's, and he feels everything so acutely anyway, plus he obviously feels guilty that it was his chocobo that took her away from town to die away from her friends. "I heard her talking to herself once, when she didn't realise I was there. She was talking to Princess Pocahontas. It seemed a safe assumption to make."

"Well she's with her Princess Pocahontas, then," Tifa says, voice choked.

They were all attached to Grandmother Willow. Whatever she says about returning to the earth and being a wandering spirit, the fact is she's gone from them as they knew her. They all feel her death deeply.

They bury her body in the flower meadow where she died. It feels right to take her back there. Kairi holds onto Cloud's hand and watches with interest, not fully understanding what's going on. Cloud crouches next to her, telling her to say her goodbyes. She does, but she doesn't cry or seem at all sad. It's clear the gravity of the situation hasn't registered yet – made extra clear when, a few days later, she asks Tifa when she can next go to Grandmother Willow's house for a fresh story.

Tifa slides off Cid's couch to sit next to her on the floor. Snap cards crumple under her knees and Kairi whines for her to get off them until Tifa takes her hand, the same way so many people did when her own mom died. It feels weird, being on the other side of the gesture. Tifa wonders whether she had the same look of blank ignorance as Kairi does now.

"Grandmother Willow's not there anymore, Kairi."

"I know that. But when she gets back, can I go and listen to a story? She promised to tell me The Orphan Boy and the Elk Dog when I went to see her next."

Tifa's insides clench. She doesn't want to be the one to do this, but she's the only one around. "I'm afraid she's not coming back."

"Not coming back? Why not? Doesn't she like us anymore?"

"No, it's nothing like that." She should call her by a pet name – honey, or sweetheart, something sickly to soften her sentences. This isn't Kairi's first brush with death, but it's the first time she's been old enough to appreciate the implications.

But Kairi has never had any nicknames. She has always been just Kairi, and now she's looking back at Tifa in a very Kairi way: expectant and curious and not a little hurt that someone she cares about, someone who has been a significant part of her short life, could choose to leave her.

"She didn't want to go away, but she had to."

A frown pleats Kairi's forehead. "She never said anything about that."

Tifa swallows. Right there is the other disturbing part of this – the idea that Grandmother Willow could have communicated with Kairi through a medium none of them truly understand. "When she talked to your heart?"

"Sure." Kairi tries to pull her hands away to go back to her game, but Tifa holds tight. She has to make her understand, even if only a little. It suddenly seems incredibly important. "Tifa, let go! I was winning!"

"Kairi, do you know what happened to Grandmother Willow?"

"She went away."

"Sort of."

Kairi gazes at her. "Huh?"

"She died, Kairi."

"Yes. She died. That means she went away." A shadow crosses Kairi's face. "Does that mean she _can't_ come back?"

"Yes." Tifa breathes a sigh of relief until the next question.

"Can't Zack and Leon and Cloud and you and Yuffie go and rescue her, like the heroes in all the stories? You're all heroes. Everybody says so."

Oh. _Oh_. How is she supposed to answer that?

"Grandmother Willow … she's gone to a place where we can't follow."

"But you'd rescue her if you could, right?"

"Of course."

"That's good." Kairi wiggles one hand free and picks up a card. She holds it towards Tifa. "It's a fish. See? It has gills and a shiny tail. I'm going to call her Tallulah."

"It's beautiful," Tifa says distractedly. "You're not upset?"

"Huh?"

"Aren't you upset about Grandmother Willow?"

"She's happier now. When I went to visit her, she said her old bones couldn't take much more, and she'd feel better when she didn't have them anymore. She's gone away, but we buried her old bones, so she's happy where she is, right?"

The maturity mixed in with the innocence makes for an unsettling blend of sensations in Tifa's mind. She's glad Kairi isn't upset, but the insight of her words is staggering for someone so young. Never mind the adult expression; Tifa expected Kairi to cry, or at least snivel a little at the prospect of never seeing Grandmother Willow again. Yet Kairi seems … not indifferent, exactly. More serene, like she's comfortable with the entire idea of death and could she please get back to her game now? That kind of security with such a complicated concept makes her sit back on her heels and look at the little girl with red hair, scuffed knees and blue eyes and wonder whether she, like Grandmother Willow, is also more than what she seems.

_Or maybe we all just overcomplicate things too much. Maybe death really is that simple, and we confuse everything because we don't want to accept them as they are._

"Tifa?" Kairi squeaks at the violent hug. "Tifa, you're squashing me!"

Tifa just hugs her tighter, fighting not to let any chi into it. Kairi is special, they've always known that, but Grandmother Willow has cultivated an even more special part of her. Now she's gone they have no way of knowing, or even understanding, what that part is, or what it means for Kairi and her future. 'Overcomplicated' may only scratch the surface.

_Could anyone back home understand what _**you**_ do with your chi and magic now? They'd be frightened of your strength, but you're still the same person. This is still Kairi. You've changed her nappies and wiped her sick from your top when she was a baby. She's not suddenly some scary creature, she's still Kairi._

But there's still that concern, and the wish for more information. There's still that desire to _understand_, or at least have guidance from someone who does.

Merlin's face flicks into Tifa's mind, as does Cid's, even though his dislike of magic automatically makes him a terrible candidate. Grandmother Willow would be the best one to talk to, if only she hadn't gone and died on them without explaining her cryptic comments properly.

"I wish there was a crystal in the mountains here," Tifa mutters, thinking of that last goodbye to her mom, when Cloud risked his life and they all saw the murderous Sephiroth for the first time, just so she could lay her hands on the strange gemstone.

The tranquillity she got from touching that crystal was unlike anything Tifa had ever known before or after – including finding her centre in Zangan-Ryu. For a few moments she actually _felt_ her mother's spirit brush against her, knew beyond doubt that she'd loved her and wished she could've stayed.

_Be safe. Be happy. Be careful._

Three tiny whispers she's carried with her ever since. She will always be grateful for being allowed that opportunity.

"A crystal in the mountains?" says Kairi.

"From the story of Lucrecia and Vincent."

"Nobody ever told me that one." Forgetting her cards and her game, Kairi pats Tifa on the back and then pushes against the front of her shoulder, trying to look into her face. "Can you tell me a story instead of Grandmother Willow? I like stories. Will you tell me a story, Tifa?"

So Tifa tells her about Lucrecia, a woman from what eventually became Hollow Bastion, who lived in olden times and went against tradition by studying science and the stars instead of trying to snag a husband. Vincent was a warrior who came to her village from a life defined by its harshness, seeking a life of peace instead. He'd fought in a war that made him reluctant to trust, having seen the worst of what man could do to each other. Nevertheless, Vincent was a man of courage and strength. Only his coldness kept the villagers away from him.

Not so Lucrecia. She reached out to Vincent, two outcasts together. The villagers hated her radical ideas and refusal to conform. Vincent hated himself for what he'd done in that terrible war.

Eventually she wore down his barriers, teaching him that cruelty isn't the only thing that can thrive in the heart, and that his past didn't define who he was forever. Lucrecia thawed Vincent's cold heart and they fell in love.

But when Lucrecia died unexpectedly, his heart froze again, and he became more withdrawn than ever. Fearing the darkness in his heart would overtake him, Lucrecia's spirit came to him in a dream and told him she wouldn't leave the mortal world without him if it made him so sad. He told her he would kill himself to be with her, but she replied that she would never forgive him unless he went on to live his life to the fullest in memory of her. She made him promise to be happy, and to not shut himself away in a death-in-life. Her soul then went to a cave in the mountains and was sealed in a magical crystal that attached her to the mortal world when the afterlife tried to prise her away. She kept her vow and waited for Vincent so they could go on to the afterlife together, each unwilling to face even a scrap of eternity without the other.

The story goes that Lucrecia left the crystal behind for others to use if they need to speak to those death separated them from. Spirits who leave their bodies have to cross through the mountains, and some wait there if they have unfinished business. Those who want to see or talk to their loved ones one last time must travel into the mountains and find the cave.

"Like I did," Tifa finishes.

"You went to find Lucrecia's crystal?" Kairi asks.

"I did. When my mom died, like Grandmother Willow."

"Then it isn't just a story?"

"It _is_ just a story, but stories sometimes come from a bit of truth that people have made sound more exciting."

"Leon says every story has a bit of truth rolled up in the middle. I think he means like the cream inside a swiss-roll, only you can't touch it like you can a swiss-roll."

Tifa stares. That is _not_ something a normal four year old would say.

"And Grandmother Willow said stories are real to those who tell them, too, so everybody creates their own truth _around_ a story. Like putting the cream on the outside of a swiss-roll, I guess. Maybe that's what happened. You believed so much in Vincent and Lucrecia that their crystal _had _to be there for you."

Neither is that. Hoo _boy_, neither is that.

"It wouldn't have been fair otherwise. A swiss-roll without any cream is yucky."

Tifa strokes Kairi's fringe from her eyes. "You're a very special girl, aren't you?"

"Yes I am," Kairi beams. "Because I have a hair slide shaped like a ladybird. Only I lost it. But that was pretty special. Kuzco said it was the only one left when he went to the market. Can we play a game now? I want to play hide and seek. You count to eleventy and I'll hide."

And just like that, youth slams back into Kairi's words like a heavy weight on a mouse with only its head poking from its bolthole. Kairi smiles, and there's only a little girl's innocence – not a monster, not even a prodigy, just … Kairi.

"All right. One, two, three, four …"

* * *

"You've been lying to me."

Zack raises his head off his arms. "Bwuh?" He blinks sleepily, realising after a moment that Merlin has returned from … wherever it is he was when Zack arrived, which was pretty rude, since Zack only came over because Merlin sent for him in the first place. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Evidently." Merlin's lips are pursed, though it's difficult to tell beneath his beard. Speaking of which, he reaches into his beard for a notepad and licks his fingers to turn the pages. "Perhaps I overestimate the transgression by calling it a lie, but you _have_ been omitting certain truths."

"Merlin, I have no idea what you're talking about, and I'm dead beat from helping clear out Grandmother Willow's stuff. She accumulated a lot of things while she was here and they were almost all made of wood, taller than me, and _heavy_."

"Your exertions are commendable. Why didn't you tell me Kairi used a keyblade?"

Zack sputters. "What? Who told you that?"

"So it's true."

Zack is instantly alert, sleeping falling from him like a cloak tumbling from his shoulders. "We didn't _know_ anything. Aerith suspected, but there wasn't any evidence."

"Hm. I could've been the judge of that. You are fully aware of my interest in the keyblades, and yet you deliberately withheld this from me." Merlin's voice is level, but tight with anger. Moreover, it's not the type of anger he usually fires at Cid, or ordinary everyday irritation. Merlin is quietly furious and only just keeping a lid on it.

The hair on the back of Zack's neck prickles. His spine straightens of its own accord. "There wasn't enough evidence to let you prod and poke at her like you did the Buster Sword," he says carefully.

"I would not have prodded and poked at her. A few tests to ascertain whether she has the potential to wield a keyblade, perhaps, but -"

"Merlin, stop. You know as well as I do that when it comes to the keyblades, you're mostly at the 'wild stab in the dark' stage. It's a lot of trial and error, and Kairi's a little girl, not a lab specimen."

The wizard's eyes blaze. "You seem to be implying I would be cutting off pieces of her to experiment on. Do you really think so little of me and my work to even suggest such a thing?"

"No, I didn't mean –"

"I think you had better leave."

Zack frowns. He's not bothered by the dismissal so much as leaving on a bad note. "Merlin, we weren't trying to deceive you –"

"You've been privy to my home and my thoughts for a long time, Zack. I've come to think very highly of you and your natural integrity. You even accompanied me to Ambleton – something I have never let anyone do before. You know how hard I've been working to understand the darkness and find a way to halt its encroachment. You also know of my theory that the keyblades may be significant to this."

"But King Mickey disagrees –"

"You have not been working with Mickey. You have been working with _me_!" The shout startles Zack. Merlin gets his voice under control, but it's clear this is only through extreme force of will. "I cannot believe that you respect me and my work so little. I thought better of you, and of your friends."

"They're your friends too."

Merlin goes on as if Zack hasn't spoken. "Whether or not Kairi _does_ have the potential to call on a keyblade is immaterial – you betrayed my trust, and that I cannot easily forgive. Only one other man ever betrayed my trust in his integrity so deeply, and the results were …" He takes a steadying breath. "Please go"

Zack attempts to argue further, but Merlin is deaf to him. He's too steeped in his own hurt and anger.

Eventually, with many a backwards glance, Zack leaves him alone.

* * *

One thing about Merlin's anger is that it makes him irrational and impulsive. Since these are not good qualities in a wizard, he strives to maintain a good humour as far as he can. When he fails, the results are dramatic.

And devastating.

"He's _gone_?" Zack echoes incredulously.

"Yup." Cid doesn't seem at all happy, which is as much a surprise as the news. "Some weird-ass Gummi Ship came for him this morning. Never seen it before, but it had a fucking _mouse _ear logo on the side, and my crossover landing struts on its ass. Thieving little wanker rodent mechanics –"

"Did he say why?"

"Something about a sabbatical. Didn't say how long for. Seemed mighty steamed. To tell you the truth, kid, I've never seen him that mad before. Fuck knows what's going on in that pointy head of his. Always said he has more hat and hair than brains."

"So he's just abandoned Traverse Town?"

"He said someone might say that."

"You actually talked to him before he left?"

"More like _he_ talked _at_ me. Said the Heartless haven't touched this place in so long it's ripe time for him to go on a research thingy. You know, about the darkness and all that shit. He mentioned some junk about reliable sources and dependable information at Disney Castle. He also said for nobody to follow him."

Zack sags. "This is … this is insane. He's actually _left_, just because of one argument?"

"Musta been one hell of an argument. I've been bellyaching with that guy for years and never managed to drive him off this patch."

Zack runs an agitated hand through his hair. "I can't believe it. I can't _believe_ it. Merlin's _gone_?"

"Uh-huh. Locked his place up tight with wards so's nobody can get in, and then left." Cid leans forward, toothpick swishing from side to side, scratching his stubble with a noise like flint starting a fire. "Just between you and me, kid, what the hell did you _do_ to make him so crazy-ass mad?"

"I didn't _do_ anything," Zack says defensively, but doubt gnaws at him even as he says it.

Cid lifts one eyebrow. He doesn't need to say anything, but does anyway. "Well I hope you've got a big, fat, spanking apology to go along with that pile of steaming _nothing_."

Neither of them realise that no apology is going to be big enough to bring Merlin back for a long, long time.

* * *

"I'm sorry," says Tifa.

"_You're_ sorry? What the heck have _you_ got to be sorry about?" Zack, elbows on the kitchen table, links his hands behind his neck and points his face downwards. He scrunches his eyes shut and tells himself that going over that last conversation with Merlin is _not_ the healthiest thing to do when it's the seventy-fifth time and the seventy-four other times did nothing but give him a headache. "I'm the one he was so mad at."

"He was mad at all of us. You were just the most easily available target," Cloud says, rubbing Zack's back in a comforting manner until Zack pushes him off. For a moment Cloud looks shocked. Zack responds best to physical comfort, after all, but right now he doesn't feel like he deserves it.

"You didn't see his face, Cloud. He was more than angry, he was _livid_. And so _hurt_. I think that's the worst part of all of this – he was upset that I'd betrayed his trust by keeping stuff from him after he took me into his confidence on so much of _his _stuff. And he was right."

"I'm sorry," Tifa says again. "This is all my fault."

Suspicion pricks within Zack. "What do you mean?"

"I mentioned to Merlin about Kairi and Grandmother Willow, and that business about listening with her heart. I was worried in case this Kairi she really is a keyblade wielder after all, and that'll make her a target. I wasn't thinking. I forgot he didn't already know."

Suddenly things make a lot more sense. Zack groans and lets his forehead meet the tabletop. "What a way for him to find out. It's not even like Kairi _is_ a keyblade carrier, or wielder, or whatever. Hearing Grandmother Willow may be more to do with GrandmotherWillow than because Kairi has magic. Plus, the two things may not even be related – having a special heart doesn't automatically lead to anything else."

Tifa frowns.

"Merlin must not have thought so, if he left," Cloud says contemplatively. "He wouldn't leave if he thought –"

"Yes he would. He's angry. People do stupid, hot-headed things when they're angry, and especially when their feelings have been hurt." Zack lets a breath out through his nose, a thin stream of air like a burst tyre. "I've spent a lot of time with Merlin. He flares up easily, but cools off after a while. I've never seen him like this before. I don't know what to expect now."

"He's a grown man," Tifa mumbles. "He's supposed to be above this kind of thing."

"Yeah, well, he's not."

"I'm sorry for causing such a huge mess –"

Zack's jaw tightens. "It wasn't your fault, Tifa. Merlin's right – we _should_ have told him sooner. We should've asked for his advice instead of just assuming we knew best. We think we know what's best for Kairi, but in reality … we are _so_ flying blind here."

On cue, Aerith opens the bedroom door from the inside. "Kairi's asleep," she murmurs, clicking the door shut behind her. "She wanted to know whether Merlin's gone in the same way Grandmother Willow's gone."

Zack groans. "She's too young to have so many people already abandoning her."

"Be fair, Zack," Aerith admonishes. "Nobody's been truly in control of their own actions when it happens – Grandmother Willow didn't ask to die. Neither did Anemone."

"Merlin chose to leave her. Even though he's never been that big a part of her life anyway. Maybe if he had been he would've spotted the signs and drawn his own conclusions a long time ago. Then we wouldn't be in this mess. Traverse Town – and us along with it – just lost its biggest advantage against the darkness. If the Heartless attack now –"

"We'll fight them off, just like we did before." Cloud surprises everyone with his vehemence. "And we'll win."

"Um, besides," Tifa offers, "there haven't been any Heartless attacks here in years. Maybe they went away on their own."

There isn't enough mustered belief in the kitchen to fill a thimble.

Aerith sighs. "I guess we just keep on doing what we've been doing and hope Merlin cools off on his own. He's not an idiot. He's a remarkably intelligent man. As soon as he comes to his senses he'll come back and we can start being a lot more helpful to him."

"_If_ he comes home," Zack mutters, still imagining Merlin's barely contained rage and the way he looked at him like he never wanted to see him again.

"He will." Cloud returns his hand to Zack's shoulder-blades and this time Zack doesn't shrug him off. Neither of them notice the faint flicker in Tifa's eyes, although Aerith does and tactfully interrupts, pushing her way between her two boys to break contact between them.

"He can't hold a grudge over something so silly," she says, believing her own words.

Except Merlin can. He has before, and he does so once again. It's not the first time Aerith's had to eat her own words, but this time they're certainly the bitterest.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	53. Never Use Gunblades in the Shower

* * *

**52. Never Use Gunblades in the Shower**

* * *

Cloud is just leaving for work when Yuffie gets home. Usually he'd already be gone by now, but he stayed behind to kiss Kairi goodbye for her first day of school. He wanted to go with her to the school gates, but work demands kept him away.

Since Zack is in the bathroom, Cloud knows the slammed front door isn't him. He can still hear Zack warbling off-key, and puts images of his lover naked and glistening under the shower out of his mind – especially when he sees Yuffie leaning against the closed front door with a hand clamped to her chest like she's having a heart attack.

"Yuffie? Are you all okay?"

"Meep."

"Excuse me?"

"Cloudy?" Her eyes are huge and glazed with an emotion he has never seen in her before and so can't easily recognise. "Never again."

"What?"

"Never _ever_ let me go up to Leon's apartment half an hour early. Never, ever again."

"Uh, okay. But why –"

"Idon'twannatalkaboutit." She dashes for the bathroom, hears Zack, mutters a curse and crashes into her bedroom instead. "Why couldn't he be considerate and freaking _sing_ like Hero?"

Cloud listens at her door, but hears nothing breaking or anything else suspicious. After a moment he knocks. "Yuffie, what's the matter?"

"Nothing." Her voice is muffled, as though shouted through a pillow or thick blanket.

"You're acting really weird."

"_Nothing_ is _wrong_! Yeesh, can't a girl get _any _privacy around here? I'm in my developmental years, y'know. I'm supposed to have oodles of privacy and supportiveness about my hormones doing loop-de-loops and making me crazy five days out of every month, and plenty of understanding from my authority figures about how crappy it is to be a teenager."

Reeling at the idea _anyone_ could be Yuffie's authority figure, much less being cast in the role himself, Cloud pauses before speaking again. "Um, Aerith's out right now. If it's a girl talk you need, I mean. But … I mean, if you really need to … um … is this something you can only talk to her about?" Aerith is good at girl-talks. Zack chuckles his way through anything rude-sounding and Cloud just blushes hot enough to kill all the plants in the apartment. "Or maybe you'd like to speak to Tifa if it's a hormonal thing –"

"It's not a hormonal thing!"

"It's … not? Okay, I'm confused. Then why did you say –?"

"Jumping ogres on pogo sticks, Cloudy, all I want is a little privacy and your solemn oath not to let me surprise Leon again."

_Oh gods. _"What … did you surprise him doing?"

"Not jacking off, if that's what you're thinking. Honestly, Cloudy, I'm surprised at you for being so filthy. Hero is a really bad influence on you."

The paint on the door begins to peel at the heat from Cloud's face. "That's not what I … Look, I'm leaving for work now. Zack's going to go and meet Leon later to discuss some changes to the Survivor Centre, then you'll have the apartment to yourself."

"Joyousness."

He decides to try one last time. "Yuffie, are you sure you don't want to tell me about –"

"No."

"But you sound upset. Maybe I could hel-"

"Hellfire and chocobo teeth, _no_. Just get lost and go to work, will ya? Leave me to die of embarrassment in peace."

Cloud frowns, but after a few more threats to shove his chocobo's saddle into uncomfortable places, he leaves, thankful he's not a teenager anymore.

* * *

Aerith keeps tight hold of Kairi's hand as they approach the schoolhouse. This isn't the first time she's seen Miss Finster since that business with Madame Medusa, but polite nods in the street are one thing. This is quite another.

Kairi skips along beside her. Her enthusiasm is infectious. Despite her fears Aerith smiles.

_Well, at least Miss Finster doesn't teach Pre-School classes._

Now she's four Kairi is eligible to join the tiny group of children in the alcove attached to the main school. It's a useful socialising tool, since Kairi mainly only plays with Pacha and interacts with those far older than herself. It's given her a funny, grown-up way of talking, but she's still very much a child and needs contact with kids her own age.

Even so, when she spots the familiar knee-length yellow dress and brillo-pad hair manning the front gate, Aerith tenses.

"Good morning, Miss Finster," she says cheerily, earning an imperious stare.

"Good morning. You can leave her with me." Miss Finster inclines her head at Kairi.

"Actually, I'd like to walk her to her classroom, if I can."

"She will come to no harm, Miss Gainsborough. You do not like me, and frankly you're not my favourite person either, but I am, above all other things, a professional. While on school time I am here for these children, and these children alone, whether or not they or their parents appreciate it. I will personally walk Kairi to her classroom, along with the other new students who need the company of their peers to feel comfortable, and introduce them all to their teacher."

For the first time Aerith notices the two other tiny faces peering around Miss Finster's bulk.

"Are these the only ones?"

"There are five new students. Two others are already inside, in the cloakroom. We've been waiting for you to arrive."

Surprisingly, considering her sternness and general severity, the two children cling to Miss Finster's skirt like she can protect them. Even more surprisingly, she lets them, putting herself between them and the rest of the world like a shield. Her folded arms and sharp, shrewd eyes give the impression of a she-bear guarding its cubs. A very large, very overweight she-bear in a yellow dress and horn-rimmed spectacles.

Aerith crouches next to Kairi and strokes her cheek. "You go with Miss Finster now, okay? She'll look after you. Behave yourself today, and Cloud will come to pick you up later. You can tell him all about what you've learned."

"All right," Kairi says cheerfully, already reaching for Miss Finster's outstretched hand. "Good morning, Miss Finster. How are you today? I hope you're feeling well."

"I, uh –" Miss Finster is momentarily flummoxed. She's used to snivelling whelps, sullen silences, and scaredy-cats who cry when their parents leave them on their first day. She quickly marshals herself, holding her head a little higher and replying, "I'm perfectly well, than you."

"Oh, good." Kairi's smile is bright as a sack of fireflies. "You seem nice. I hope we can be friends."

Miss Finster harrumphs and leads the three children off.

* * *

"Can I have go at your gunblade?"

Leon pauses in reaching for it to stare at Yuffie. "You want to know how to fight with it?"

"No, I want to know what it feels like to chop stuff up with it."

"You can handle a sword?"

"Define 'handle'."

He frowns. "A gunblade isn't the place for a beginner to start."

"I'm not asking to fight a proper battle with it, just play with it a little. Or not play with it," she says at his expression. "I man be really serious and grim with it, of course. Naturally. Because you don't play with swords, just like you don't run with scissors. I mean, that'd be totally irresponsible, right? Right. Of course I'm right. Except for the half of me that's left. Yup." She nods. "So can I?"

Leon grasps the weapon. "Not many people can handle a gunblade."

"Zack and Cloud learned how. And I'll bet you're just _dying_ to teach Tifa how to shoot with that thing."

"She shouldn't rely entirely on her hand-to-hand skills," Leon says, mostly to himself, before refocusing on Yuffie. "I suppose the same could be said for you and those tiny projectiles of yours."

"Mr. Pointy will get upset if you describe him as tiny. What's a projectile?"

"Something you throw."

"So why couldn't you just say that?"

Leon sighs and points the tip of the gunblade at her.

Yuffie throws up her hands, palms outwards. "Hey, no need to be like that. I thought we were pals. We're pals, right Leon? And pals don't skewer their pals with sword-gun-hybrid-thingies."

"I'm not going to skewer you," Leon says, voice gleaming with irritation the way the gunblade's sharp edge gleams in the light from his kitchen window. "I want to know if you're serious."

"I can do serious. I totally can. Look, watch me make my serious face."

"What is that?"

"It's my serious face."

Leon hesitates. "You look like you're constipated."

"Hey!" Yuffie protests, and then realises what he just said. "Whoa, Leon. That was a joke. And _toilet humour_. Since when do _you_ use _toilet humour_? Isn't that, like, beneath you or something? Aren't you too formal to ever say anything like that? Hey, maybe you're not as dull as you like to make out! I knew there was a fun guy in there somewhere, just waiting to get out!"

Leon winces, since it was just one joke, and not even a very funny one. He covers by spinning the gunblade around so the tip is now pointing in his direction, with the handle towards Yuffie.

Her eyes shine. "Are you serious?"

"Am I expected to make another joke?"

"I forgot, you _always_ wear your serious face. This is so cool! I've wanted to shoot with this thing for _ever_."

"No shooting. No beginner ever gets live shells, and I'm not trusting you with blanks yet, either. If you want to learn, you learn the basics first, which means how to stand and swing a blade.

She pouts. "I've had katana training."

"Good. You can show me what you remember and we'll establish your level of skill from there, and where you can go next."

"Am I expected to call you 'sir' now?"

"I've been your teacher for a long time and you haven't done it yet."

Yuffie pauses, regarding Leon thoughtfully. "Are you just my teacher?" she asks, and then wonders where the hell _that_ came from.

Leon's look is blank. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, are we, y'know, friends? Do you consider me a friend?"

He stares at her, obviously unused to her being unsure of herself. She's not too familiar with the feeling either, nor with the funny tingles going though her stomach like a washing machine full of throwing stars.

"Yes," he says eventually, a hint of surprise in his voice.

Yuffie beams. The knot of tension inside goes slack. "Cool. And friends totally allow their friends to shoot with their gunblades."

"Nice try. We'll go to the ridge outside town and you can show me what you've got."

_Don't tempt me_, she thinks, and skips ahead in case it shows on her face.

* * *

"I thought you said you'd had training with a blade"

"Give me a break. This thing is _way _heavier than a katana." Yuffie grunts and hefts the gunblade, trying to set her feet into the ready stance she remembers from distant training.

Katana weren't a favoured weapon among the Wutai ninja, so her training was brief. She never showed any special skill with it. Mostly she was taught so she could participate in the Spring Festival. Every year, three girls were chosen to perform the Dance of the Cherry Blossom Blades to welcome in a new season of good fortune. The dance involved fake swordplay with real katana, and buckets of pale pink petals the youngest kids spent days gathering, just so the dancers could throw them into the air between thrusts and parries. Yuffie was expected to be chosen when she was old enough, but nobody thought to teach her more than some perfunctory skills so she wouldn't accidentally lop off one of the other dancers' arms.

"You've just been killed three different ways from the weak spots you've left open in your stance," Leon says.

"That's three fewer than last time. Last time you said I'd been killed six times before I even had chance to pick this thing up."

"Move your right foot a quarter inch, so the heel isn't resting on the floor."

"Huh?"

"Your right foot. I said your _right_ foot."

"I am moving my right foot! If I twist it around any further I'll beak my ankle!"

Leon makes a frustrated noise and marches towards her. He drops to one knee and readjusts her foot himself. "There. Now do the same with your left foot, but move it back to distribute your weight between them."

She complies. He spends a moment pushing in the backs of her knees so her upper thighs start to hurt.

"You need to keep your right knee over your right foot so you can clearly see your own toes. Keep your elbows inward. If you stick them out to the sides too far you'll telegraph every move you make and give your opponent the advantage."

"Like this?" Yuffie sucks her arms in so tight the gunblade wavers to one side. "Whoa! Upper body strength – need more upper body strength!"

Leon catches the flat of it on his palm. He's wearing his leather gloves, and moves his hand as he speaks, getting into his stride now. He talks about swordplay and gunblades with far more zeal than he talks about anything else, and Yuffie finds herself captivated by the rise and fall of his voice as it slips out of its usual monotone.

"Swordplay is all about subtlety. Even the Grand Masters of history, who could cut off a dragon's head with a single swing, all understood that it's not about power or strength. Swordplay isn't about the big; it's about the little, and understanding how every movement contributes to the larger picture of your skills as a whole."

"Little, not big. Got it." Hm, just like her then. Small is beautiful. She likes the sound of that.

"Even the way you position your fingers is important. Holding the grip too tight leads to problems. The arm must be the primary strength control, although these muscles should be used to a minimum until action occurs. Most offensive and defensive moves require very flexible wrist movements in order to properly execute parries, counter-parries, envelopments, disengages and coupes."

"You're speaking another language, Squall. Me no speaky da lingo."

He doesn't correct her with his usual 'It's Leon', which just goes to prove how absorbed he's becoming as he talks about something he clearly loves. "A tight grip also degrades the accuracy of point placement, since the arm will then move with the wrist and displace the point. Your aim is completely thrown before you've even begun, and your opponent can cut you down while you swing wild and expose the side of your body. Any preliminary arm movement is a signal of things to come, and the movements become larger and slower. You have to grip the weapon as if you have a small bird in your hand, and then it'll respond to the tiniest of directions for the most devastating effects."

"Okay, all of that? I did not get. Do I get to chop things up now?"

"Readjust your fingers."

"Like I'm holding a small bird?" Yuffie looks at the gunblade. There's nothing small or birdlike about it. "Um, okay." She loosens her grip and immediately staggers backwards, trying not to let the huge weapon fall and slice off her toes. "Vultures are birds, right? This is like holding a vulture. Or a fat chicken. Or a _chocobo_."

"You need to keep your stance firm. If you break out of it, you've lost already."

"Right, right, right – stance firm, holding a bird, don't kill yourself. Simple. Any idiot could do it." She tries again – and fails again. "Crap!"

"Knees _soft_, elbows _in_, toes clearly visible!"

They go on like this for a while, until Leon snaps and orders Yuffie to adopt the stance and freeze in it. Irritably, he reaches around to alter her grip, push her elbows in, and tip her chin up. He places his hands just below hers on the hilt, demonstrating proper finger positioning and not moving until her grips exactly matches his, talking all the while about how to make the blade feel like an extension of her arms.

"A gunblade is weighted differently than a regular sword. The large mass so close to the hands means you need to compensate by using your whole body as a fulcrum, and position your grip accordingly. There's no point in putting too much power into each swing if it's just going to miss. It's all about the subtle movements and how you use your wrists – getting the most reward out of the smallest amount of effort. See?" He guides her arms up and down, wielding the heavy blade from side to side without it becoming a waver.

"Mmm." Yuffie can't focus on forming proper words. She's far to engrossed with the fact that Leon's body is behind hers, and she can practically feel his heartbeat against her back.

A memory rises in her mind like oil in water: seeing him step out of the bathroom, newly washed from his shower and totally not expecting her to be there. He's never mentioned it since, and neither has she, so it's a dreamlike memory, like it never actually happened. Except that it _did_, so she knows _exactly_ what those pecs, which are currently making friends with her shoulder-blades, look like.

Part of her is rebelling at not being the one to initiate contact – she can't bear touching unless she's the one in control, and will only allow it for small amounts of time from those she trusts. It's an implicit thing she's never had to explain because it's so much a part of who she is now.

She trusts Leon, but this isn't a small amount of time, or a small amount of touching. This is like when the idiotic gropers who tried their luck before she got to Hollow Bastion. She makes light of it, or just glosses over everything, but there was some pretty nasty stuff mixed in with all the dramatic crotch-kicking, nose-tweaking and arm-breaking. She didn't always get the best of her attackers …

Yuffie shakes her head so violently she nearly bloodies Leon's nose.

"Watch what you're doing," he snaps, instinctively rearing his head away. By corollary, his chest pressed tight against her back.

Unlike the bad times, something warm curls in Yuffie's belly and heads south.

Not totally in control of her actions, she leans back, and allows herself to imagine for a moment that the arms around her are an embrace, not a lesson on how to hold a deadly weapon.

Leon freezes. "Yuffie?"

"Yes?"

"… You've let go."

She blinks. "So I have."

"Why?"

"Um, because it's _heavy_, and I've only got likkle weedy arms that are great for throwing shuriken but awful for holding up whacking great chunks of metal?"

She feels his muscles tense, and suddenly it's even less like an embrace than before. Now it's like the prelude to a chokehold. "You're not taking this seriously, are you?"

"Sure I am. I was just taking a breather while you talked."

"I have plenty of other things I could be doing rather than teaching you this. Technically our lesson time ended forty minutes ago."

"Okay, okay." She pushes herself forward, taking hold of the gunblade's handle again and sliding back into the ready stance. It's easier than it was before, like putting on a sock that has started to mould to the shape of your foot with dried sweat. She waits. And then waits some more. "Uh, Leon?"

His hands are still on the handle, elbows locked in place. He makes no move to swing the gunblade around again.

"Hello? Did we go to sleep back there?" Yuffie twists her head, trying to see over her shoulder. She finds her face disturbingly close to Leon's.

She was aware of the solid weight of him behind her, but somehow feeling his breath go up her nose brings a new level of closeness to the situation. She can see the thin patina of grease and sweat across the bridge of his nose. If it didn't hurt her eyes to strain that way, she could probably make out all his individual pores as well.

Panic seizes her suddenly. "You totally need to exfoliate," she blurts.

As if this casual mention of skincare has broken a spell, Leon releases the gunblade and steps away. "That's enough for one day," he says gruffly.

"Aw, but I was just getting into it." Yuffie lets the tip of the blade smack into the dirt, making a groove in the earth. Her back feels cold. "Can you teach me some more next time?"

"I'm not sure the gunblade is for you. Projectiles really are more your style."

"I thought you told Hero that everyone should know how to use the weapons of the other people in their group. I'm part of this group too, y'know. How about you teach me gunblade, and I'll teach you shuriken and kunai. That sound like a fair trade?"

Leon holds out his hand. She passes the gunblade and stands with fists thrust into her pockets as he walks away. "Aw, man. This sucks, with a capital 'Wait For Me'!"

* * *

_To Be Continued _…

* * *


	54. Captain Phoebus

* * *

**53. Captain Phoebus **

* * *

"So this is Mosey City?" Yuffie is less than impressed. "What a dump. It's full of garbage and featherbutts. What's with all the giant birds?"

"They're a status symbol," Cloud says, navigating traffic and hoping nobody hears her. People of Mosey City routinely criticise it, but heaven help any outsider who insults so much as one speck of dirt.

"So owning a mutant chicken shows you're rich? Are gold and jewels too passé, or something?"

"Or something."

"You wouldn't catch me riding one of those things."

"Yuffie, you're riding a chocobo right now."

In response, the chocobo twists to peer back at them with one beady eye. "Kweh. Though it's a mellower noise than its usual 'wark', somehow this one sounds vaguely malicious.

Yuffie glares right back from her seat behind Cloud. Then she clutches her head in pain. "Overdid that one. Going cross-eyed hurts. Anyway, that's beside the point. I may be riding _this_ featherbutt, but that's out of necessity, and after some severely, strenuously and stringently stern words have been traded between us. Isn't that right, chumley?"

"Kweh."

"We have a mutual understanding. It doesn't try to maim me and I don't sever its spine at the neck with a kunai. Everybody's a winner."

"Kwark."

Cloud keeps hold of his uncertainty, but the landscape has become familiar. He manoeuvres them down a side-street to the shop where he has to deliver a batch of hard-carved animal figurines. Looking after the well-padded box has been Yuffie's task all journey ("I'll protect it with my life. Unless, y'know, there's an actual chance of me spilling blood protecting it. My own, I mean. Then you won't see me for dust.") She holds it against her chest now, which makes getting out of the saddle interesting. Unable to use her hands, she has to rely on Cloud for help, and stands bow-legged, face twitching.

"Freaking hell, I can't stand up straight."

"That's what comes from sitting astride for so long." Cloud ties up the chocobo and grubs out a handful of nuts and seed from a saddlebag. The chocobo opens its beak and he pours the lot in at once, noting how it keeps its gaze fixed on Yuffie as she stretches first one leg and then the other.

"I've been horribly disfigured by that torture device."

"It's just a saddle, Yuffie. Don't overreact. The muscle locking will wear off if you move around."

"Painpanpainpainfreakingsaddlepainpain …" Yuffie grimaces and shoves the box at him. "Here. Hold this." She then bends over backwards so far her hands hit the floor. She kicks off the ground and spends a moment in a handstand before flipping upright again. Rolling her shoulders, she lets out a heartfelt sigh of relief.

Cloud is impressed despite himself. "Better?"

"Almost. Move aside."

Since the street they're on is empty apart from a hunched old man smoking a pipe, she takes a few running steps and goes into a series of cartwheels and handsprings. The last ends partway through, when her feet connect solidly with a wall. She pushes off backwards, spinning through the air with her hands around her knees and her legs drawn up to her chest. She tumbles her way back to Cloud and ends with a flourish.

"Now _that_ feels better. All the kinks are gone and my muscles are nice and stretched."

Cloud gapes. It's not often he sees Yuffie cut loose with her tumbling routine.

She grins and taps under his chin to click his mouth shut. "I know, I know, I'm awesomesauce. Now let's offload those things so you can show me around this 'berg. I came to experience the culture and junk, remember?"

"I thought you came along because you were bored."

"Details, details."

She's been at a loose end since Kairi started school. Her usual escapades can only fill so many hours without an audience, and her lessons with Leon have long since languished into going to his place to read a book and then going away again. She told Cloud on the way here that she intends to start writing her own book now her head is equipped with the proper tools. In the meantime she's happy to keep him company if he really, really needs it on the cold nights away from Traverse Town.

"I'm warm like a furnace," she grinned, rubbing her hands together and neglecting the fact that Mosey's only a day's journey away, and there'd be no nights sleeping rough, cold or not.

"You're hopeless, you mean."

"That too."

They make the delivery, pick up the payment, and Cloud stores its safely away while Yuffie effervesces from one thing to another in the cramped shop. The owner watches in alarm as she clambers up a ladder to inspect a selection of tiny china dolls, then slides down again only to pronounce them all fakes.

"Those are originals!"

"Yeah, original fakes. Sorry, gramps, but whoever sold you those took you for a ride. You –" She pokes his chest with a finger. "– have been _had_. And not in thegood way."

Cloud hastily bundles her out of the shop while the owner turns puce and blusters into his moustache.

"How did you know?"

"That they were fakes?" She spins in place like a little girl pretending to be a whirligig. "Trade secret. And I may have broken into the home of the guy who makes them in Traverse Town. Little fellah. Lots of body hair. Beer gut. Pretends he's an old lady so they sell better. Nobody wants to buy little china girls from a fat dude in a string vest. He always puts a little symbol under the left ear to show they're his. Those things had no symbols. Can we get something to eat? I'm wasting away to a wisp over here."

"You've always been a wisp."

She jabs Cloud on the shoulder with a couple of staccato punches. "Way to make a girl feel better about her self-image, Cloudy. I know I'm the boobless wonder. No need to hammer it home."

"I didn't mean –" Cloud ducks his head. "Never mind. C'mon, there's a café a few streets over. We can get dinner there."

"Your treat, of course, on account of the heinous blow you just struck to my fragile self-esteem. Oh, woe is me. Woe! Woe is me for taking an outing with such an insensitive heathen, who doesn't deserve the pleasure of my company." She presses the back of one hand to her head and pretends to swoon. "Oh, woe –_ woe_!"

"Yuffie," Cloud hisses, leading the chocobo behind them.

"Awwww, I'm just messing with you. Aren't you gonna ride that thing?"

Cloud ducks his head. "You're not the only one who's saddle-sore."

* * *

"So when are we visiting Esmeralllllda?" Yuffie draws out the name, curling her tongue and tipping her head back like she's eating oysters instead of Rosemary Popovers.

When first presented with the name she'd demanded to know what the hell Cloud was ordering on her behalf, but when the plate of pastries arrived she forgave him and dug in. Her exuberant groans caused several other diners to look over. Cloud managed to eat everything without meeting a single person's eye.

"What makes you think we're going to see her?"

"Come _on_, Cloud. You always go to see her and that Quasimurder guy. It's like a _ritual_ whenever you're here."

"Quasimodo."

"Whatever. So when are we going? I wanna finally meet these two." The gloves she got from Esmeralda, so long ago now, are tucked into her belt to allow her hands full range of motion for eating. She lifts another popover and bites in, spraying flaky pastry everywhere.

Cloud isn't sure it's a god idea putting Yuffie in the middle of Esmeralda's shop, but there's no good reason _not _to introduce them. He sent a carrier pigeon ahead with news that he'd be bringing Yuffie, so he doesn't anticipate Quasimodo being there. Quasi's still nervous about meeting new people, though he _has_ improved a lot since Cloud first met him.

"We can go after we're done here. But only for a short stop. We need to get to the hotel to get a place in the stables before they fill up."

Yuffie bites down on another pastry, spraying crumbs everywhere. "Much with the yayness."

* * *

"Cloud!" Esmeralda greets warmly, smacking into him with a bear hug as soon as she opens the door. Since she's the taller one this quickly heats Cloud's face to the point he almost needs a blood transfusion to maintain the blushing. "You made it."

"Um…"

"Oh, sorry." She pulls away and grins at him. "You're still cute as a button and twice as pretty."

"I think his girlfriend might have something to say about that kind of smooth talk." Yuffie barrels forward and sticks out a hand. "His boyfriend too, come to that. Hey there, Lady Fair With the Long Black Hair. Put 'er there!"

"You must be Yuffie."

"Got it in one. Obviously my reputation got here before me."

"I've heard some stories," Esmeralda admits, shaking the proffered hand.

"Cool! Did Cloudy tell you the one where I saved his butt from the horde of wild flying monkeys with acid fangs?"

"…No."

"How about the one where he got stuck in a tree when he tried to jump down and his pants caught on a branch, and I had to go up and cut him down with kunai?"

"He didn't mention that one, either."

"Good, because they're not true. So are we going in or what?"

* * *

"… So because of Madame Medusa's name being mud, she lost a lot of respect in the trade community. It's all word of mouth, and she's never been that popular anyway. I guess people were just looking for an excuse to stop going to her – and looking for an alternative designer, because however nasty her personality, she's a fine seamstress. But all that suited me fine because someone," Esmeralda shoots both Cloud and Yuffie a pointed look, "spread it around that my work's pretty good, and I've been getting piles of orders ever since."

"That's great." Cloud is genuinely pleased, though he can't take much credit. He only told a couple of people in Traverse Town when they stopped buying from Madame Medusa. Oh, yes, and that women in Saunterville. And a few more in Walkington. And he supposed there was the manager of that chain of wedding stores in Stride City … okay, so maybe he can see her point. "You deserve it."

"It definitely brought in a lot of revenue. I'm making more money now than I ever dreamed when I was dancing for coins in the street." Esmeralda holds a bulging folder of receipts and order forms in her lap, gesturing at the far-flung places she's been sending her clothes.

Yuffie examines the cursive handwriting. Esmeralda has quite an old-fashioned hand, a result of her tutor being very old. The names are unfamiliar. Cloud sees Yuffie's bottom lip move, almost imperceptivity, as she sounds out the words while trying not to broadcast when she's doing. She's nowhere near the illiterate she used to be, but there are tells that not too long ago reading was a major chore for her.

"Where the hell is Villy dee Prominayd?"

"Ville de Promenade," Esmeralda says after a beat. "It's a place not far from here, actually. When Mosey City was bursting with people a few hundred years ago, the population overflow was moved into a specially constructed town for poor people."

"Like a refugee camp for those without cash? Well that's a sucky bit of social engineering."

"That was a long time ago. It's just a regular city now. It's nearly as big as Mosey, in fact, and it's a heck of a lot cleaner."

Yuffie wrinkles her nose, clearly not impressed with Mosey City's chequered history.

"How do you keep up with it all?" Cloud changes the subject to ask with genuine curiosity. "Yuffie, get away from there."

"This hat is so freaking cool." Yuffie plonks a wide-brimmed white thing, vaguely resembling a squashed seagull, on her head. It's too big and slips over her eyes, but she pushes it back and strikes a pose. "How do I look?"

"Yuffie, put it back."

"You have so much cool stuff in here, Es."

Esmeralda frowns at the name. Cloud recalls her reprimanding others for calling her that, but now she just says, "Uh, thank you. I see you're wearing my gloves."

"Snazzy, huh?" Yuffie twirls her fingers and takes a series of spinning steps across the room. "Got any more for me?"

"Yuffie!"

"I'm sure I could whip up a pair. Provided you could pay for them – I accept munny, favours and flowery compliments." Esmeralda turns back to Cloud. "As for how I'm keeping up with my orders, there's someone I want you to meet. Come with me. I bought out the shop next door and turned it into a proper workshop, so this one's purely a sales-floor now. She's waiting to meet you after I told her so much about you."

"She?" Cloud echoes, trying to grab Yuffie's wrist and ending up following both her _and_ Esmeralda through the door behind a rack of waistcoats as Yuffie dashes ahead. Apparently Esmeralda's now branching out into male clothing as well as female.

"Cloud, Yuffie, this is my assistant, Penelo."

The blonde girl is slender as a candle flame. She flickers towards them through a sea of ruffles, lengths of silk and bolts of rough cloth that fall off the worktop and roll away when she accidentally catches them. Her feet tangle up and she stumbles, whooping and flailing to break her fall. Yuffie appears by her side as if by magic, hoisting her back up by the scruff of her collar.

"Sorry," the blonde girl apologises. "Man, what a klutz. Not the first impression I wanted to make. I can't believe I just did that."

Yuffie drags her closer and squints into her face. The girl pulls her neck back, trying to put distance between them. Yuffie does a frankly disturbing impression of Leon's tight-lipped stare, until even Cloud wonders what she could be seeing in this girl to make her react so oddly. Penelo seems okay to him – young and attractive in a middle-of-the-road way, her features being neither spectacular nor plain.

Then Yuffie breaks out into her usual wide grin. "You'll pass. Thought you might be Cloudy's female twin from this world for a minute there, but you're way too young and pretty to be related to that ugly toe-rag."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Cloudy, but it's true. You've let yourself run to seed and it shows. Next thing you know, you'll be sitting in your armchair in an unbuttoned shirt, with a gut the size of a chocobo, burping, farting, yelling at people and peeing yourself. I've seen the future, and it smells of sprouts and public toilets."

"Um…" Penelo glances at Esmeralda, who just spreads her hands as if to say: _Don't look at me, this is the first time I've met her, too_.

They both look at Cloud. He can only shrug his well-muscled, not-at-all-run-to-seed shoulders. Sometimes it's best not to even attempt figuring out the pathways Yuffie's brain takes. They veer between sunlit country lanes, dark alleys with muggers on all sides, and roads that have no end, no beginning and no sense in the shifting colours and random quixotic noises.

Yuffie releases Penelo's collar and grabs her hand, pumping it up and down enthusiastically. "Hey there, I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi, warrioress of legend, someday-novelist, kick-ass rescuer of damsels and cry-babies, and general heartbreaker extraordinaire. Where I go, men's hearts follow – sometimes even without with rabid dogs and pitchforks."

"Um…" Penelo begins to look a little panicked.

Cloud strides forward, interposing himself between her and the force of Yuffie's manic grin. "Cloud Strife," he says, holding out a hand.

Her smile is cheerful, her blue-green eyes warm. When she has disentangled herself enough to shake hands her grip is firm but a little limp in the fingertips, as if part of her is questioning what the rest has decided to do. Her hair is pulled back into two spiky braids that stick out either side of her head like spread chocobo wings, apart from a pair of wispy bangs, which flop into her face and return the softness that the severe hairstyle has taken away. The cotton fluff and thread twined through her hair help ease the width of her forehead, too.

Introductions are made. Penelo is a street dancer whom the Thief King rescued. Going his usual route of providing for Mosey City's waifs and strays more then the authorities, he asked Esmeralda to train Penelo as a seamstress to give her a proper shot at life when she proved inept as a thief.

"I kept messing up and nearly getting everyone caught," Penelo admits. "I tried hard, honest I did. I tried for months, but I was worse at the end than when I started. I guess I just didn't have the knack."

"That and she kept dancing when her mind wandered," Esmeralda puts in.

Penelo blushes. "Well, yes, there was that as well. But I was trained to dance before I lost my home. I took lessons and I love it. It's natural for me to start doing it – like a singer humming a tune or pianist playing an imaginary piano."

"Or a ninja shooting imaginary enemies full of shuriken." Yuffie smirks. "What?"

"You're a ninja?" Penelo gawks.

"A ninja _princess_."

"Really?"

"Really, honestly and truly. Look at this face." Yuffie bats her eyelashes. "Would this face lie to you?"

Cloud resists the urge to roll his eyes. Yuffie has really taken to the idea of being a princess, even if only on a technicality. It impresses Penelo, however. She leans forward, enrapt, as Yuffie relates the story of their journey from Traverse Town – with several embellishments to make herself sound heroic. Since it's harmless Cloud lets her, taking the opportunity to draw Esmeralda aside and have a conversation with his old friend while the two girls talk.

They migrate back into Esmeralda's shop and eventually end up in the kitchen. Cloud declines any food after the Rosemary Popovers, but Yuffie accepts the offer of something to eat when Esmeralda announces she and Penelo haven't had dinner yet.

"Cloudy's been starving me all trip. Mouldy old skinflint."

"Excuse me?" Cloud says indignantly.

"Did I mention you're particularly ravishing in this light, Esmeralda?"

"Flattery," Esmeralda says, pouring tea into four cups and a shallow ceramic bowl, "will get you everywhere. Sugar?"

Yuffie greedily dumps five lumps into hers, while Cloud and Penelo demur.

"I'm sweet enough already," Penelo says, drawing a giggle from Yuffie.

"I'll have to use that one sometime."

"Except you never turn down the offer of sugar in anything," Cloud says dryly.

Yuffie wags a teaspoon at him, refracting light off the ceiling. "That's not true. I didn't want it on those Rosemary Popovers, did I?"

"Rosemary Popovers?" Esmeralda says with a small smile. "Only one place makes those, and this is your first time in Mosey. You went to Gringoire's Café before you came here? I thought you said Cloud hasn't been feeding you."

"Uh … you really _do_ look gorgeous, and not just in this light. Cloud's stories didn't do you justice, honestly. And hey, who's the bowl of tea for?"

"Djali."

Cloud looks around, noticing the absence of the little goat. Djali has always been Esmeralda's shadow, especially at home. His absence is strange. "Where _is_ Djali?"

Esmeralda opens a door to the sitting room and a tiny grey thing limps in, yawning after a nap. It barely resembles the lively creature Cloud remembers from al his other trips to Mosey City. Djali's fur has come out in clumps, leaving angry red patches of skin with welts and blisters exposed. There's a large swathe of bandages around his middle, making him waddle like an overstuffed toy from a fairground stall. His face is a mask of pain, and when he looks up and bleats a welcome to Cloud and Penelo, and shoots a suspicious glance at Yuffie, Cloud sees that one eye is covered in a patch with a piece of elastic looped around his horns.

"What _happened_?" Cloud drops to his knees when it becomes apparent that Djali can't jump up. He strokes the little goat, who bleats quietly into his armpit, wagging his tail like a dog.

Esmeralda's expression darkens. Cloud is shocked when he sees it – for a moment she actually looks murderous, anger twisting up her features and making them hard. Her beauty becomes a brittle thing, sharp-edged and acid with the promise of violence. Cloud has a brief window into what made her both respected and a little feared among the Thief King's courtiers.

However, it's Penelo who answers him. "Thugs. I went out to get some groceries and Djali went with me, but he wasn't allowed in the store. He waited outside and some teenagers chased him. There were too many for him, even though he fought like a tiger. The sound of them squealing from his horns was what led me to them."

"You rescued him?"

She shakes her head. "Captain Phoebus did that. He was there next to Djali when I arrived – had one of the hooligans by the ear. He was squealing like a stuck pig – not Captain Phoebus, I mean, the boy who tried to tie a firecracker to Djali's tail while the others held down the little guy."

"Poor Djali," Cloud murmurs, running a careful hand along his back and flinching at the pained noise. "They really did a number on you. I forget, sometimes, how cruel people can be."

"Cruel isn't the word for it," Esmeralda mutters. "Evil, that's what they were. And sick. Hurting an innocent animal, and for what? For _fun. _If it hadn't been for Phoebus, I could've lost him …"

There's that name again. Cloud raises his head. "Who's Phoebus?"

"The new captain of the City Lawmen," Penelo replies. "He only arrived from Stride City recently. He's nothing like the last captain. Which basically means he actually does things and doesn't just talk about them."

Cloud thinks back to his own encounter with the Mosey City Lawmen, when his chocobo was stolen and they refused to help. "That'd be a definite improvement."

"He goes out into the city to patrol and make sure his men and doing their jobs right. The last captain just sat at his desk eating cream buns and kissing the mayor's patoot."

Yuffie gawks at Penelo. "Did you really just say 'patoot'?"

"Hmmf." Esmeralda holds out her arms and Djali hobbles into them. "We'll see what kind of a captain he makes after he's been here a while. His enthusiasm may wear off after a few disappointments trying to catch the Thief King, and all he'll want to do is spend his time making sure he gets a cushy pension for doing nothing." She sits back at the table with Djali on her lap so he can lap tea out of the dish.

Yuffie leans forward on her elbows to stare. Djali matches it with one of his own, no less potent for only having one good eye. After a moment he bends his head and, without taking his gaze off Yuffie, drinks his tea. Suspicion flows across the table faster than hot liquid if he'd tipped over every teacup _and_ the teapot.

"Reminds me of Cid," Yuffie says without malice. "He gives me that look when he thinks I'm about to steal or break something, too."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_Cloud, Yuffie, this is my assistant, Penelo."_

-- Penelo originally appeared in Final Fantasy XII (finalfantasy. wikia. com/wiki/Penelo).

"_Rosemary Popovers?" Esmeralda says with a small smile. "Only one place makes those, and this is your first time in Mosey. You went to Gringoire's Café before you came here? I thought you said Cloud hasn't been feeding you."_

-- Pierre Gringoire is a character from the original _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ novel (www. online-literature. com/victor (underscore) hugo/hunchback (underscore) notre (underscore) dame/3/)

"_He goes out into the city to patrol and make sure his men and doing their jobs right. The last captain just sat at his desk eating cream buns and kissing the mayor's patoot." _

_Yuffie gawks at Penelo. "Did you really just say 'patoot'?"_

-- Inspired by an exchange between James Garner and David Spade in _8 Simple Rules_.

* * *


	55. Leon Makes a Mistake

* * *

**54. Leon Makes a Mistake**

* * *

There are many things Yuffie can't explain about ninja techniques. There are even more she won't explain, because as much as she's a loudmouth who rubbishes her clan and its mouldy old traditions, part of her still burns with pride for her history. There's a reason she's so noisy about being a ninja, and struts her ninjatastic stuff whenever the opportunity arises. Reconciling the two sides of her feelings for her family isn't something to which she's devoted too much thought – she prefers focussing on things she can fix, eat, enjoy, or beat the tar out of, rather than things that cause stress and angst for little reward. She's just healthful that way.

The others know the night is her playground, but they don't have a name for it. As she slips into _shinobi-iri _in the middle of her separate hotel room (very plush, but the faucets are only gold leaf and the bedsprings are terrible for bouncing on), she's wondering what Cloud would say if he knew the true extent of the ninja shadow-invisibility technique.

It's hard to put into plain words the skill of getting into that space _between_ herself and the shadows – a trick of the mind and body that slips like sand through splayed fingers. It defies definition. She's been able to do it since she was a toddler, though one of her clan-mates once told her it's supposed to be a rare skill requiring years of training.

Yuffie has memories of hiding from her nursemaid; sitting in plain sight and watching the frantic woman finally call her father with stories of kidnapping. She didn't understand at the time what she was doing, but quickly turned the talent to her advantage, slipping undetected through the night and train in secret when Godo forbade her from training. It's how nobody stopped her leaving the night the Heartless came, and why she wasn't there when her clan needed her.

Heartless. Huh. The little buggers probably thought she was one of them, fierce little heart pulsing for one selfish purpose in the shadows, while they tore her family to shreds in their bedrolls.

She feels her body adjusting to the change like slipping on a comfortable old coat. When ready, she picks a likely path, steals out of her room, and creeps along the corridor to Cloud's. The door's locked, but since when has that been a barrier to a ninja? Once inside she stays to the side of the door so her silhouette doesn't accidentally appear beneath it, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Cloud's chest as she waits for the much more noticeable figure she spotted trying to use the shadows outside, after he slipped past the hotel's security spells.

Soon enough, he enters the room. He's actually pretty good – doesn't make any noise and carries himself so confidently his footfalls barely disturb the cream carpet (and whose bright idea was _that_? Even Yuffie knows cream carpets are freaking ridiculous, especially if you habitually come in with mud and less mentionable stuff on your boots). High on the wall, however, she smiles. He's good, but she's better.

Cloud wakes with a start at the noise of one suddenly very solid body hitting another. By the time he fumbles to switch on the bedside lamp, it's all over. He blinks at Yuffie perched on the back of a thin ratty man, pinning his arms to his sides with her knees, holding one kunai to his throat, another to his chest, so if he struggles just a little he'll impale himself.

"I done caught me a stalker," she announces, mimicking Dr. Sweet's drawl and flashing Cloud one of her high-wattage smiles that increases the ambient light in her general vicinity by a magnitude of ten. "You owe me, Cloudy. He was totally gonna murder you in your bed and steal your gold fillings. If you had gold fillings. Which you don't, 'cause your smile's still all pearly and white. So he probably would've just eaten your liver instead."

"Yuffie?" Cloud looks between her and the man, clearly confused at to whether he should be leaping out of bed and reaching for his sword, calling hotel security, or pinching himself to see if he's still asleep. In the end he picks a fourth option, because the ratty man speaks, and the sound of his voice changes everything.

"Get off me, you cheeky little pipsqueak!"

Cloud's face changes. "_Thief King_?"

Yuffie grimaces. "Seriously? _This_ guy runs the criminal underworld of Mosey City? I'm shocked and dismayed. I mean, yeah, he got past all the protective spells around this place, and I didn't even see him come in here until he was already in, but still. This is lame. He doesn't even look like a king. Very un-kingly."

"Strife, who _is_ this girl?"

"I'm Yuffie Kisaragi, mister, Princess of the Wutai Ninja Clan, and otherwise known as the Great Ninja Yuffie, or Cloudy's Bodyguard Against Ugly Guys With No Fashion Sense or Manners. Do you know what time it is? Paying social calls in the middle of the night is a _total _faux pas."

"A _ninja_." He doesn't quite sneer the word, but his tone hints that there are unexploded sneers in the area, like rakes hidden in long grass. "I might've known. Nobody's ever managed to sneak up on me before."

"Ooh, I'm your first! I totally took your being-snuck-up-on cherry."

He wriggles, but freezes when she presses the kunai so it just nicks the skin of his throat. She's still grinning, but in that moment she's every inch the secret warrior the word 'ninja' evokes in the minds of those who hear it. Her face and tone are a counterpoint to her body, which makes Cloud flip back the bedclothes and finally get up.

"Yuffie, let him go. He's a friend."

"A wonderful friend if he's sneaking into your room at night. Do Zack and Aerith know you entertain strange men in your hotel room?"

"Yuffie –"

She leans close and merrily whispers, "One false move and you can make friends with my favourite sai, Mr. Pointy. He's very lonesome and loves making new friends, especially with lungs, livers and kidneys. You do know what a sai is, right? And I'm not talking bout when you breathe out all melancholy-like."

The Thief King says nothing, but his eyes burn with a range of emotions, some of which she can't easily identify. Cloudy continues to vouch for him, so she pulls back and rolls off into a shoulder-spring.

She keeps her kunai in her hands while they talk. For effect. Honest.

"I've never seen your face before," Cloudy says when the Thief King is on his feet and has treated Yuffie to a glare worthy of Leon himself, and she's responded by telling him orange and purple _so _don't go together. "I didn't know it was you at first."

"A good entertainer always keeps a few surprises up his sleeve. A good thief, too."

"Where does a king keep his armies?" Yuffie quips. "Up his sleevies, of course. Does a Thief King have an army, I wonder?"

"You have no idea." The Thief King's voice is dark, his eyes darker, so Yuffie replies with a loud, wet raspberry that leaves her tongue all tingly. He apparently doesn't know what to make of this, which she counts as a victory. Score one for the non-party-pooper!

Hm, maybe she's been hanging around Leon for too long.

"Did you come to reminisce, or to threaten me again?" Cloud asks with far more bluntness than Yuffie expected. Not that she shows it, of course. A good ninja/thief/entertainer/whatever also knows the value of a good poker face.

"Can't a friend call on a friend for the sake of being friendly?"

"Friends usually don't wait until their friends are sleeping and then sneak in."

"Touché."

"I haven't seen you in … well, ever, actually." Cloud studies the man's face as he talks, clearly surprised by what he sees. "But I haven't had contact with you in a while. What's up?"

"The sky."

Yuffie snorts. "Oh man, people are still using that joke?"

The Thief King – who, by the way, _really does_ look majorly unimpressive for royalty; more like a used chocobo salesman or something – fires a glare at her that could separate stink from a stray dog. "Methinks the little lady doth talk too much."

"Methinks the little lady is bored and getting a fast-track ticket to Crankyville if she doesn't get some shut-eye soon. Could you boys wrap it up soon so we can all go to bed? Not the same bed, mind, because Cloudy's taken and, no offence meant, chumley, but you're _so_ not my type. I have enough trouble keeping my own hair clean and grease-free since it grew past my shoulders, so I really can't be going with someone who doesn't have the same standard of personal hygiene."

The Thief King looks back at Cloud. "Does she-?"

"Yes, she always talks like that. But she's right."

Yuffie mock-swoons.

"Not about the personal hygiene thing, but about you being here. What do you want, Thief King?"

"You've heard of the new captain of the Lawmen?" the ratty guy says briskly, in a tone far more serious than Yuffie anticipates, based on what Cloud has told them about the frivolous, high-spirited Thief King and his pre-pubescent Court.

"Captain Phoebus. Esmeralda and Penelo mentioned him."

"He's bad news. He's a doer. A mover. A shaker."

"A butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker," Yuffie singsongs. "Toss them out, knaves all … one?"

"Politely put, yes. Captain Phoebus is a threat to my courtiers. He's not like his predecessor, who canvassed the area once every twelve months and then left us alone. Captain Phoebus is crafty. He's going to try to flush us out, see who he can nab while we're running like rats from a cloud of poison gas."

"Can't you hide in the Court of Miracles?" Yuffie asks. "Don't worry, I don't know where it is, and I'm not gonna look. Got better things to do with my time. So there."

"Possibly," the Thief King replies tightly. "Nothing's as certain as it used to be anymore. We have tricks we may need to call on where we never have before. This man is trouble." His eyes flash with an emotion Yuffie instantly recognises. "Tell Esmeralda to be careful of him."

"Esmeralda?" Cloud says in surprise. "Why? She's never even met him."

"Hasn't she? Who do you think brought her goat back?"

No mention of Penelo, even though she lives with Esmeralda. If this was truly about safety she'd be a target too, since she has just as much connection with the underworld as Esmeralda. Yet her name is absent. No, there's something else going on here.

_He's jealous, _Yuffie thinks. _He's worried, but he's jealous. Cloud said he once asked Esmeralda to marry him. I'll bet he feels all threatened by this Phoebus guy. Ooh, juicy!_

"Can't you tell her yourself?" Cloud asks doubtfully.

"I have, but she respects you. Positive reinforcement is the key to a strong campaign. Any ruler or politician knows that. Of course, as a delivery boy, you may not, but I'm sure your companion -" He shoots another dark look at Yuffie "– is well aware of it, since she's _royalty_."

"Damn skippy." Yuffie doesn't rise to his bait. She's already bored of the conversation and just wants him to get lost so she can catch a few zees. Of course, after this she'll be sleeping with Mr. Pointy under her pillow, but she can live with that. She might even bring her bedding in here and kip down on Cloud's floor. Not typical for somewhere as grand at the Cathedral Hotel, but safer if there are random cat-feet thieves about with knives strapped to their wrists and ankles.

Oh yes, she felt _those_ the moment he hit the ground. Lifted them, too.

She wonders whether he realises they're gone yet. Probably, if he's as good as Cloud says he is, but he hasn't said anything, so he probably has other weapons stashed on him as well. Either that or he's bluffing. He knows that she knows, so he knows he could fake her out by keeping schtum and leaving the fact she knows to confuse her own brain with arguments and scenarios of its own making. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but a little knowledge and a too-quick mind are devastating.

Clever-clogs.

Cloud and the Thief King trade a few more boring titbits. Yuffie confirms her suspicion that the Thief King is more worried about what this Phoebus guy means for Esmeralda than about his courtiers. Not that he's totally unconcerned about them, but he has more faith in their skills than he's letting on …

Actually, she's not surprised by the second part. Cid said any kid in the Thief King's employ has rat bastard cunning coming out of their ears, and while Captain Phoebus may be a whirlwind of enthusiasm and new ideas, he's still working with the same idle men who've always patrolled Mosey's charming streets. Esmeralda can take care of herself too – Yuffie recognised the way she moved as common to both dancers and fighters. It's more like the Thief King is concerned about Phoebus's intentions for her heart (and other things) than anything else, but won't risk offending and possibly having her ostracise him for saying so.

_How did he know the captain brought Djali back to her, unless he has spies watching her? Or was watching personally…_

"She's a proud woman," the Thief King says just before he leaves. "Strong-minded. I always liked that about her. Other men do, too – they just don't know what they're getting themselves into with her temper and her resourcefulness with a sewing needle."

"And you do?" Yuffie asks slyly.

"I know a lot of problems can be caused by offending the wrong people."

_Ooh, clever answer. Very political. What's that word Merlin used for the Clueless Trio? Oh, yeah; twitterpated. That's what this guy is. Man, talk about a crush that's going nowhere. Esmeralda moved __**out**__ just so she wouldn't have to be around him and he's still smitten with her. It's kind of sad, really. _

_Just like trying to compete with a dead girl for a guy who's too old for you, has the emotional range of an orthopaedic shoe, but still manages to convey how clearly Not Interested In You he is?_ whispers a furtive, sneaky little toe-rag of a voice in the back of her mind.

_Damn it._

* * *

They leave the next morning, calling in at Esmeralda's shop on their way out of town. Cloud promises to take Yuffie to visit the art gallery before they go, but she's unresponsive to the idea and seems cranky under her habitual smile. Nobody else would be able to tell, but he's known her long enough now to tell when it's just a curling if the lips.

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe I'm just peeved that I missed out on vital beauty sleep because you insisted on setting off so freaking early after I stayed up late to save you from Rodent Features."

Cloud looks at her askance. "That's not the only reason."

"Get stuffed, Cloudy. You already owe me a slap-up breakfast for making me move my keister out of that nice warm comfy bed."

"You were on my floor!"

"Your point being?"

"How could that have been comfortable?"

"You ever slept in a Honeylocust Tree on a stakeout? Eight inch thorns, branches thinner than a jockey's whip and bark as tough as dragon scales, fifty feet above stony ground. Anything's comfy compared to that."

Cloud can't think of anything to say to that, so he says nothing. It helps that at that moment the chocobo chooses to stop in the middle of the street and relieve itself. Less helpful is the Lawman who just happens to be passing by at the same moment, and who insists they clean up the mess or face a hefty fine.

It's almost an hour later when they finally reach Esmeralda's, by which time Cloud's stomach thinks his throat has been cut and Yuffie's groaning could wake a stone statue.

"Penelo," Esmeralda says when she sees them, "go to Gringoire's and fetch some croissants, will you? And get some sugar crumpets and a few bags of crystallised fruits while you're at it. You can take Yuffie with you. She looks like she needs something to eat faster than you can get it back here."

"A very perceptive lady. I knew I liked you despite the fact you have more cleavage than me." Yuffie stabs a finger in the air and all but drags Penelo onto the rooftops in her usual 'shortest-distance-between-two-points-is-a-straight-line' style of travelling.

Esmeralda and Cloud watch them go. "That Yuffie, she's … she's something." Esmeralda tries to be diplomatic as they round the corner and Penelo's wide eyes disappear from view.

"You get used to her after a while. She can be pretty hectic, but her heart's usually in the right place."

"Kwark," gripes the chocobo.

* * *

"So tell me about Esmeralda and this Phoebus guy."

"Excuse me?"

Yuffie pops another candied chestnut into her mouth. The sweet glaze is a mixture of sticky and crunchy, and adheres to her molars in a way that has her tongue probing to remove it for a few minutes after each one. She's already gummed her way through a whole bag and can feel the sugar rattling around her veins, perking up her senses and making her feel better after shovelling featherbutt poop.

"Esmeralda. You know, the tall lady you live with – black hair, green eyes, bust enters a room ten seconds before the rest of her?"

Penelo blinks. "What is it with you and breasts? You mention them all the time. Do you _like_ them or something?"

The implication of this hits Yuffie like a scalpel between the eyes: Do you like girls? She didn't expect such brutal forthrightness from the apparently sweet Penelo, but rather than offend her it makes her smile around her mouthful.

"I'd like to _have_ a pair of my own that actually _look_ like breasts." Yuffie pats her measly boobs and mentally compares herself with Penelo. The blonde girl isn't that well-endowed herself. That actually makes Yuffie feel better, maybe they should start a club – Small, and Not Overlarge Boobs are Sexier. Hm, except then they'd be SNOBS, and that'd be just lame. "Don't you ever get jealous of her?"

"I've never really thought about it."

"Liar."

"No, really. I have what I have, and she has what she has. Short of stuffing cotton wool in my bra, what else is there to do except accept it and move on? There are other things to worry about in life apart from how well you fill a halterneck."

The man behind the counter coughs into his fist, clearly embarrassed by their topic of conversation. "Your, uh, order's ready now, girls."

"Phantasmagorical," Yuffie cries, taking the carefully wrapped greaseproof bags and flinging him a full throttle smile. "Before we leave this wondrous hub of cookery, however, can I trouble you for another bag of these spectacular chestnuts?"

He sighs. "That's your second bag already. Are you sure you want another? That's a lot of sugar this early in the morning."

"Just do your job, buddy. Haven't you learned by now that it's dangerous to get between a female and candy? Now," she says, rounding on Penelo while he goes to scoop out another round of chestnuts, "about Esmeralda and Captain Thunderpants."

"Phoebus," Penelo corrects.

"Whatever. Answer yes or no: are they an item?"

"What? No!"

"Have they ever met before?"

"When he brought Djali home, yes. He took him to a vet first and then carried him back to the shop."

"An altruist who likes animals. Sounds like a catch. Is he butt fugly?"

"Not really."

"Potential for any Phoebmeralda smoochies?"

"Phoebmer-? Look, what's this all about?"

"Your Thief King paid us a visit last night. Basically told us to warn Esmeralda off getting jiggy with this Phoebus character. I? Think he's still besotted with her himself and sees Captain Crusader as competition even though he's not even in the running for her heart. And since the way the Thief King talked implied some sort of basis for his suspicions, I decided to ask you, the insider, whether she's warm for Phoebus's form."

Penelo just stares at her. _"_He did_ what_!?"

* * *

"Well that went well." Yuffie crunches away at a bag of crystallised fruits and nuts, licking her fingers and keeping her balance on the chocobo with just her legs. Though skinny, her thigh and lower back muscles are like steel. She wobbles even less than Cloud, the experienced rider.

"What was up with you and Penelo? When you came back from the café she looked like she'd seen a ghost."

Yuffie reaches for another sugar-encrusted almond. Cloud's facing away from her, and so doesn't see the slight pink tinge to the bridge of her nose at the memory of just how much she divulged to Penelo. It was cool to be able to talk about things with another girl around her own age. Aerith and Tifa are great in a big-sister way, but sometimes they're too close to a situation to detach themselves and listen to Yuffie's side of it. Penelo, on the other hand, understood perfectly what it's like to have a crush on someone unattainable who doesn't even realise you're alive – or, if he does, that you're female and brimming with hormones on overdrive. Yuffie was a little surprised at how easily she talked about Leon and her feelings for him, and supposes it's because she doesn't know Penelo, and Penelo doesn't know Leon, so the chances of him finding out are remote. She could vent her frustrations without fear of sounding like a nut, a brat, a whiny romance novel heroine, or all of the above.

"Just girl talk. You wouldn't understand, Cloudy."

"I wouldn't? Try me."

"Are you saying you're girly enough to understand girl talk?"

"No, I just -"

"I suppose you do have kind of girly hair. And you're in a relationship with a guy. Tell me, when you're in bed, which one of you tops-?"

"Yuffie! That's not what I meant!"

"Perhaps we can get away with just saying you're a big girl's blouse."

"Hey! Do you want to _walk_ all the way back to Traverse Town?"

"WARK!"

* * *

"… And that's when Spinelli said she'd mash his face in. She says that a lot. When we broke for recess I told her it's not nice to mash people's faces in, and she said a rude word that made Miss Finster go a funny colour."

Aerith smiles as she holds out the toothbrush with toothpaste already squirted onto the bristles. Kairi dutifully opens her mouth and allows her teeth to be scrubbed. It's a ritual they got into when she was small and couldn't do much more than eat the toothpaste, and though Kairi probably could do the job herself now, it's one of the many routines they have that they aren't ready to give up just yet – "Even if I am a big _school_girl now."

The sound of the front door slamming can be heard even through the closed bathroom door.

"Yoo-hoo! Honeeeeeies, I'm hooo-oooome! Hey, where the heck is everyone?"

"We're in here, Yuffie."

The bathroom door opens, helped by Yuffie's left foot. "Well there's a fine triumphant return ruined by dental hygiene. Hey, Small Fry. Looking sharp there. Kinda rabid dog-ish, but that's a pull-off-able look."

Kairi beams at her through a mouthful of foam.

"Darn it, kid, it shouldn't be possible for someone to look that cute. You'd melt Cid's heart if Tifa hadn't fortified it with bran and exercise."

"How was your trip?" Aerith asks.

"Mosey City's a dump, but as dumps go it's an interesting one. I got to beat up the Thief King, and was briefly part of an even bigger soap opera than life in Traverse Town. Oh, and I discovered that you now have a burning need to learn how to make candied chestnuts."

"I do?"

"It's been hiding away in your mind for a long time, but has finally come to the surface. You can't resist it anymore."

"I can't?"

"Definitely."

Aerith shakes her head with an indulgent smile. "Time to spit, Kairi. And Yuffie, Leon said he wanted to see you as soon as you got back."

"He did?" Yuffie's eyes shine with delight, even if it quickly morphs into something more casual. "Better not keep Mr. Grumpy waiting." With that, she's gone, her exit heralded by a startled cry from Cloud as he comes through the front door and is nearly spun off his feet.

He meets Aerith's eyes. "Leon?"

"Leon." Aerith wipes Kairi's face and pronounces her finished.

Kairi replies by craning to peck her on the cheek, then hopping off her perch on the closed toilet lid and rushing through to hurl herself at Cloud. "Hello, Cloud! Spinelli got in trouble today, and Gus cried, and Gretchen said I have a weird shaped head."

"She said _what_?"

"She said it after I noticed _her_ head's shaped kind of like the football Vince brought for Show and Tell. Her face got all scrunchy and she said I have a weird shaped head. She said if I got it measured I'd find it all covered in lumps and bumps that say I'm a criminal or something. Do I have a weird shaped head, Cloud?"

Cloud meets Aerith's eyes over the top of the much-debated head. Aerith, suppressing giggles, can only shrug and motion for him to answer.

Cloud picks her up and spins her around. "You have a normal shaped head, Kairi, but I think you should make space in it to learn about tact."

"Oh, I know what a tact is," Kairi says flippantly, with the air of someone who considers themselves an expert on a subject. "TJ put one on Miss Finster's chair last week and she yelled so loud the big kids in the next room heard."

* * *

Yuffie bursts through Leon's front door. Or at least, she _would_ burst through his front door, if it didn't stay resolutely shut, causing her to bounce off and sprawl on the hallway floor, elegantly and completely like that was what she intended to do. She flips to her feet and does the unpredictable by trying the handle, but no dice. She considers ramming her shoulder against it, or taking a straightened hair grip to the lock, but remembers what happened the last time she broke in that way and surprised Leon. Is the shower running now? Then she hears movement within and goes for a more direct approach.

"Squall?"

No answer.

"Hey, Squall, I know you're in there."

A click. The door eases open enough to reveal that stoic expression that always makes her feel like she just swallowed hot coals. "It's Leon. Most people try knocking first."

"I thought we already established that I'm not most people? Ponytail said you wanted to see me ASAP. What's the big emergency? Did you miss me that much while I was away? I'm touched. Seriously, I think I have a tear in my eye."

In answer, Leon's face disappears from the chink. He leaves the door open, clearly indicating he wants her to come in. She does so, kicking it shut behind her.

"Hey, I got you a gift." She produces the last packet of candied chestnuts. "You have no idea how hard I had to fight to keep these from being eaten. Totally by Cloud, of course. I practically had to beat him back with a stick. Go on, try some. They're delicious."

Leon has his back to her. It's a strong, well-muscled back, but not as broad as Zack's, or even Cloud's. Leon's build runs more to sinewy than brawny, which makes him look younger than he is but also a little harsher. There's no mistaking his body for anything but that of a seasoned warrior used to fighting from a corner.

"You're being even less talkative than usual. What's up? Did the drains clog while I was away? You cursed up a storm the last time that happened. Good thing I'm handy with a plunger, or your toilet would've been scarred for life by the things bubbling up the u-bend. Do you need me to –?"

"I think you should stop coming to me for lessons."

"Excuse me?" The words smack into her like a handful of pebbles on a moonless night. _Okay, didn't see that one coming._

"They haven't been proper lessons in some time. I've taught you all I can on how to read and write. Your skills are proficient enough that you don't really need to come up here and practise them under supervision anymore. You can manage on your own."

"You're reneging on our agreement?"

"I've fulfilled our agreement. You're now literate."

"But-" Yuffie isn't sure how to respond – a total first for her. Well, maybe not a _total _first; she's been stumped before, but always had something to _say,_ even if it was complete crap. This is so unexpected it actually takes her a few seconds to figure out what she's going to say next. It's an unsettling and disagreeable feeling. "But I –"

"It's been three months since Merlin left. We don't know when he'll return, or if he ever will." Is that a glint of hurt in his voice at being abandoned without a goodbye? Leon and Merlin don't have a father-and-son relationship, but the old coot kept reaching out so much after they were stranded here, and especially after Rinoa died. It has to smart that he's gone without so much as a 'so long and thanks for all the tea'.

Or, since this is Leon and his famous Orthopaedic Shoe Emotional Range, maybe not. Leon's too tough to have his feelings hurt by bad manners. It took nearly being freaking _killed_ to make him admit he's actually _human_ enough to grieve without poisoning himself from the inside out with guilt_, _so hurt feelings would probably require an apocalypse.

"We've had no direct contact from Merlin for those three months, nor can we assume we will in the near future. The Heartless haven't attacked in a long time, but that's not to say they won't, and without Merlin we need to strengthen our defences as much as we can to pre-empt the enemy. Traverse Town isn't a stronghold, and it has a lot of innocents in it. Too many for us to take any chances with their safety."

"And you're just the guy to take care of it?"

"Yes."

"Whoopideedoo. Captain of the Royal Guard to the rescue for all us uneducated peons. Only I _am_ educated, otherwise I wouldn't know a peon isn't just a misspelling of your name." Ooh, sarcasm. That's original. She has to be careful she doesn't bite his head off. With Leon, he's likely to bite back, and not in a good way. Never in the good way.

Asshole.

_Oh man, get a grip, Yuffie. He's not saying he never wants to freaking __**see**__ you again, he's just being all soldier-y and grim, as freaking usual. Actually, he's being __**extra**__ soldier-y, but that's no reason to let yourself go. Stop acting like a spurned lover_.

She read that phrase in one of Chicha's romance novels. It conjured images of girls plying men's drinks with poison, killing pets in cookware, and glaring enough to produce eighty-year-old wrinkles across their twenty-year-old skin. Yuffie isn't even _in_ her twenties yet, so no way does she want a face like a granny's butt.

Leon's talking again, but she only catches the tail end of it.

"… responsibilities now. As a trained fighter you'll be expected to contribute as well."

"Oh joy. I get to keep Madame Medusa and her Gruesome Twosome safe. Go me."

He looks at her then, a quick glance over his shoulder that she can't read too much into because it's _so_ quick. There's a glimmer of something in his eyes – perhaps remembering how they worked together to defend their friends from Madame Medusa's spiteful tongue, perhaps wishing she'd shut the hell up and stop interrupting. Or maybe he just has gas. With Leon it genuinely is impossible to tell.

He presents his back to her again – which is starting to piss her off, actually. What, she's so uglified after her trip to Mosey City that he can't even bear to look at her?

Or maybe he feels so bad about stopping their lessons he's avoiding looking at her. Maybe he feels ashamed of cutting her out, and the only way he can live with himself is not to look her in the face in case it makes him change his mind. Yuffie practises her wounded expression, but it's so alien to her features that they shrug it off and she can't make it stick. The fact that this reason for his behaviour is way beyond the borders of believability doesn't help glue it in place.

She feels like when she thought Leon was crushing on Aerith, before she figured out he was just being all stalkery whenever she went to the church in case she discovered Rinoa's grave.

"You haven't even asked how my journey was. Or whether I got to beat up any interesting people – which I _did_."

Yeah, because _that_ sounds so mature.

Leon's tone is flat. Flatter than flat. Flatter than road-kill by the Mosey City rickshaw station. Flatter than unleavened bread. Flatter than Zack's shower-singing, even. "I have some things I need to take care of now. I thought I'd better let you know in person, rather than just leaving a message."

That is … remarkably sensitive of him, actually.

Fuck. This sounds like a break-up speech. It sounds like a freaking _break-up speech_. And without any of the fringe benefits that usually come before it, like kissing and dreamy-eyed stares and being able to ogle the other person's butt without pretending you're not. Ah well. Go for the jugular. "This sounds like a break-up speech, Squall."

Not a flicker. Asshole.

"Thank you for the gift."

Polite asshole.

"I feel like keeping it for myself now. I was planning on writing my opus up here in our lessons. Now I'll have to compete with Kairi's crayons for clean paper. And who will I be able to bitch to about the Clueless Trio? Teef won't hear a bad word said against Cloudy, and Cid's so not interested I'd be better off running into a brick wall. A few dozen times. While wearing a helmet with spikes on the inside."

"Take your gift away or leave it, I really don't care."

"I'll keep it then. Geez, Squall, no need to be such a grouch. Welcome back to Traverse freaking Town, huh?"

He sighs. "Perhaps it's best you stop coming up here altogether. I can't be dealing with you and your mood-swings when there are more important things to take care of."

Anger flares up inside her, hot and fierce. It's weird and awful and melts her smile at the edges like wax rolling down the sides of a candle. "Sorry to be such an _inconvenience_. I had no idea spending time with me was such a _nuisance_."

"I'm glad we understand each other. I guess you're more mature than I gave you credit for."

She grips the greaseproof bag tighter … and then throws it onto the kitchen table. It lands with a loud clatter.

Leon _still_ keeps staring at the wall.

When she's halfway out the door, however, he stops her. "Yuffie."

"What? Are you gonna tell me I'm banned from the roof as well?" Ouch. Getting a grip? Not her strong suit this time. Damn it.

"You should get your hair cut. If it does come to a battle, long hair is a liability unless it's tied back."

She fingers the hair that reaches past her ears, shoved out of her face by a headband but left to fluff out over the back of her skull. Her hair would fall in soft dark waves if she let it loose, like Tifa's or … okay, _so_ not going there.

Leon's own hair is spikier, a contrary colour, length and texture to her own. Like him, it looks like it could be softer than it actually is, and is dotted all over with tufts that have become twisted into sharp little barbs. She has a brilliant view to study all this because he still has his back to her.

"You know what, _Leon_? Fuck you."

She's not even sure why she says it, nor why she flounces out, more like the weak-kneed heroines of Chicha's books than a kick-ass ninja princess. There's not even a better word for it – she _flounces_.

She's so busy flouncing that she misses the way Leon's hand snakes out, picks up the bag of chestnuts and grips the greaseproof paper so tight it tears in his fist.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	56. Prophecy of Blood and Shadow

* * *

**55. Prophecy of Blood and Shadow**

* * *

It's clear to everyone that something has gone wrong between Leon and Yuffie. Leon, the interminable cold fish, will never be a happy-clappy kind of guy, but he's actually quite human compared to when they first met him. Likewise it's impossible for Yuffie to be one hundred percent solemn, and yet she spends the first evening after returning from Mosey City outside, not even bothering to come in for food.

She wanders back to the apartment much later, apparently cheerful when Aerith gets up in the night and finds her sprawled on the couch, fully-clothed and eating a piece of pie. Yet her briefly puckered brow when Aerith asks what Leon wanted, and the way she swiftly changes the subject, tell their own story. Likewise Leon's sudden withdrawal from their lives.

Impossibly, Yuffie has weathered some sharp edges off his personality. More than Aerith's kindness, Zack and Cloud's friendship, Merlin's concern or Cid's brusquely paternal badgering, it's Yuffie and her manic energy who have drawn him out of himself, and reintroduced him to the world as more than something to be glared at and possibly stomped on if it twitches. While he's still not someone who'd hug puppies for fun, he wouldn't kick them for standing between him and a Heartless, either.

And yet, without warning, the more accommodating parts of his nature now retract like a cat's broken claws. He shuts down. When Zack sees him next, he's gruff and only wants to talk about fortifying the town against magical attacks now Merlin is gone. He refuses Aerith's offer to join them for dinner, won't open the door when Cloud goes to fetch him anyway, and barks at Cid about something so insignificant it wouldn't usually even get acknowledged.

"How come you've stopped going to Leon's for reading lessons?" Tifa asks the third time Yuffie arrives to bother her at work when she'd usually be with him.

"Because Leon is a gargantuan asshole with old chicken guts for brains. And the fact that I know and can use words like 'gargantuan' proves I don't need his smelly old lessons anymore."

The insult isn't what makes Tifa look up, startled. "You called him Leon."

"So?" Yuffie cleans under her nails with a tiny shuriken, then flings it into the ceiling with a flick of her wrist. "That's his name."

Tifa frowns, until Cid comes in and yells at Yuffie for idly balancing a wrench on her head while standing next to a row of computer monitors. She steps out of the way to let Yuffie dash past, giggling, and make her escape through the front of the shop. Yuffie vaults the counter, flips straight over a hovering moogles, and it's not until later they realise she took the wrench with her.

When Zack asks a similar question, Yuffie avoids it by pulling Kairi over and ordering her to bring a book

"Because I'm gonna read to you, since I'm such good reader."

Yuffie's eyes flick challengingly to Zack. She doesn't even complain when Kairi drags the fairytale book onto her lap and opens it at the much-hated_ Canary Prince_. Instead, Yuffie reads with terrifying gusto, arms waving, putting on different voices for each character and squeezing so much energy into the words that they drip.

Zack backs off, chastised, and then wondering what he's been chastised for. It's not as if he said anything _wrong_.

Is it?

* * *

"What's that?"

Cid startles. Not because Tifa crept up on him, but because he was in one of his work trances and she patted him on the head. "The fuck?" He blinks up at her like someone emerging from hypnosis.

Tifa nods towards the computer screen. Computers used to intimidate her so much. Hollow Bastion's technology was stuck in some nondescript time decades before she was born, while in Cid's world it hd ploughed ahead, and he'd ridden the crest of the wave. Apparently Radiant Garden had been some hub of technological and scientific discovery, but the magic that robbed it of its identity also stole the memories of the secrets that could've revealed the dark things lurking beneath it.

Tifa waits for Cid to reveal why he's staring at Gummi Ship schematics that can't possibly be genuine "What's that?" she asks again, when Cid just looks blankly at her.

"Don't ask stupid-ass questions."

"It looks like a Gummi Ship blueprint."

Cid claps slowly. "You figure that out all by yourself?"

"Okay. So why doesn't it have any hatches or doors?"

He frowns, but in a thoughtful way, as though he's not really angry but too distracted for anything but a default setting. "These came from the ship that picked Merlin up. Never thought much of 'em before. One of those little rats in overalls gave me the disc before take-off. I stashed it on a shelf and forgot about it."

"You were still mad about them using your crossover struts without permission." Tifa thinks back to his apoplectic expression when he found out she'd told Chip and Dale how to use them, plus some other innovations of the Highwind's design. Dale was terrified and bolted onto her shoulder to hide in her hair, but Chip had apparently placated Cid by handing him this disc as an exchange.

Of course, Cid's temper being equivalent to that of a sulky teenager, he'd pushed the gesture aside by putting the disc out of his mind. Tifa supposes they're lucky he didn't just throw it away – especially if those designs are saying what she thinks they are.

"How," she says slowly, "is it possible to have a Gummi Ship without a hatch into the cockpit?"

"Something to do with matching magic to technology." Cid's lip curls in distaste, but it's just a reflex. He, too, peers at the screen as though he can't believe what he's seeing. "The little bastards have some theory about sound patterns and resonating the raw gummi in a Gummi Ship's component blocks to sort of … teleport you in and out, I suppose."

"You _suppose_?"

"Fuck off, Tifa. This shouldn't even be fucking _possible_, and if these figures didn't make a lot of sense I'd be the first to use this disc as a coaster. But …"

"But they _do_ make sense." Tifa stands up, eyebrows raised in astonishment. "Short-range teleportation of molecules through vibrating gummi. Wow."

"Fuuuh…" Cid doesn't even finish his favourite word. He's already sinking into another work trance, reaching blindly for a pen and scribbling numbers onto the paper next to his elbow. It's already covered in his scrawl, fours bleeding into nines, decimal points, multiplication signs and enough pi to fill a bakery. In writing so emphatic it has torn the corner is the sentence 'Are they fucking _nuts_?'

With a small smile, Tifa withdraws and leaves the decorated airship captain to absorb the surprising intelligence of two chipmunks.

* * *

Cloud is waiting at the school gates when Cait Sith finds him. The little fortune-teller is impossible to miss, even though he's three feet shorter than everyone else. He bounces up and down, peering over their heads, and cries out when he spots Cloud.

"Laddie!"

Since Cloud is the only man amongst all the mothers, every eye turns on him. Cait isn't exactly the most respected person in town, but he's considered a harmless novelty, and his arrival is something to help pass the time waiting for their kids.

Cait skids to a halt, using Cloud's legs as a buffer. The impact rattles Cloud's teeth, but he stays on his feet. So does Cait, but that's more a case of clinging than standing. Prising his face away from Cloud's knees, he readjusts his crown and pants like he just ran from his tent on the other side of town.

"Ach … ach … I'm fair peched … give me a minute an' I'll … be right wiya … ach …"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm nae awfy peely-wally, if that's what you mean, just a wee bit peched."

Cloud has no idea what this means. He blinks in confusion.

Cait spots this and rolls his eyes. "I am not sick, just a little tired," he enunciates with painful clarity. Then he reverts to his usual brogue. "So stop lookin' at me like I'm a bampot."

Ah. Cloud knows _that_ one. Yuffie used to just drop by Cait's every now and then, but she's started pestering him more and more since Leon stopped their lessons. Consequently she has picked up all sorts of new words, and loves using them. Cloud wonders whether Cait actually taught them to her, or threw them at her for. Most of them _are _insults, after all.

"I never said you were an idiot."

"Aye, but I'll bet y'were thinkin' it." Cait takes a deep breath, holds it, and then blows it out through his mouth. "That's better. Now, laddie, I've a need o' yer time."

Cloud doesn't know Cait Sith all that well. They have an acquaintance, started like all their group's acquaintances with him: by Yuffie dragging them along to have their fortunes told. Cloud, slightly more gullible than he likes to admit, agreed to a tarot reading only when he learned Zack had also had one, and that Aerith was planning to follow suit. He resolved to take the entire thing with a pinch of salt, until he got home and Zack told him the strange accuracy of _his_ reading.

"It was like he predicted how you and Aerith would react when I told you I loved you," he'd confessed, embarrassed. When you've experienced real magic, like the Buster Sword, tarot pales in comparison. "Misunderstandings, someone acting as a mediator, and finally happiness thnks to some much-needed communication."

So Cloud has mixed feelings at Cait's words now. Novelty or not, there has to be _something_ to Cait's skills. "Me? I'm afraid I haven't time now, Cait, I'm waiting for Kairi to –"

"I dinnae ken you were here for the good o' yer health," Cait snaps, with more aggression than usual. "Bring the bairn, but I've a desperate need to talk wiya, laddie. Away from waggin' ears."

"And this couldn't wait until later?" Cloud mutters, knowing this will be all around town from the Mothers' Grapevine within the hour. "You couldn't have come to fetch me from home?"

"I only just discovered I needed yer ear, an' it's nae sumthin' I want to keep under my hat fer long, y'ken?"

"I, uh, ken. I mean I know. I think." Cloud looks up gratefully as the bell finally rings and children stream from the building.

"Cloud! Cait!" Kairi dashes past Cloud and hugs Cait like a giant stuffed toy. He yelps, but it's clear he's pleased by the attention. Cait has a particularly soft spot fort Kairi, since she's one of his only visitors as small as him. Plus Kairi always asks Aerith to make his favourite rock cakes before she goes to see him.

"Hello there, poppet. Why, yer lookin' right well today – like cauld kail het again."

Kairi giggles. "I don't look like cold cabbage! I look like a little girl."

"'Tis a compliment where I come from."

"It sounds silly."

"All the best ones do, right enough."

"Are you coming home for dinner?" Kairi turns huge eyes on Cloud. "Is Cait coming home for dinner?"

"Nae, princess," Cait says, using his nickname for her. "I've a need to talk to young Cloud at my homestead, is all."

"Oh." Her lower lip juts. "Don't you want to come over to play?"

"We'll see how Cloud feels about havin' me over after he's heard what I have t'say."

A knot of alarm appears in Cloud's gut, but he takes Kairi's hand, and together they wend their way to Cait's tent.

Kairi chatters as they walk, telling them all about her day and the things she and her friends got up to. She's on speaking terms with all the other pre-schoolers, including the ones already there when she and the other new kids arrived. Cloud knows there's supposed to be an implicit line dividing the two groups, but Kairi has somehow bypassed this. What is more, they've let her. She's like Zack, flitting around with a ready smile and ingratiating herself without even having to try; or like Aerith, making people _want_ to spend time with her just by being herself. All of them could charm love out of a rock.

"But I had to bop Randal on the head to make him give Gus his glasses back."

And then use that rock to hit a bully. Hm. Possibly more of Yuffie in that mix than Cloud would've liked. However, the sense of justice that motivates it is pure Tifa. Leon's fairness is in there too, showing up in the way Kairi looks so serious about maintaining equality in the playground.

"And he went _straight_ to Miss Finster and told her what I'd done, but he missed out the part where he took Gus's glasses and tried to bury them in the sandpit. Randall's a leech."

"Where did you learn that word?"

"From Yuffie."

Of course. Naturally.

"Cloud?" Kairi tugs on his sleeve.

"Hm?"

"We're here."

"Are you comin' in, laddie, or do you fancy standin' oot in the street for our chinwag?" Cait bows theatrically for them to pass through the beaded curtain. "After you, pet," he says to Kairi. She giggles and prances through like she owns the place.

They settle her with some paper and crayons from her school bag. She hums a tune Spinelli taught her while she draws wobbly pictures of her friends and family riding unicorns. Later, Aerith will hear the lyrics of this song and forbid her from ever singing it out loud. A little later than that, Yuffie will demand to be taught them and say that 'out loud' doesn't include whispering while hiding behind the couch.

"I had a vision," Cait says without preamble.

Well, this is new. Cait usually deals in tarot, Ouija boards and peering into his crystal ball to see tall dark strangers. "In this thing?" Cloud taps the ball sitting between them.

Cait shakes his head. His expression, insofar as Cloud can read it, is troubled He keeps looking at different points in Cloud's face – his nose, his left ear, his tallest hair spike, his chin – as though comparing what he sees to a memory.

"Was it about me?" Something tells Cloud this isn't a game of chance or parlour trickery. He can't explain it, but the knowledge slides across his skin and makes his back arch and his neck lengthen like the pre-battle stances Tifa taught him.

"I cannae be sure. It was fair blurred, an' visions are never very clear aboot what they mean exactly."

"You've had visions before?"

"You thought I was just a wee trader in flights o' fancy?" Cait's smile shows teeth, as if he knows this is _exactly_ how most people see him and _likes_ it that way. There's a lot of power in not standing out, and a lot more freedom when everyone underestimates you.

Cloud begins to see the little cat, with his silly crown and silly cape, living in his silly candy-striped tent, in a new light. Perhaps Cait Sith isn't as silly as he appears.

"What did you see?"

Cait sighs. "Blood. Lots o' blood, an' even more shadows. Hundreds o' the wee buggers, flittin' aboot like tadpoles in a glass."

"Heartless?" Cloud's own blood runs cold at the thought.

"I couldnae say. Possibly."

"That's not all you saw, is it?" He wouldn't have called Cloud over if it was. This vision is too nebulous; there's nothing to tie it to them. There has to be more.

"No." Cait closes his eyes and his breathing evens. He's silent for a long moment – long enough that Cloud considers speaking again to remind him he's still there. He refrains when Cait says in a voice like a cold wind on a dark night, "Leather unfurls, clawing for air but declawed by its own guilt; it cannot rise unless chasing prey that is not prey. Remorse and shame make cruel bedfellows for dead men, while eyes that look into yesteryear sleep and dream of a better tomorrow. Beware the warrior with an aching heart, torn open and left to rot and fill with the pus of a bleeding darkness. Beware the swordsman who chases shadows of heart, body, soul and mind, while the two sleepers he loves, loved, will love again forget and remember like yesterday's fading starlight."

The silence is thick.

"What does any of that mean?" Cloud asks in a low voice. Cait spoke without his accent, but also without that painful clarity he adopts when trying really hard to be understood. It was as though someone else was using him to speak through.

Cait reopens his eyes. "I havenae the faintest. I was hopin' _you_ might be able t'shed a wee bit o' light on the matter." The accent's back. Even though it's unfathomable as ever, Cloud finds it strangely comforting.

Cloud shakes his head, the movement stiff, as though what he just heard has slipped from his ear canal into his spinal column and seized up the mechanism like sand mixed with oil. "I don't know what to make of it."

Cait raises an eyebrow at him. "I cannae say I believe that. It sounds like a wheen o' blethers t'me, but you've got the oddest look on yer face, laddie. Like bits o' that _mean _something to _you_." He presses the heel of one hand against his eye. "Och, but channellin' visions fair takes it oot a body."

"You think the warrior is me."

"Did I say that? Visions are like tarot – they dinnae always mean what they say, nor say what they mean. No, the reason I wanted your ears was because o' the other part o' the vision."

"There's more?" Cloud's heart sinks into his stomach and sits bubbling sullenly in the acid there. Cait's grim eyebrows don't help. In fact they cut the cables trying to hoist it back into his chest.

"Sumthin' is comin'," Cait says, glancing at Kairi to make sure she isn't listening. "'Tis a bad business on the horizon, right enough."

"Heartless?"

"Maybe. Sumthin' dark an' powerful, at any rate. An' you, laddie, are gonna be key in fightin' it."

"I am?" Cloud is nonplussed. He isn't the hero of the story. Zack and Leon are proper heroes. He's just a guy who can swing a sword without severing his own head – and even that's an achievement every time. He's been saying it for years, and though nobody ever seems to believe him, they've certainly never elevated him to more than 'capable'.

But Cait is certain. "Aye. The vision was very clear aboot that. Your face was blurry, but seein' you now, I'm sure it was you. You was fightin' the darkness an' beatin' it back."

"I was?" Relief floods through Cloud. Now _that's a_ prophecy he can get behind.

"Aye. Wiya big sword."

Cloud thinks of the sword Tifa gave him, stashed at home where he can't accidentally drop it on his foot and shear off his toes. "That sounds better than blood and shadows."

"Aye." Cait doesn't sound especially cheerful, but when Cloud asks he can offer nothing more. "Just remember what I said, lad. Visions o' the future are tricky beggars. They dinnae always mean what they say –"

"Or say what they mean, I get it." Cloud rises to his feet. "Thank you, Cait."

"'Tis nae bother. If it _does_ turn oot t'be Heartless you're fightin', I'd rather you be prepared than not. Feckin' Heartless," he mutters, almost as an afterthought. The vitriol in his voice is less startling than the sad tilt of his mouth.

He declines joining them for dinner, much to Kairi's chagrin, but Cloud's mind is too full of what he's been told to pay much attention.

_Beware the warrior with an aching heart, torn open and left to rot and fill with the pus of a bleeding darkness. Beware the swordsman who chases shadows of heart, body, soul and mind, while the two sleepers he loves, loved, will love again forget and remember like yesterday's fading starlight…_

* * *

"I want you guys to be extra specially careful from now on."

Zack leans his cheek on his fist, elbow propped on the arm of the couch. Aerith, by contrast, sits upright next to him, hands folded in her lap. They both focus solely on Cloud and his earnest, worried gaze. Zack resists the urge to laugh, since laughing would be totally inappropriate. He's not even sure why he wants to laugh. Maybe it's a coping mechanism for when things get too needlessly serious.

"We're always careful. How else do you think Aerith hasn't had any little Clouds or Zacks?"

"Za-ack!" Cloud's serious moment is ruined by his exasperated whine.

"What? Those contraceptive talismans didn't buy themselves."

"Be serious."

Zack sighs. "Okay, but I think you're overreacting. There wasn't anything in Cait's prophecy-vision-thingy that said _conclusively_ it was talking about us."

"I'm the swordsman," Cloud states.

"Maybe so, but we weren't mentioned, were we?"

"'The two sleepers he loves, loved, will love again'?" Cloud tips his head forward and raises his eyebrows meaningfully at them.

"I know I'm not a morning person, but I resent being called a 'sleeper'."

"Let's not split hairs," Aerith breaks in, unfolding one hand to lay it on Zack's knee. "If you think we should be on our guard, Cloud, then that's what we'll do, but only on one condition."

"You can't bargain over –"

"And that's the condition that _you_ take extra care now too. If you _are_ involved, I don't like some of the things Cait said about you." Her forehead creases a little, creating an adorable line between her eyes. Zack's allowed to think even her wrinkles-to-be are adorable, though he draws the line at leaning across to kiss them, given the sombre nature of the discussion.

Cloud pauses for a moment, obviously replaying Cait Sith's words in his head. Then he nods. "All right."

"All _right_." Zack straightens, throwing his arms above his head and pointing his toes to get a full stretch from top to toe. Then he flops back bonelessly, head spilling backwards onto the back of the couch and neck rolling so he has a clear view of the ceiling. "This all seems really heavy for a Friday night. There are so many other, more fun things we could be doing than discussing Cait Sith's creepy nightmares."

"What other things are you thinking about?"

Zack blinks. An unanticipated hand had appeared on his upper thigh. "Things," he says slowly, "like solitaire and needlepoint. Or crochet. And scrapbooking. Arts and crafts. And things."

"How boring," Aerith purrs. There was a time, back when they were just friends, that Zack wouldn't have thought Aerith Gainsborough capable of purring. Certainly he wouldn't have thought her capable of purring like _that_, or working her hand like …

Zack's own hand snaps out and catches her by the wrist. "We're in the living room." Is his voice really that hoarse?

Aerith's eyes seem lit with an inner glow. "Cloud, Zack's being difficult."

"Yuffie isn't home yet," Zack protests.

They make a policy not to be where she can walk in on them, especially since Leon pinned her crush on him against a corkboard and cut off its wings.

Zack is about to point out that he's not saying _no_, just suggesting they move location, when a shadow falls across him. Cloud's knees appear on either side of him on the couch cushions, while his weight settles over Zack's knees. He pushes hard against Zack's shoulders, pinning him against the couch.

"Taking this whole conquering hero thing to heart, aren't you?" Zack breathes after a particularly bone-scorching kiss. Aerith's hands are back, pressing against the flat of his belly, tracing the outline of the muscles there. Zack feels like he should point out _how much_ they need to move this to the bedroom. _Now_.

"I love you two," Cloud says, not entirely unexpectedly. He says it once every five seconds after they get started, but something in his tone betrays that this time is more than clinging to self-control. Cloud means every word, letter and syllable of what he says, deeply and unequivocally. "I love you both, so much."

That conversation with Cait Sith has really spooked him. Cloud clearly likes the idea of helping the ones he sees as 'real' heroes fight the darkness, but he's worried about what it means for his lovers and his family. As ever, it's up to Zack and Aerith to set his mind at rest. The three of them are used to being each other's heroes now, so they can go off and be heroes for everyone else with confidence.

Zack runs a reassuring hand up Cloud's arm. "We're not going anywhere."

"I'd fight the darkness for the rest of my life if it hurt either one of you."

"Cloud, that's sweet, but don't make promises that tempt fate," Aerith says, pecking him on the cheek. Somehow that manages to be both endearing and even hotter than a full lip-lock. Or maybe that's just the heat of the situation working on Zack's brain.

He sits up. Cloud, taken by surprise, wobbles and falls off. He sprawls onto the floor in an ungainly heap.

"Hey!"

"Oh, don't be a cry-baby, conquering hero." Zack stands and takes Aerith's hand, heading for their bedroom, and trusting that Cloud will follow. Which he does. "You have some conquering to do. Maybe then you'll _get it_ that we're not going anywhere without your worrywart ass in tow."

* * *

Yuffie watches the light in the left bedroom flick on. She counts the seconds before it flicks off again – just enough time to get from the doorway to the bed without falling over the clothes on the floor (because as domesticated as Zack and Cloud are, they're still sucky housekeepers) and the person by the light-switch (probably Zack) to fling himself the same distance onto the foot of the mattress in the dark.

She's not a voyeur, but this isn't the first time she's been outside and caught the telltale flick-beat-flick of the light, without an accompanying one heralding Aerith's bedtime in the girls' room. She stands on the rooftop of the nearby building, precariously close to the edge but not at all daunted by the impending splattage three inches from her toes. She's a little too wrapped up in the horrid mixture of emotions sparked by realising what the Not-So-Clueless Trio are up to. She was blithely on her way home, but now she wonders whether it's too cold to sleep here instead.

She doesn't want to deny them anything. The fact that her crush on Leon McMeaniepants hasn't gone away, despite him totally shutting her out, just makes it a little awkward to open her eyes in the morning and see one of them going for the teabags with a rumpled but happy afterglow.

She tried to go back to say sorry to Leon. She hasn't told anyone that. It's too embarrassing. She knew he was inside and booted (well, jimmied with a bobby pin) the apartment door open, only to find his bathroom window gaping and a total lack of anything Leon-shaped anywhere.

"Yeah, you'd better run, coward!" she'd yelled, and then thrown wet balls of toilet paper up and back, so they'd catch him in the face if he was just hiding from her on the roof above the window.

It stings. She refuses to admit it, and will deny it even under torture, but it freaking _stings_ how he's treating her. Especially since she doesn't know what the hell she _did_. If she'd wedgied him, or put cockroaches in his cereal, or insulted Rinoa, then maybe she could understand. Complain like hell, but understand. This icy silence grates on her nerves and turns her smile into an artificial, unpalatable thing – like a face made out of soya.

Worse is her own traitorous heart. It keeps knocking on her brain's door as insistently as she knocked on Leon's, trying to pass on the message that her crush? The thing that used to be all nice and tingly, but has since turned her into a bad case of pins and needles whenever she hears the word 'gunblade'? that thing? It's not going away. Far from it. It has torn up the hotel bill and settled back in bed with the sheets over its head, ignoring the concierge telling it to get lost already.

"You," she says aloud, because it's a myth that only mad people talk to themselves, "have got to get over yourself, Yuffie Kisaragi. He was never anything more to you than the grumpy guy upstairs and your teacher for a while."

Except that Leon _was_ so much more. _Is_ so much more – though she keeps trying to stuff those thoughts back in their box. He started out as their ill-tempered rescuer, became an ally, is her first proper crush, and eventually developed into a friend.

Leon? A friend?

Yup.

He _is_ her friend, though neither one of them has ever actually used the word properly. It's a bizarre sort of friendship, with power balances all out of whack, but it's still a friendship. Or at least it was until Leon decided he prefers working in reverse and went back to being just the grumpy guy upstairs.

"You sure picked a sucky guy to get attached to." Yuffie hunkers down on the edge of the roof and kicks her heels against the wall. "I'm probably gonna get piles, sitting out here on cold stone like this."

She doesn't move.

The gargoyle on the edge of the building leers with sightless eyes. Yuffie scoots over and slings an arm around its neck. "You look kinda like him," she says conversationally. "Sucks to be you, pal."

Whipping out a kunai, she swings around to cling to its underside with fingers hooked around its horned head. She's so close to falling off the building Aerith would probably faint – or at least stand on the cobbles below and yell at her to get down. Holding on by just one hand and her wedged feet, Yuffie scores a deep diagonal furrow across the gargoyle's face. The first slash doesn't take very well, so she works the point in and drags it along in increments, blowing dust from her eyes. The resulting gash is an ugly, open wound, and her kunai is blunted.

"There. Perfect." She whaps the gargoyle on its cold stone nose. "Talk to me, damn it! Tell me what's wrong, because _something_ is going on with you. Is it Rinoa? Are you missing her? Are you really just worried about the Heartless? Well I've got news for you, buddy-boy – that doesn't mean you get to be mean to me and call it catharsis. 'Cause I'll get _my_ catharsis by putting a shuriken up your ass and then sticking a magnet down your throat."

The gargoyle, predictably, says nothing.

Yuffie sighs and clambers up to sit on its shoulders. "I should just ignore you. You're so much freaking hard work, and I can't understand how your brain works. There are obviously some connections in the wrong places." Coming from her, this is an extraordinary statement. "But I never gave up on you before, did I? Nope, when you were all in a funk because we found out about Rinoa, it was always me bashing down your door to make sure you didn't get rickets from hiding yourself away from the sun." She leans her hands on top of the gargoyle's head and pillows her cheek against them. "At least you actually talked to me then. Even if it _was_ just to tell me to use the front door and stop eating your food."

The memory of that time she arrived early for her lesson and found him less than ready leaps to her mind. She doesn't blush, but does tingle at the recollection of biceps freed from their usual jacket.

Far below, the chocobo moves in its shed and kicks one of the walls. The wall holds, and the bird settles down again a few seconds later, having tested its boundaries and found them still sturdy.

Yuffie watches it and wonders whether she'd have been better off born a chocobo: great legs, fluffy feathers that aren't meant to be fashionable, and a licence to shit in the street. Plus, chocobos just get put together by breeders when it's time to make eggs. They didn't have to worry about courting, or having feelings for the wrong bird-who's-still-in-love-with-last-year's-Yule-centrepiece.

"You're making me sound like one of those sad girls who moons over boys and has never had an interesting or original thought beyond plucking her eyebrows. You're turning me into a walking cliché! I hate you, Squall Leonheart, you giant, fucked-up, leather-bound, poofy-haired …" Yuffie punches the gargoyle, then shakes out her sore knuckles. " … reallyreallyreally confusing asshole I still hopelessly, _stupidly_ care about."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *


	57. Invasion of the Redheaded Devils

* * *

**56. Invasion of the Redheaded Devils**

* * *

When Kairi is five another significant meteor shower falls outside Traverse Town. Nobody realises just _how_ significant at the time, but that's the beauty of hindsight: it's only when the shit's spinning around on the fan blades that you can trace the trajectory to see where it was thrown from.

It's the third shower in as many weeks, and brings with it a sense of unease. Three more worlds gone. How many strong are the Heartless now? People get behind Leon's renewed initiative to defend their world, but they streamline their viewpoint to this collection of mismatching buildings and people, and quite forget the rest of the world beyond Traverse Town. Mosey City, Ambleton and Sauntervile may as well be on another planet.

Leon remembers, but since nowhere else in this world has ever been attacked by Heartless, when he tries to spread his initiative he meets with some laughter and a lot of silence.

"The Heartless haven't been around for years, and even when they did they weren't interested in us," says the selfish mayor of Saunterville when Leon hitches a ride with Cloud to present his idea for a united Heartless-fighting force.

"Traverse Town never did us any favours. Why should we help _you_?" responds the equally selfish, even more blinkered mayor of Wander Harbour.

Leon points out that if the Heartless try to overrun this world like they've done to so many others, Traverse Town won't be the only place in jeopardy.

The mayor just sneers. "But your first loyalty is still to your own town, isn't it? You would neglect us in a time of crisis as long as that squalid little cesspit remains unscathed."

Cloud wonders whether to add a side-car to the chocobo after that. The force of Leon's suppressed fury practically gives Cloud sunburn on the back of his neck. Leon only gets worse as time goes on and his altruism is beaten back by apathy, spite and self-interest.

"I shall only talk to the mayor of this 'Traverse Town'," sniffs a weedy, tweedy, reedy man in a business suit who claims to be Moochville's mayor. "I don't deal with riffraff, only elected officials, and even then only through proper channels."

Leon tells him Traverse Town _has_ no mayor, since it was just a tiny place with no need of one before world orphans began landing there. "There's a sort of council who make decisions if necessary, but it's all very informal. Mostly people self-govern."

The man arches an eyebrow so high it's practically on top of his head. "No mayor? No elected government? Just a collection of people doing whatever they want and calling themselves a town? No _tax system_? Well, that would explain a great many _shortcomings _of _that place_."

Cloud insists Leon and he go for a 'cooling down walk' before they attempt going home that time.

"We can defend ourselves adequately without your help," replies the ruling council in Ville de Promenade. The place is so anti-dictatorship the council has become a sprawling thing, and so makes very few decisions since it takes so long for all two hundred councillors to resolve more than the day's sandwich fillings. On Leon's proposal, however, they are united – the Heartless are not as immediate a threat as rising taxes and falling birth rates compared to Mosey City, so the Heartless can go and take a running jump onto the spears of the Ville de Promenade Lawmen (which re much, much better than the Mosey City Lawmen thankyouverymuch).

The worst response comes from Ramble City, who send back a pigeon with an unfriendly look in its eye and a letter on its leg.

'_We do not believe these 'Heartless' creatures actually exist. Our university professors assure us that travelling between dimensions is a physical impossibility, and since we have no substantial evidence to the contrary beyond conjecture and a few disproven textbooks that, quite frankly, are more use as kindling than literary texts, we politely decline your offer to set up a Heartless Combative Initiative in Ramble City.'_

This blatant and wilful ignorance is staggering. It comes as no surprise to learn that none of the world orphans who've left Traverse Town have even made their homes in Ramble City.

"Do they think walking, talking animals were an _accident_?" Zack fumes, incensed by this dismissal of a very real threat. If they went there and told those people about being jettisoned from their world, about the clawing, skulking shadows that chased them into this one and still burn in their dreams, Ramble City would probably try to tell them they're hallucinating or suffering from paranoid delusions.

"They're all so narrow-minded," Cloud says after another failed trip with Leon, wherein they tried to show the gunblade and chocobo as evidence and were castigated for mistreating 'the poor genetically abnormal emu'. People are so intent on _not_ accepting the seriousness of the threat, or what it means for them, they can convince themselves of anything. "It's like being back in Hollow Bastion."

"They're just frightened." Aerith tries, but she's not even convincing herself when it comes to the rudeness Cloud, Zack and Leon endure in their quest to protect people who don't believe they need protecting.

"They're all idiots," Tifa says succinctly.

"Big freaking idiots," Yuffie agrees.

Leon just grunts and sets about working with what they have. However, few of the Traverse Town volunteers have any skills they can offer beyond moral support. Not many of those who survived the destruction of their worlds are warriors.

Which makes the two survivors from this new meteor shower all the more interesting.

"Fuckthemotherwhofuckedyourdaddytomakeyou!"

"So let me get this straight: you have the technology to travel between dimensions, and _magic_, but you still send letters by carrier pigeon because nobody's invented a postal service?"

"GetoffmyarmbeforeIsnapoffyourfingersandusetehmforanashtray!"

"Hey, I'm trying to have a conversation over here. Quit being such a whiner."

"Say that again when he takes _your_ blood."

"Frightened of what the tests will find? I told you that girl in Junon was a bad idea."

"Go die in a corner."

Yuffie pauses next to the skylight. Rather than swing in like she planned, she takes a moment to consider the voices within. This is unusual for her, but she's been doing all sorts of unusual things lately, so she figures she'll just go with it.

Besides, she's learning all sorts of new phrases too. Fingers as an ashtray?

"Saint-mothering _fuck_."

Another good one.

"Honestly, you make a big deal over the smallest things."

"No, that's you and your dick."

"Hey, hey, hey!" There goes Dr. Sweet, wading into the fray. Yuffie's almost sad. "Keep it kid-friendly, guys. No need to get offensive."

"His _face_ offends me. Does that mean I can kick it in?"

"Try it, motormouth. It's been a while since I really kicked your ass."

"There aren't any kids here, Doc," says one of the voices to which Yuffie doesn't yet have a name. It's a laconic kind of voice, but since she just heard it raised and shouting things that'd make Cid's ears flap, that's no indication of the character behind it. She supposes it's not a bad voice – except that it sounds an awful lot like the other new one, making it sometimes difficult to tell one from the other now they're both talking normally.

"Except for you, of course."

"The hell? I'm two years older than you."

"Only chronologically. Mentally is a different story."

"Actually, fellahs," Dr. Sweet breaks in again, "there _is_ a kid present. She's on the roof, listening to you two yell at each other six ways from Sunday."

Ah. Rumbled. Obviously the big bald guy knows her better than she thought.

Either that or one of the others tipped him off about her curiosity over the newcomers and now he's bluffing.

Yuffie flips open the skylight and hooks her feet on either side, dangling upside down into the room. She waves at the three figures within. She's been to the Survivor Centre before, multiple times. She was even banned once, after a memorable incident involving bedpans and the stack of teddy bears kept for children. She knows she's looking in on the tiny medical room, which is actually more of a bathroom with a couple of examination tables, a waste paper basket, a skylight and a small desk.

"Excuuuuuuse me," Yuffie chirrups, folding her arms at Dr Sweet, "but I _happen_ to be seventeen friggin' years old."

"If it walks like a kid, talks like a kid and acts like a kid, then brother, it's a kid." Dr. Sweet's eyes flash with amusement at her righteously indignant expression.

"I'm almost old enough to vote in your world. I could be electing political leaders and helping make decisions that could change the face of the planet."

"Scary thought. Now get down from there, girl, before you fall and smash your skull open. I left Aerith at the surgery an' I don't wanna be putting no jigsaw skulls back together today."

Yuffie sniffs, but unhooks both feet at the same time and falls headfirst.

"Wait a –" Dr. Sweet starts, proving he may think he knows her but he actually doesn't have a clue.

Yuffie tucks into a perfect roll and lands right side up in a crouch. She straightens with her arms outstretched and her meagre chest thrust forward, gymnast-style. "Ta-daaaaaaah!"

"Some kid," says one of the newcomers.

Unsure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment, she focuses on his face to decide whether or not he deserves a smack.

Each of the two tables bears a man, like a pair of bookends. 'Gangly' is the only word that really describes them – long dangling legs, long skinny torsos, long arms with long hands and long fingers, long necks, long straight noses and long hair.

Yuffie blinks at the one who spoke. _Red_ hair, and not just boring old auburn or ginger, but proper red, like the midwife dunked his follicles in tomato juice at birth and he never outgrew the after-effects. His hair isn't just red, it's RED.

"You look like you're suffering severe head wounds, buddy."

"And you look like an explosion in a fashion disaster factory."

Yuffie preens. "I can change my outfit. You'll always be ugly."

He grins at her, showing white teeth.

The right guy kicks him in the shin. His spiky hair isn't nearly so bright, veering more for red-spliced-with-brown that darkens the whole effect and makes him look like a dead hedgehog. "Stop goading the jailbait."

Yuffie scowls. She's getting mighty sick of people judging her solely on her age these days. Does nobody know anything bout _intellectual _maturity? "Hel-lo? Nearly _eighteen_."

"You look about twelve."

"And you look like a dead hedgehog."

The redhead laughs. "He's right. What happened to your rack? Did you pop the balloons on the way in?"

Yuffie purses her lips and spins to face Dr Sweet. "Do you have any spare needles full of sulphuric acid? Or a couple of those paddles that give electric shocks?"

* * *

Aerith doesn't know what she's expecting to find when she gets to the Survivor Centre. She's pretty sure it's not what she walks in on.

"Yuffie?"

"Hey, Ponytail."

Aerith doesn't move out of the doorway. "Why … are you doing that?"

"He made one too many wisecracks."

She doesn't ask the next question: why is he _letting_ you do that? She hasn't had that much contact with the two newcomers, aside from checking them over for basic healing, and placating Zack when one of them goosed her while he was watching. Nevertheless, the vibe she picked up that day was streetwise attitude, brash humour and a disturbing kind of oblique violence. None of that lends itself to lying on the floor with a teenager on your back braiding your hair.

The answer to the unanswered question clicks suddenly. "Oh, _Yuffie_. What did you hit him with?"

"Just my fist." She ties a knot in the end of one tiny braid and hums merrily as she reaches for another lock of hair. There's an elastic band on her wrist from where she undid his ponytail.

The other newcomer is on his back on the examination table. At first Aerith thinks he, too, is unconscious, but then she notices he's shaking. She moves closer, wondering whether he's having some sort of fit and running through a mental catalogue of possible causes, since their medical history is still a mystery. Dr. Sweet was supposed to be investigating today. The catalogue of what could be wrong with him runs through Aerith's mind: epilepsy, diabetes, plain old shock. Then she realises he's shaking with _laughter_.

"This is too priceless. Oh, _please_ tell me someone in this dumb dimension invented the camera. I need to preserve this. His _face_ when you popped him – he never saw that one coming. And you're such a scrawny little thing, too. Taken down by – whoo-ha-ha-ha-haaa!"

"I," Yuffie says with theatrical dignity, "am not scrawny. Leastways you'd better not call me that or I have something that could really hurt you."

"I'll be watching those nippy fists from now on."

"Okay, but while you're watching my nippy fists, my nippy feet will kick you in the crotch."

Aerith kneels by the unconscious man. His upper lip is cut, but otherwise he's unhurt. She frowns, but closes her eyes and allows a blossom of magic to open above him.

The laughter stops abruptly.

When she opens her eyes the other man is sitting upright, watching her. "What'd you just do to him?" he asks in quite a different voice.

"She healed him, dummy," Yuffie replies without breaking her concentration, though Aerith, familiar with the gradations of Yuffie's body language, notices her stiffen slightly. She's on the defensive on Aerith's behalf, though she doesn't stop braiding, and gives no other outward sign she's ready to fly at his throat if he makes the wrong move.

"With magic?"

"No, with an armadillo in a tutu." Yuffie ties off the only part-finished braid when her model groans and shifts under her. "Sleeping Beauty's awake."

"Anybody get the name of that fucker in the truck?" he grunts.

"Yuffie Kisaragi, if you must know. But you can call me Mistress Whose Boots I Am Not Fit to Lick and Whose Chest Must Not Be A Future Subject of Mockery. Did you get all that, or should I write it down?"

"Yuffie," Aerith warns. She looks around. Where _is_ Dr. Sweet, anyway? He should be here now, since he was the one who summoned her.

"The Doc's in the can," the man on the table says, as if reading her mind – or at least the flick of her eyes. "So you're a healer, huh?"

"I told you that before, when I checked you over after you first arrived."

"Oh yeah. Right before Reno grabbed your butt and that guy with the big sword tried to mash his face."

"He wouldn't have ma–"

"This guy grabbed your butt?" Yuffie interrupts. She whaps the groaning man on the back of his newly healed head. "Don't you have any manners? Didn't your mother ever teach you not to go grabbing strange women in tender places? Did she ever tell you that's the easy way to get your gonads hacksawed off by irritated ninjas?"

"My mother never taught me shit."

"Now, now," corrects the other man, not quite laughing now. He must be some sort of relation, Aerith thinks. The threads of distinctive red say so. It's is too unusual a shade to be shared by many. Unless, of course, everyone in their world has the same hair colour – a theory disproved a moment later. "She did teach us one thing: it's a really bad idea to get yourself killed in a shootout when your kids are watching." He grins, and it's not an altogether encouraging sight. His grin has a wild edge to it, like flickers of lightning spiralling off the main bolt.

"My mother taught me never to have kids," Yuffie replies with the same kind of flickery smile. She's bouncing off these two like she's known them for years – Aerith is startled and then wonders why. Yuffie often doesn't gel with those not on her wavelength, but these two apparently _are_, even though the flickers around Yuffie's smile are tinged with unease over what she's so readily telling them. You wouldn't know where to look if you didn't know her smiles as well as Aerith does. "They kill you when you give birth to them."

"Feh," says the guy under her, bucking slightly to make her get off. "Our_ daddy_ taught us you die during childbirth."

"Your dad was a hermaphrodite?"

"No, he got drunk and fell off the roof while our mother was in labour. She had to drag his body into the back of the truck and drive herself to the hospital, and then check the both of them in before ordering the orderlies to get her some damn painkillers."

The whoosh of a flushing toilet heralds Dr. Sweet's reappearance. He stops in the doorway, just as Aerith did, and stares. "Well it wasn't like this when I left. I thought you kids promised not to kill each other or cause too much property damage for five minutes."

"Serves you right for choosing the three bean salad, Doc," says the man on the table, "and abandoning us when we clearly can't be trusted with this little lady." He nods at Yuffie.

"I'm more worried what she'd do to _y'all_ if I left her alone with you too long." He pauses. "Are those braids?"

* * *

They're not nearly as alike as they first appear. And it's not just the hair that sets them apart.

Maybe Yuffie should've gotten the guys' names before she started knocking them unconscious. As it is, it's only when Dr. Sweet has ushered her victim back to his seat, and he has complained about the cold table in a twenty-word sentence including sixteen curse words, that she finally finds out who they are beyond the all-encompassing handles of 'newcomers' and 'world orphans'.

The one she punched is Reno. He gives no other name, and sulkily claims he doesn't have one when asked. He probably would've snapped, but Aerith does the asking and it's difficult to snap at Aerith when she's been sweet and soft-spoken like this – like she's tempting half-drowned kitten from the sack pulled out of the canal. Yuffie mentally dubs him Mullet Boy until she can think up something better. She sits cross-legged on the floor and gazing up at him with her chin on her fists. He eyes her like a snake that's swallowed a mouse, only to realise it's a cow when it's halfway down.

"_What_?" he demands after a while.

"You have a mullet."

"I have stinking _braids_ too, thanks to you."

"I think they look nice." Green eyes flash in counterpoint to Reno's sullen blue. "Very fetching."

"Go fuck yourself with a hypodermic, yo."

Reno's brother grins.

When he introduces himself he never takes those eyes off Yuffie, as if gauging her reaction as the only one in the room he hasn't met before. "They name's Lea," he drawls. "Spelled L-E-A, but pronounced 'lay' – as in 'good for a'." At her sceptical expression he adds, "Got it memorised?" and grins some more until Reno kicked him with the toe of one shiny shoe. Whatever else they may be, they're good at picking footwear.

"Quit making me feel sick. Your name's 'lee', not 'lay', and you're not some smooth-talker, you're an idiot with a bad haircut and a big mouth you open too often. As long as we're the only two who survived, it's up to me to keep your pansy ass out of trouble."

"Because you promised Ma on her deathbed?" Lea glares at him, rubbing his shin.

"No, because if I didn't and you got yourself killed you'd haunt me for the rest of my life. At least with you alive I can be reasonably sure you aren't watching me do stuff when I think I'm in private, yo."

"Don't flatter yourself, asshole."

Yuffie sticks out her tongue at Reno. "I've barely been here any time at all and that's, like, the millionth time you've referred to sex. Are you obsessed? Do you have some sort of penile fixation? Or uterus envy? Or are you just a dirty old perv?"

"Dirty old perv," Lea replies before Reno even has time to open his mouth. "Definitely a dirty old perv." He winks at Yuffie, and something strange happens in the pit of her stomach.

A short while later, however, her stomach is just plain growling, and neither Dr. Sweet nor Aerith show any sign of letting up the Q n' A. Yuffie briefly wonders what cotton balls from Dr. Sweet's medikit would taste like. Then she dismisses the idea. If needs be, she can just shimmy up to the skylight and escape while they're distracted by the Gruesome Twosome.

"You two are taking this whole ordeal pretty well," Aerith remarks.

Reno shrugs. "We survived. Nobody else did. Yay for us, and a big cup of 'well shit' for them."

This summarises a lot of their worldview, though nobody realises it right now. They're all too intent on getting the basics they always do from newcomers to Traverse Town: names, whatever history they're willing to part with, former world, future plans, and so on and so forth until the questions run out or the questioned walk away. Leon's the one who prefers to do this part, but Aerith murmurs something about him being detained, and says they should just keep going until he shows up.

_Colour me gone-vamoosed-and-outta-here when that happens_, Yuffie thinks.

"We need to find a place for you to stay, until you can figure out whether you want to remain in Traverse Town or not," Aerith says to Reno and Lea. "The Survivor Centre isn't equipped for long-term guests, but one or two people in town may be willing to put you up for a while until you start earning enough to pay rent."

"Or, y'know, until you get the hell out of town," Yuffie adds, because she knows who some of those volunteers are. Who the hell would ever want to stay at Aunt Sarah's, or with Muriel Finster?

Reno and Lea exchange a look that expresses more than it seems to. They talk a lot, but they say even more without speaking. It's the first of many indications that they're not actually as flighty, crude or idiotic as they appear.

Neither is heavily built, but there's a sense of barely suppressed energy that suggests upper body strength has never been an issue. Reno leans back on his hands, oozing charm like a beheaded flower oozes sap.

"Where else would we go, yo? We're total newbies, relying on the kindness of your hearts to take us in and teach us the ropes about this strange, scary new world we find ourselves in."

"Flattery won't get you out of paying the rent," Yuffie chimes.

"_Yuffie_," Aerith scolds out the side of her mouth. "Stop making this more difficult than it has to be."

Yuffie juts out her bottom lip, even though she's not actually bothered about being reprimanded in public. It just seems like a good response – very theatrical and dramatic Likewise the rolling of her eyes.

Lea's gaze slides away from her. It's the only way she knows he was watching in the first place. Yuffie inwardly curses herself for not picking up on that – her badass ninja skills must be on the fritz. Lea starts quizzing Dr. Sweet about something. Diversion tactics? Maybe.

Yuffie grabs her toes and rocks back and forth on her tailbone, seeing how long she can keep her feet off the floor without falling over. She's up to six minutes by the time Lea looks back and gives her a grin that stupid fairytale book would describe as 'wolfish'. Her hormones jangle like they've been sipping pure caffeine with scant coffee grounds since last Thursday.

_The hell?_ She nearly falls on her tush. Or … off her tush, actually.

Naturally, Leon hates both Lea and Reno on sight.

And why not? They're everything he's not, and vice versa. He walks through the door, muttering an apology for being late, like it's his sworn duty to be in on this. His uptightness rolls trough the door with him and smashes against the bubble of energetic boredom in the room. As if things aren't crowded enough with six bodies squeezed into such a tiny space, Leon's ego fills the gaps and _constricts_ around everyone when he narrows his eyes.

Yuffie feels like she can't breathe, and not in the good way.

He nitpicks. He carps. He interrogates like a Royal Guard, not the saviour of Traverse Town. He finds faults and clenches his jaw. He picks holes in Reno and Lea's story. He snipes and uses more sarcasm than Yuffie has heard from him in months. He uses actual _words_, for cripes' sake, not just the usual grunts and glares people are meant to translate. That in itself would be an indication he's rattled, if the disapproval wasn't already singeing off her eyebrows, eyelashes and all her nasal hair. She'll be completely bare-faced if he keeps this up – and it looks like Leon is prepared to keep this up for a long time.

Lea and Reno don't look ready to roll over either, even if it would end the 'discussion' (which approaches 'mud-slinging' with each passing second). They meet Leon's questions with various dashes of cynicism and irony, crossing the boundaries into derision and rudeness more than once. Their lack of respect irks Leon, which is bizarre, as Yuffie knows Cid has said much worse and never achieved this kind of reaction. Something about the brothers lights a touch-paper within Leon. In return, they seem to find his temper funny, trading looks and sniggering. They know they're riling him, ands they know he's probably not the guy to rile when they're new and have no friends, nor even a place to live yet. Bouncing off each other gives them the confidence to do it anyway. When Leon pushes they push back, two-against-one.

And strangely … Yuffie isn't as irritated as she might've been if Leon hadn't been such an ass to her. She gets unkind satisfaction in watching them take him down a peg or two – or try to, at least. At any rate, their refusal to show respect despite Leon's obvious status draws a fierce little smile from her. It's fun to watch, like flames trying to burn a rock with gasoline at its centre.

So when Leon takes a breath to start a proper rant, she goes to their rescue. "C'mon." She grabs a long arm under each of her own and drags the two men off the tables. "I'm starved. I'll show you the best places to eat in this town."

"Your treat?" Reno immediately prompts. It sounds like a question but it's really not.

"We'll see. I might just let you stuff your faces and then crawl out the ladies' room window, then laugh at you scrubbing dishes to pay for the meals. I'd love to see all that hair in nets. You'd look like the catch of the day after someone took a hammer to it."

"You're all heart," says Lea, shooting a triumphant glance over his shoulder at Leon.

_Game, set, match. Winner, Yuffie_, she thinks, equally triumphant.

* * *

Yuffie has no idea what a Turk is, but apparently that's what Reno and Lea are. They say this with a bizarre mix of pride and apathy, as if it's just a job, nothing special, except in all the ways it's not and it is. She gleans from their back-and-forth talk that Turks are the equivalent of an undercover law-keeping force spliced with spies in their world.

"After a fashion," Reno says with a smirk.

"Let me guess: keeping the law involves hitting people a lot." At his expression she spreads her hands. "Ninja, remember? It's what my clan did. A lot. Depending on who was paying, of course."

Lea nods and stirs his coffee. Both brothers ordered the kind that dissolves metal spoons, then dumped in enough creamer and sugar to need straws so they don't slop the first few mouthfuls. "I can't believe a skinny little thing like you is a ninja."

"Believe it, buddy."

"So you kill people for money?" It's a loaded question and Yuffie can sense this, even if she can't tell why.

"I was a ninja-in-training when I left my corner of our world," she says diplomatically.

"Would you?"

"Would I what? And no kinky responses from you." She wags a finger at Reno.

"Would you still kill if the payoff was high enough?" Bright green eyes bore into hers. For the second time this year Yuffie actually stumbles before coming up with a response.

"Who's asking? Don't tell me you've already decided to take that path when you've only been here five seconds. At least get to know people before you decide to bump them off."

Lea laughs. "I don't know. That Leon guy, maybe…" He sips his coffee but watches her over the rim of his mug.

Yuffie keeps her expression carefully neutral, though the nice feeling in her belly twists suddenly and sharply, becoming not so nice. "Leon's cool. He totally rescued us when we first arrived. Introduced us around town and made sure we had a roof over our heads and everything. Even if he did also introduce us to the grossness that is _soy_."

"'Us'?"

Briefly, Yuffie goes through the list of names she keeps close to her heart. She gives the edited version of how they got here, emphasising the role of the Heartless and watching for their reactions. Lea's fingers tighten around his mug, but Reno just slouches and slurps. His natural stance seems to be a slouch, whether standing or sitting, and his default expression caught somewhere between a smirk and a leer. By comparison Lea's mouth is permanently curled into a knowing smile, even when his knuckles begin to bleach.

"But the Heartless haven't been here in _ages_," she finishes. "Leon reckons it's only a matter of time before they come back and try to eat this world too, after they get stronger from picking on easier targets, which is why he's all big on finding out people's special skills to recruit them for his cause. He's, like, a wannabe cult leader and we're all his deluded disciples."

"You think he's deluded?" Lea asks, voice devoid of all emotion – except, perhaps, mild amusement.

"I think that if the Heartless _do_ come back they'll focus on Traverse Town, since the gummi shield around here's thinnest after so many world orphans plopped into our laps. It's like a sieve up there, and the hole gets bigger every time new people arrive. I also think that if any Heartless turn up, I wanna be first in line to carve up their asses. They owe me. Or I owe them, but none of them ever hung around long enough to collect my IOU."

"So you're willing to spend the rest of your life fighting Heartless because they offed your clan, put you in this crummy one-horse town, and gave you a few bad dreams?"

"One-chocobo town. There aren't any horses here."

Reno drains his coffee and finally wades into the conversation. "Poor widdle baby. Did the nasty wasty shadows give you nightmares?"

"You mean you don't have any after they ate _your_ world?" She'll never admit she's anything remotely _like _Leon-the-Asshole, but Reno seems adept at getting under her skin as easily as that gunblade-swinging idiot's. She keeps her tone light, which is pretty easy as she's done it all her life. It'd be more effort to sound serious. "Were you asleep when Lea saved your scraggy butt? Or did I mishear the part where he saved you like a big weepy princess from her tower?"

"Let's get something straight, sweetheart," Reno drawls. "I? Don't get nightmares. Not anymore. And I _don't_ need saving. Ever. By anybody."

"So you _do_ the saving?"

"If it's in the job spec."

"Is that a Turk-thing or a you-thing?"

"Little bit of both."

"So if it wasn't in the job spec to save your brother, you wouldn't do it?"

Reno pauses, and his half-lidded eyes flick over her face. "I hate a smart-ass kid."

"Good, because they all hate you too. They lurk outside your window singing 'sourpuss grumpy face' and throwing eggs." Yuffie leans forward. "So what's with the weird make-up?"

Reno arches his neck, showing her the underside of his chin. Maybe it's supposed to belittle her, but she just cranes her own neck to one side.

"I can see right up your nostrils. You need to clean up there. And prune back the ol' nasal mullet. Yuck."

He allows his chin to tip towards his neck again, and meets Lea's gaze over her head before answering. "It's another Turk thing."

"Ooh, sounds like a cool story!"

"Actually, it's really not," says Lea. "One night in a tattoo parlour, lots of alcohol to numb the pain, and voila – last part of the initiation was over."

"Initiation! See, cool story just _begging _to be told right there. Aw, c'mon, I told you more than that about my history! Throw me a bone here. Yours sounds all interesting and fun and _kickass._ Are those suits part of the whole Turk thing? Are you not telling me because you're sworn to secrecy? Are you just trying to maintain an air of mystique? Enquiring minds _really_ wanna know, and those enquiring minds know how to turn coffee spoons into deadly weapons."

"It wouldn't be difficult to turn these into deadly weapons." Reno balances one speculatively between his thumb and forefinger. "I think I once popped a guy's eye out with one."

"You _think_?"

"I also think I was drunk at the time."

A little thrill goes through Yuffie. She suspected it before, and they've all but told her what they did for a living before their world died, but this tiny exchange hammers home to her how dangerous these two men are. Lea and Reno aren't survivors like Grandmother Willow – benign, helpful, kind beyond reason. They may not be reacting badly to their situation because they've hardened themselves to calamity, seeing it as just another part of their lifestyle. That this calamity is bigger than anything they could've predicted before is just a case of scale – the bigger the disaster, the bigger their ability not to react to it. Which is how Reno's able to crack jokes about her chest and Lea's able to stare at her like that when they've recently witnessed the darkness devour everything they ever knew.

"You know," she says, testing the water while also tipping her head back and balancing three sugar cubes on her nose, because she's just that incredible at multitasking, "if you've been sworn to secrecy it's pretty out of date now, on account of who the hell is going to _know_ anymore?"

"The devil's in the details." Reno whips out a hand, impossibly fast, snags a sugar cube and pops it into his mouth. "Turk loyalty goes on as long as there are Turks. And _we're_ Turks."

Yuffie picks up another cube and replaces it on the tower without looking. "Can I be a Turk too?"

"This world is so naïve. And so are you."

"Hey! What part of my story makes you think I'm naïve?" She doesn't delve into the memories she never touches, or the ones about Godo dying, or Leon, or anything like that, but her mind ghosts over them and directs the skimmed-off emotion into her expression.

"If you knew anything about Turks, you wouldn't ask to be one, yo."

"How do you know?"

"Nobody _wants_ to be a Turk. Not unless they're a little bit crazy."

"Like you guys?"

Lea smiles that knowing smile again. "We're the best at what we do."

"So we must be a _lot_ crazy," Reno finishes.

"Some people would say that about ninjas, but I still find people who dream about being them. I even had a fan club. People like danger – or they like the idea of it, at least."

"Those are the kind of people who need protecting from themselves," Lea says.

Yuffie jolts her neck up, catching the three sugar cubes in her mouth. She looks between the two of them as she crunches. "You should fit in around here just fine. But no killing people. Nobody survived the Heartless for you to coffee-spoon them to death."

Reno slouches so low in his seat he's practically on the floor. "We'll see."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_His hair isn't just red, it's RED. _

-- Riffs off a Billy Connolly routine about the sea in the Caribbean.

_The one she punched is Reno. He gives no other name, and sulkily claims he doesn't have one when asked._

-- Reno, the Turks and Junon are all from Final _Fantasy VII_ (finalfantasy. wikia. com/wiki/Reno).

"_Good, because they all hate you too. They lurk outside your window singing 'sourpuss grumpy face' and throwing eggs."_

-- Incidentally what was shouted t Edmund's window during the Blackadder II when he refused to welcome Sir Walter Raleigh home from sea.

* * *


	58. Swelling the Ranks of the Righteous

**57. Swelling the Ranks of the Righteous. Or Something.**

* * *

Lea and Reno decide to join the Heartless Combative Initiative – or as they call it, the Anti Heartless Artillery – which just gives them chance to leap out and shout "AHA!" a lot.

They offer their services with a shrug, as though they're not that invested in fighting the darkness, but don't have anything better to do. When asked what special skills they can offer, they smirk and say in unison, "Killing."

They don't specify killing _what_.

Turks, it emerges, were a cross between assassins, mercenaries and dogsbodies – they'd do anything for the right price, and if it matched with their personal, very skewed code of ethics. Since those shadowy men and women had no reservations about murder if they felt it was deserved, Yuffie and her friends wonder what this code actually entailed. Whatever it was, apparently Reno and Lea still stick to it – though Yuffie extracts a reluctant promise they won't assassinate anyone in _this_ world unless they want to get up close and personal with several swords and even more fists.

Leon tries to refuse. He wants them nowhere near his Initiative.

"They're loose cannons," he argues, along with other things that basically boil down to he just doesn't like or trust them. It's almost childish, if childish could ever be applied to him.

"So was I when we first met," Zack points out evenly. "You didn't know me, but you still gave me a chance, and look at all the good we've done." He gestures at the Survivor Centre, and at the rest of the happy, bustling citizens, able to go about their daily lives, content in the knowledge that they have warriors on their side who know how to defeat Heartless. "We can't afford to pass up an opportunity like this. They _do _have good combat skills."

"We'll see."

"I've already tested them."

"I said we'll see."

Childish only began to cover it. Nobody else ever had to be tested. Nobody else was grilled as thoroughly.

Then again, nobody else ever cheerfully announced six different ways to break a man's kneecaps using just a thumbtack, or told stories about snapping turncoat informants' fingers the way others tell stories about the puppy they had when they were ten.

Lea and Reno seem just too competent to leave out. Cloud, Aerith and Tifa find their opinions elevated even though they aren't actively devoted to the cause like Zack and Leon. Cloud still has his delivery service, Tifa has Cid's shop, and Aerith remains at Dr. Sweet's surgery, but despite this they meet and talk to Lea and Reno, if only to dispel Leon's misgivings and give Zack some support.

"They're definitely wild cards," says Tifa. "But your past doesn't have to be your future. The people they worked for are gone, and they have no grudge against anyone in town. They're not _evil_. Yuffie seems to like them, and she's a pretty good judge of character."

Yet instead of helping, this just sends Leon even deeper into his disapproval. Eventually Zack confronts him about giving the two Turks a chance. Lea and Reno may not have respectable, upstanding pasts, but not every hero has to be shiny. Maybe their armour having a bit of tarnish will make it easier for them to sneak up on unsuspecting Heartless.

"I'm not willing to take a chance with people's safety," Leon unwaveringly replies. "Not on mercenaries. People rely on us. We can't have any weak links in the chain."

"You didn't seem so choosy when you were trying to persuade all those other cities to get involved in this," Zack says in exasperation.

"We need people whose first thought is protecting people, not killing them."

"Look, Leon, I'm not sure I trust them as far as I can sneeze them out my ear, but the fact is they've done nothing to justify you treating them like this. In fact, they've been better behaved than half the other recent survivors – they never complained about whose house you placed them in when they needed a place to live, they've offered to help fight the Heartless, and they haven't gone off the deep end and tried to kill themselves or smash up the place. They _want_ to help us."

"That's the point."

"What?"

"Did you see how little they reacted to the death of their world? That kind of coldness unnerves me."

Zack is shocked. Leon never confesses weaknesses if he can help it.

Leon glances around, as if not wanting anyone else to hear, but they're sparring in the sewers and nobody ever follows them down there. They can always be assured of privacy when surrounded by bilge water. "I wouldn't want to have that callousness next to me in a fight."

"Why not? Isn't that what your Royal Guards needed to be successful at their jobs – the ability to take a life if they had to, in order to defend those they swore to protect?"

Leon frowns. He has talked about his time as Captain of the Guard – what he can remember of it - ut it's usually him who brings it up. Zack has heard all about the other members of Leon's team, and was shocked to learn that certain members of Hollow Bastion _he'd_ known were Guards before the magic plunked them into different lives. Headmaster Lazard and Miss Trepe were the most shocking – that the headmaster who'd sighed and chuckled over his antics as a kid, and the beleaguered teacher who'd tried to contain Zack, Cloud, and Aerith could once have been as skilled in battle as Leon says … Nope, Zack _still_ finds that hard to wrap his mind around.

"The Royal Guards were taught mercy as much as combat techniques," Leon replies. "They each knew the value of a life. I don't think Lea or Reno do, and what that might mean for those they fight alongside … concerns me." His words are so full of meaning they sag in the middle; though Zack gets the feeling Leon didn't intend them that way.

"Is there something else going on here that I should know about?" Zack asks as gently as he dares, knowing too much gentleness from him, over something like this, will probably make the self-contained Leon withdraw further. Leon sees Zack as an equal and wouldn't appreciate being talked to like a child.

Too late. Leon scowls and doesn't reply, except to repeat what he has already said. "They're bad news," he adds. "They'll be trouble in the long-term."

An echo of Cait Sith's vision pops into Zack's head, with its warning that the darkness is going to return and will need to be beaten back if they're to survive. "If the Heartless ever attack and we're outnumbered, there may not _be_ a long-term."

* * *

What breaks the argument is Kairi. Walking home from school several weeks later, she and Cloud meet Lea and Reno in the street. Neither stoops to say hello, as a lot of people do when Kairi smiles at them, and she pauses to watch their approach. They walk as they always do, swaggering like they own the place, flicking lackadaisical looks at people and knowing ones at each other. When they reach Cloud, tugging on Kairi's hand, they also pause.

"Have I got greens between my teeth, kid?" Lea asks of her stare.

"Your heart," she says. "It's shouting."

"Say what?"

Cloud looks at Kairi with concern. This is the first time she has talked about listening with her heart since Grandmother Willow died. They were all able to dismiss that time as the old woman's doing. If Kairi is resurrecting it now it means _she_ was the instigator. The implications of that are dreadful alongside the increased Heartless activity on other worlds. Kairi would be like a shining beacon to them if she truly is a keyblade wielder. The darkness would definitely see her as a threat and try to destroy her.

"But I can't hear the words," Kairi goes on cryptically, staring not at Lea's face but at his chest. Cloud's chest constricts instinctively with worry.

Lea glances at him, disdain and amusement written in his eyes. "I think your kid's been too long at the books, man. It's sent her loopy."

"It's still a warm heart, though. A good heart." Kairi snaps from her trance and smiles up at him, then at Reno. "Leon says you're not decent people, but you have good hearts, so you must be. You just don't like to show it."

Reno makes a strangled noise that could be a laugh, could be a burp, or could be him biting down hard on his tongue when he sees Cloud's warning look.

"Oh, we're just full of unplumbed depths," Lea deadpans. "Yes siree."

Kairi keeps smiling at him. Before Cloud can stop her she has let go of his hand and stepped towards Lea. Her stare is far too intense for a five year old. "_Your_ heart is _strong_." She tips her head to one side, nodding like she just confirmed a suspicion. "Like Leon's."

Reno doesn't bother to hold in his laugh this time. "You're comparing us to that -" Lea kicks him. "–uh, guy?"

"No." Kairi's expression becomes troubled. She looks between them, as though trying to decide something. Then she shakes her head and reaches for Cloud's hand again, shrinking backwards. In the space of five seconds she has changed from big-eyed prodigy to a shy, ordinary little girl. "Cloud, can we go home now?" she mumbles, hiding her face behind his arm. "I'd like to go home now, please. Please can we go home? Cloud?"

He clamps his fingers around hers and leads her away.

"Looks like just _you_ get to be Leonheart's twin," Reno sniggers, obviously not taking her rambling seriously. "My heart obviously isn't loud enough."

"No, but your mouth is," Lea replies easily.

Suddenly Kairi breaks away from Cloud again, dashing back to the pair and startling them with her return. She grabs Lea's leg at the knee, fisting the material of his trousers and gazing up at him so intently he raises his eyebrows and takes his hands from his pockets. His hands waver, unsure, but he doesn't try to push or kick her away.

"You got something else to say, short stuff?"

"Your heart shouts so _loud_," she whispers. "You have to be careful. _It_ listens for loud hearts."

"Huh? What does?"

Her voices shades to a whisper. "The darkness."

Lea's eyes narrow, but pop back open as if he placed tiny springs in the corners to keep himself from reacting to the word. "How would _you_ know something like that, kiddo?"

"Kairi is … special," Cloud says, taking her by the shoulder and steering her away. "She's more sensitive than most kids her age."

"Just kids her age?" Lea asks, not breaking Kairi's gaze even though he's talking to Cloud.

"She talks like a fruit loop," Reno butts in dismissively. "Shouting hearts? Us being decent and upstanding citizens? Lea being anything like Leonheart when _clearly_ all they share are the first two letters of their names?"

"You offered to fight the same cause as him," Cloud can help pointing out. He knows he should get Kairi away as soon as possible, but he can't let that one slide. At the end of the day, Leon is still his friend.

"True," Reno concedes with a shrug. "Doesn't mean we're gonna be pals. It's all garbage. Your kid has a vivid imagination, but –"

"Three months ago we would've said shadows ripping out the Boss's heart was garbage," Lea says thoughtfully. "And travelling between dimensions – sorry, _worlds_," he corrects, voice verging on a sneer, "was garbage. Likewise meeting ninjas, magic swordsmen, talking animals and healers. Maybe there's more to 'garbage' than we think. Maybe there's more to this kid," he nods at Kairi, "and what she says than we think, too."

Reno blows out a noisy breath, but his eyes are hard as sapphires. Cloud has read about books about characters with blue eyes that describe them as 'sapphires', but it always struck him as lazy hyperbole. Yet Reno's eyes really are just like a precious gem – not because they're pretty, but because they're striking and hard, studded with sharp edges to slice those foolish enough to touch without wearing protective gloves.

"Your _brain_ is a pile of stinking garbage, yo," he says, still dismissive. "C'mon. You lost at cards, so it's your turn to spring for dinner. I'm thinking noodles and something other than tofu or –" He shudders. "- _soya_."

Lea slides his eyes to his brother and puffs out his own irritated breath. There are words in there, judging by how Reno tries to smack him. The fact he keeps his voice too low for Kairi to hear is a tiny indication that maybe, just maybe, she might be right about that decency thing.

Or maybe not, Cloud thinks as they walk away, leaving the two brothers to yell obscenities at each other at the tops of their voices.

* * *

"We can't ignore it any longer. Kairi has some kind of magic, and even though she doesn't understand it, it could be trouble for her."

They've all gathered around the kitchen table – Cloud, Zack, Aerith, Tifa, Yuffie and Leon. Leon has finally been told about the theory of Kairi's connection with the keyblades, since it was what drove Merlin away, and Leon is intelligent enough not to believe it was just an ordinary spat. At first he was angry, but then he considered why they didn't make it known and accepted their reasons when Yuffie pointed out he would've done the same for Rinoa, or any of his Royal Guards. That was when the two of them were still on good terms – something they are evidently not tonight, judging by their seats. Tifa and Aerith sit between them, a buffer of caring and motherly affection.

"What are we supposed to _do_ about it though?" Tifa asks as Cloud finishes telling them about the encounter with Lea and Reno.

"I … don't know. This is when Merlin's books would've been really useful."

Zack looks uncomfortable.

"I don't think she's a keyblade wielder," Leon says suddenly, breaking his silence. "I spent a lot of time with Merlin – more even than you, Zack – and there was a time I thought the keyblades might be a way of getting us home to Radiant Garden. I read up on them. They're only meant to reappear at a time when the darkness threatens innocents. Kairi was there at the party, when your magic aligned with this world's magical field and nearly killed you, Zack. Some people _did_ die that night, but she never showed any sign of producing a keyblade to protect them from the darkness, and the Heartless didn't make any effort to chase her like she was special."

"Yes, but that was a long time ago. She was so young then, she may not have been able to summon a keyblade –"

"The Heartless would still have recognised her as a threat. They didn't. In fact, they ignored her to focus on us, and I know _I'm_ not a keyblader. Heartless always go for the easiest target or the biggest threat. They work on instinct and respond to levels of strength – weakest means prey, strongest means threat. When you were in Hollow Bastion she was the easiest target, in Traverse Town we were the biggest threat, but now she's neither."

His words make a lot of sense. He can also quote several magicians and wizards whose books detail theories on keyblades, all of which make more and more remote the possibility of Kairi having one. No keyblader of legend has ever been so young. Though the keyblades themselves are a lot of conjecture mixed with myth and hearsay, all these writers come to the same basic conclusion: keyblade wielders are special, and radiate that specialness to the darkness like a beacon, or a single light bulb in a pitch-black room. Throughout all eternity, the darkness has coexisted with the light and both sides have sought to destroy the other, especially their champions. It's how balance has been maintained, since neither has ever managed to totally consume the other, nor should ever be allowed to. Those with keyblades are legendary champions of light, and with the recent advances of darkness, it would be foolish to think it wouldn't notice a potential champion when it senses her.

"But her energy was so drained when we first landed here," says Aerith. "Surely that wasn't normal. It showed she'd expended a lot of it at one time –"

"She was a child." Leon's words are clipped. "Being transported from one world to another took its toll on all of you. She may not have been able to physically cope with the strain the way an adult body can. The journey may have sapped her because of her age and her other magical ability, the one she's exhibited several times over a long period – reading hearts. There _have_ been other, similar cases of what she can do."

"Really?"

"Not identical, but close enough. Gauging a personality from reading the lines on their palm, or the striations in iris of an eye – 'listening with the heart' could be a logical progression of that sort of thing."

"Why didn't anyone ever mention this stuff before?" Yuffie wants to know.

"You never asked," Leon says impassively. "And nobody knew you had these theories, so nobody thought to provide you with such specialised information."

Embarrassment spreads around the table, apart from Yuffie, because she's never embarrassed – or at least she never shows it, which is almost the same thing if you tip your head to one side and squint.

"So … she's not connected to the keyblades?" Cloud sounds hopeful. "We don't have to worry about the Heartless coming after her?"

"_That _we do still need to be concerned about," Leon replies, still clipped, still businesslike. However, his eyes soften a little at Cloud's obvious worry. "But only in the same way we should be concerned for _everyone_ if the Heartless return."

"So is that a yes for letting Reno and Lea come on side to fight 'em?" Yuffie prompts.

Any softness vanishes. Leon _glares _at her. "You're too attached to them, considering what you know about them."

"They're cool."

"Because they kill people like ninjas do?"

Tifa gives a small gasp. Everyone looks a bit shocked. This is such a vicious thing to say.

Yuffie, however, doesn't seem bothered. "Man, what crawled up your butt and died? 'Cause it's blocking your sphincter and making you full of shit." She scooches back her chair onto two legs and eyeballs Leon.

Both Tifa and Aerith feel her stare skim past the backs of their heads. Aerith swears she even feels her ribbon move as if in a breeze.

"I think you're just threatened by them. I think you're so caught up in protecting your own ego, you've forgotten why the hell you wanted extra fighters in the first place. So lemme spell it out for you, Grumpy McGrumpus: you wanted good fighters to fight – get ready to be amazed, everyone – the _Heartless_. Remember them? Little bastards with yellow eyes; like to eat hearts and self-propagate their species to eat even _more_ hearts? Generally flit between worlds dragging the darkness with them to destroy each one? Any of this ringing the ol' mental bells? Or did you forget that part, what with all that important Being-A-Judgemental-Asshole you've been doing?"

Leon gives her a look that could give the Ice Age a run for its money. In that moment, Aerith thinks, you could actually believe he hates Yuffie as much as he hates the Heartless – and himself for even partly forgetting how big a threat they pose.

Cait Sith recently had another vision – just a small one, but he shivered as he told them about the crowd of Heartless rushing towards him with claws outstretched, shuffling over cobblestones that they all take to represent Traverse Town. This rises in their minds as they wait for Leon's response. The Heartless are coming. It seems inevitable, and they need to be able to defeat them when they do.

They still believe they _can_ defeat them on their own.

"Fine," Leon snaps. He says nothing more, just gets up and leaves, but the tension remains long after he's gone.

"What a grouch." Yuffie scooches her chair so far back it slips and she crashes to the floor. Knees hooked and legs still sticking up over the seat, she raises am index finger into the air. "I totally meant to do that. Y'know, to get rid of the icky mood in here. Totally. It was all part of my master plan. By the way, on a completely unrelated note, Ponytail, how good are you at mending broken butts?"

The collective released breath could've uprooted a forest.

* * *

Cid regards Reno with something less than outright hostility. Not by much, though.

This idiot's grin reminds him of uppity cadets thinking they're better than they are. Or were, since they're all dead now. Captain Highwind always relieved them of their misconceptions, sooner or later. More than one left the Air Force with his tail so far between his legs it was headed for his stomach via his colon. Cid never stood for overconfidence on his ships, since he owns a Really Really Accurate Dictionary, which lists overconfidence as: 'Too dumb to know you're dumb; a shit-kicker'. Overconfidence can get a good crew killed and a good airship wrecked, both of which piss him off beyond reason.

Reno has 'shit-kicker' written all over him, and Cid is _not_ impressed

"So can you help me or not? I asked all over town and they say you're the guy to see about anything mechanical, since you came from a world where the wireless radio isn't the height of technology."

"I did."

"You set up that power station on the edge of town, didn't you?"

"No. I just modified it from water wheels into proper generators."

"Seriously?"

Cid gives a noncommittal grunt and eyes the piece of metal in Reno's hand. "So what exactly are you asking me for?" He refrains from adding 'shit-kicker', because he thinks he recognises that piece of metal and Reno has a look about him that says he could get pretty free and easy about using it.

"A charger for this."

"And what is 'this'?"

"You're looking at it like you already know." Reno smiles, showing perfectly even teeth. Cid wonders how many times they've been knocked out to merit a set of caps like that.

"A stun baton."

"Is that what they were called in your world?" Reno examines it and briefly raises both eyebrows. "Not very imaginative. On mine we called it an EMR. Either that or 'Please don't hurt me, I'll talk'."

Cid's frown deepens. "And you want me to power that thing up for you?"

Reno flicks the rod forward, extending it to quadruple its length. It tapers to a thin but blunt end, and the metal is dull from a lot of use, save for a shiny patch around the handle in the shape of Reno's palm and fingers. "If I'm gonna be part of this Anti-Heartless Artillery, I want my own weapon, not some hand-me-down. You may not have guessed, but me and my little bro? We don't come from a place where swords n' sorcery are all the rage. And since the closest this world has to a semi-automatic is Leonfart's gunblade, I'll stick with what I know." He pats the baton into his palm almost lovingly. "Me and Scarlett, we've had some good times together."

"You _named_ that piece of shit?"

"Some men name their dicks. I named my EMR. At least if Scarlett's electrical pulse quits working at a bad time I can still use her to beat the shit out of things. Not much time to get embarrassed about performance anxiety when you're whacking a hunk of lightweight titanium alloy into someone's gut."

Cid opens his mouth to respond to this, but the door behind him opens. "Cid, could you just – oh. Hello, Reno."

"Tiiiiifaaaaa." Reno winks at her. Cid can almost feel her stiffen, roll her eyes, shake her head, sigh and clench her fists all at the same time.

Of course, in reality she's done none of these, instead coming to stand beside him on the opposite side of the counter to Reno. "Are you a paying customer today?"

"I am if Sidney here can help me get my anti-Heartless gear sorted. I had this in my pocket when we landed in this crummy world, and now seems as good a time as any to put it back in play."

"_That_ fitted in your pocket?"

"There are a lot of extending things in my pockets, yo."

Cid resists the urge to grab Reno by the collar. There's something about him and his brother that incites violence just by being near them, like a special field that comes into effect if you get too close to that shit-eating grin. Cid resists until Reno sticks his tongue out at Tifa in a very suggestive way. Then his 'Fuck It' response kicks in and he leans across the counter to fist Reno's collar and pull him close.

"My name," he grits, "ain't _Sidney_, it's _Cid_. And that's _Mr. Highwind_ to you."

"Geez, dude, no need to get all protective daddykins on me. Not when I still need you to juice up Scarlett. And _not_ when I know very well Tifa can kick my nuts into my neck if she doesn't like me getting fresh with her."

"Cid," Tifa sighs.

Cid glares at Reno and then releases him. Reno readjusts his lapels, though his black suit and pale shirt still look so rumpled Cid wonders why he bothered.

"Nice welcome. I'm sure this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, yo."

* * *

Yuffie finds Lea standing outside Cid's shop, leaning against the wall, eyes shut like he's just catching a few rays. She catches sight of his hair through the door. He's smiling a way that's not entirely nice. It contains a certain anticipatory element; a hint that trouble might be in store for someone who, in his opinion, richly deserves it.

She marches up to him, links her hands behind her back and peers up into his face. This last part is made much easier by the fact he's so much taller than her. Seriously, the people on his world must all be giants with fingers like spaghetti, if Reno and Lea are any indication.

"Whatcha doin'?" she singsongs, drawing out the syllables like a little kid chasing a bigger kid around the schoolyard.

"Listening," he replies without opening his eyes. Belatedly he adds, "Hi, Jailbait."

She lightly punches his arm. "Not jailbait."

"Whatever you say."

Yuffie considers goading him into letting her sit on his shoulders, so she can see what it's like to be that tall and still on two feet. Then she dismisses the idea and instead takes up a position next to him on the wall. "Okay, so what are you listening to?"

"Reno and that Highwind guy."

"Why?"

"Reno's trying to get his weapon repaired. It's been busted since we got here, and your pal Leonfart's had his eye on us so closely we couldn't risk getting it fixed in case he thought we were going to use it to murder you all in your beds."

Yuffie giggles. _Leonfart_. So true, since he's a giant asshole. She's still smarting from the open dismissal at the meeting, and his continued efforts to ignore her. She has moved beyond wanting to know what she did to make him this way, and has now descended into the fiery pits of Really Pissed Off. Maybe she can enlist Lea's help to put one over on Leon sometimes – he seems like the kind of guy who wouldn't be above putting bugs in someone's bed or setting up an elaborate flour-bomb-syrup-and-chicken-feathers ambush.

"You find it funny that we've been pretty much defenceless since we got here?"

"You're not defenceless. Hero and Teef both tested you in sparring matches. Reno actually beat Hero in hand-to-hand."

"Yeah, once out of three. And Tifa handed us our asses."

"Teef hands everybody their ass. She's just that good."

Lea cracks an eye open to look at her. "You don't like using real names if you can help it, do you?"

"Are you trying to figure out my brain? 'Cause others have tried, and I've stumped them all. I'm exceptionally exceptional and distinctively distinctive."

"An old Turk trick was to give each other nicknames based on our weapons. That way you didn't get too attached to people when you knew they could wind up dead at any moment, and you could keep track of which weapons needed to be replaced when they did die."

A frown crimps Yuffie's forehead. "That's pretty cold."

"Not really. Just practical." He looks pointedly at her.

"That's not why _I_ do it," she says, a trifle defensively.

"Never said it was."

She grabs the subject he broached and runs with it. "So what was Reno's nickname?"

"You mean besides 'Idiot With a Mullet and a Big Mouth'? EMR."

"'EMR'? You mean like the stuff rope's made out of?"

"What?"

"Y'know, h-e-m-r, or something."

"That's _hemp_, and that's not the only thing it's used for. But no, E-M-R."

"What the heck's an EMR?"

"A baton with enough electrical charge in it to shock the tartar off your teeth."

"Whoa." Yuffie pauses. "Cool. Like a portable thunderbolt spell in a stick. And you?"

"Chakram."

"You're just making words up, aren't you?"

"It was like a wheel with spikes around the edges."

"So why not just call it Wheel With Spikes Around the Edges?"

"Because they were chakram. I had two of them."

"Had?"

"Kind of difficult to keep hold of the damn things when saving Reno from being eaten by Heartless. It came down to a choice – keep the chakram and save myself, or ditch them to carry his out-cold highness and possibly get both of us killed." Lea shrugs. "The jury's still out on whether I made the right decision."

Yuffie grins and digs an elbow into his ribs. She has to angle it upwards to reach, but he takes it without even a grunt. One thing she's learned about Reno and Lea is their loyalty to each other – even if they'll argue it's only because each of them wants the pleasure of wasting the other someday. "You're just a big ol' sap really, aren't you?"

"Don't be fooled," Lea replies with his own grin. "I only saved him because I promised Ma I'd keep him safe."

"But Reno said _he_ promised your mother-"

"Our Ma," Lea says seriously, "was a very smart lady. She could also bench press a horse and ate broken glass with milk for breakfast. When she told you to do something, you damn well did it."

"So what are you going to fight, with now Leon's given the say-so for you to be all fighty? If you don't have your chakrams, I mean."

"Not a clue. Nobody in this world knows what a chakram is. You're not the first person to look at me like I just said the sky's pink and pigs fly."

"I've got news for you. In this world? Pigs _do_ fly."

"You're shitting me."

Yuffie makes a face. "What a revolting phrase. That's a really gross mental image. And no, I'm not _kidding_ you. Look up." She jabs a thumb and Lea tips his head back.

A collection of moogles are watching them with the interest of women around a soap opera, little wings beating like hummingbirds' and bobbles bouncing. Even more have congregated around the window to their shop, peering out trying to see what's so interesting. They peep amongst themselves when they realise they've been spotted, and there's a general scramble until one pops out of the crowd, apparently ejected by the others, and flutters down towards Lea and Yuffie.

"Hello, kupo."

Lea blinks. "Well … shit. It's a flying mutant piglet."

"Not a piglet, kupo." It pats its tiny chest with one hand; more like a paw than a hand, really, or the stitched end of a soft toy. "Moogle, kupo."

Lea glances at Yuffie.

"They say kupo a lot," she says, touching her ears with her shoulders. "Nobody knows what it means. You get used to it after a while. They're also pretty handy with making things. _Lots_ of things. Things are _missing_, maybe. Things that maybe certain people would like _back_ if they could?"

"Okay, okay, I get the hint."

"What hint? No hints here. No siree. Hint sounds like mint, and mint's a terrible flavour. You can't mix mint with anything because _everything_ ends up tasting the same. I hate mint."

Lea blinks at her. And then he laughs. He has a rich laugh, which starts in his faraway toes and in the tips of his fingers and works its way inward, so by the time it reaches his throat it's echoing back on itself and sounds a lot louder than it should in his lean chest.

The moogle tilts its head to one side like a curious puppy. "You wish to employ the moogles, kupo?"

"That depends," Lea says, still chuckling. "Ever heard of chakrams?"

"No, but if you can describe and pay for it, we moogles can make it, kupo. We are the best at what we do and have never had an unsatisfied customer." It hesitates. "Well, apart from Cid Highwind, kupo."

Something crashes and shatters inside the shop, and there's the sound of several voices yelling.

"Yeah," Lea says. "I can imagine that." Then he frowns. "Describing chakram I can do, but I'm not exactly flush with cash. Do you take gil?"

"What are gil, kupo?"

"I guess that answers that. What do you take? Plastic? Personal cheques?"

"We accept munny, kupo." The moogle's tone indicates anything else would be too ridiculous to contemplate. "Unless it is a special favour to Cid Highwind, since he gave us our new home, kupo." It considers this, little slit eyes screwed up even smaller in thought as it weighs profit versus gratitude. "A _very_ special favour, kupo."

"Moogles aren't big fans of freebies," Yuffie stage whispers. "They're kind of mercenary about munny, for being so cute and fluffy."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Lea replies.

Yuffie contemplates him for a moment. Then she reaches up and grabs the moogle by its feet. It squeaks, but she just draws it into a bear hug and rubs her cheek against the soft top of its head. After a moment it quietens, and even begins to purr when she tickles it. Moogles don't like to publicise their purring, but it thrums through them when questing fingers hit _just_ the right spot on their little round bellies …

"I'll pay for them," Yuffie says, enjoying the feel of the purr vibrating through her face and making her lips tingle as she talks. "I have some munny saved, and I'd probably just spend it on stuff that'll rot my teeth and my mind."

Lea frowns. "I thought you didn't have a proper job."

"'Job' is such a bizarre word. I do odd jobs for people, but nothings solid. For some reason, people don't trust me to be responsible in places of work. I can't imagine why. It might be because I get bored so easily and make my own entertainment. Not everybody finds collateral damage funny, I've found."

Lea gives her that penetrating look again, the one that emphasises the exact shade of green surrounding pupils that seem like they can take in everything, but also narrow their focus to a laser-beam point. Yuffie's stomach flips over like he flicked a shuriken into it to pin it down when it tried to clamber up her throat.

A sudden image of Leon appears in her mind. The last time she did the stomach-flippy thing was around him, and she banishes the memory. Leon was never interested, and anyway, he's an asshole, and he's so complicated it gets on her nerves, and he's _so_ not worth thinking about. Yeah. Totally.

Asshole.

"So you're giving me your savings to replicate my weapons, even though you can't replace those savings very easily."

"Looks like it."

"And you're doing this because …?"

"Because I feel like it. And I'm kick-ass. And maybe the Clueless Trio's altruism rubbed off on me. Seriously, you could choke on their altruism. It's al-timate. Remember I told you they took me in when they knew diddly squat about me? Gave me a home and a family and … stuff. Did I just say 'family'?"

"Yup."

"Ah, shit."

"Why is it shit to have family?"

"No reason, except they have this infuriating habit of _dying_ on me." She says this cheerfully, and keeps hugging the moogle. She's a little shocked when one stubby paw comes up to pat her cheek.

"All moogles are family, kupo. Even those not blood-related are counted as siblings, so no moogle is ever alone, kupo. Big Ones should be more like moogles – life is simpler without the complications Big Ones like to put in it, kupo."

"That 'kupo' thing could get really annoying," Lea murmurs. "The piglet's right, though. KISS."

"What?" Yuffie says sharply.

Lea checks off each letter on his fingers. "Keep It Simple, Stupid. When you needlessly overcomplicate things you make life harder for yourself, and life's full of enough crap as it is. Family's cool to have around and a royal pain at the same time, but it sure as hell makes life simpler when you _know_ there's someone you can actually _trust_ watching your back."

Yuffie opens her arms and releases the moogle, which flies around her head and makes her giggle. She doesn't respond to Lea's impassioned words, instead asking, "So are you gonna get to making these chakram things or not?"

The door to Cid's shop bursts open and Reno runs out, a moth-eaten pack in his hand and an even more moth-eaten cigarette dangling from his grin. "Time to make tracks, yo!" He grabs Lea's arm as he blows past, dragging his brother along in his wake.

"Later," Lea calls. "I'll draw a picture for the piglets." He flips a lackadaisical salute. Then he shoves Reno to speed up when Tifa appears in the doorway, feet almost glowing with chi.

He doesn't say thank you, but weirdly, Yuffie doesn't mind.

* * *

"A pigeon came for you today."

Yuffie pauses with her hand in the cookie jar, staring at Zack. "Rffee?"

"Empty your mouth. And don't spray crumbs everywhere. Aerith just got done cleaning that counter and _I_ mopped the floor today." He says this with the pride of a man asked to do housework.

Yuffie swallows and nearly chokes on half-chewed dry crumbs. "Really?"

"Yeah." Zack holds it up without taking his eyes from Kairi's drawings, which are spread out over his lap. "From Mosey City."

"The heck?" Yuffie vaults the armchair and plucks it from his fingers. She could slit it open with a clean slice from a kunai, but instead scrabbles and tears it open, letting the mangled envelope drop to the newly mopped floor. "It's from Penny!"

"Penny? You mean Penelo? Esmeralda's assistant?" Zack finally looks up, still frowning a little. His expression smoothes when he sees Yuffie reading, and he becomes momentarily caught up in her news instead. "You met her when you went with Cloud last time, didn't you?"

"Yup. She's a bit of mouse, but she's pretty cool."

Zack refrains from commenting that everyone's a bit of a mouse compared to Yuffie in full manic mode. From what Cloud said, Penelo's an average teenage girl who _thinks _like an average teenage girl, while Yuffie … isn't and doesn't. To Yuffie, ordinariness probably _does_ seem boring and mousy.

However, watching her face light up at the contents of the letter (also at the bare fact someone has written to her and her alone), Zack knows he'd rather have Yuffie's puppyish overexcitement than comfortable predictability. Even if she does have a habit of bringing the consequences of her antics home with her. Or leaving them outside the front door where he can step in them. Or trying to hide them under the sink where they're found three weeks later when everyone starts to wonder what the funny smell is.

Yuffie deserves a friend her own age, Zack thinks, realising with some dismay that she doesn't have one. Why did that never occur to him before? Probably because Yuffie's personality swings between older than her years and childish. She doesn't act like a teenager on a daily basis, so when she comes out with teenager-y things it's a surprise to remember she is one. Perhaps this Penelo is just what the doctor ordered after Leon's rejection.

Careful investigation has revealed that Leon did not, as Zack suspected, reject Yuffie's advances after finding out about her crush on him. He did reject her, but he rejected her totally, not just her affections, and for no discernable reason. He shuts up tighter than a closed book when asked about it, and Yuffie can offer no explanation, nor does she want to anymore. She's not above sticking her fingers in her ears when the subject comes up, nor is she above singing the La La La I'm Not Listening song, which can reach pitches so ear-splitting the windows tremble.

"So what does it say?" Zack asks.

"Hope you're well … Mosey's still squalid but getting better … Hm, Phoebus has been around again … business doing well, yadda yadda yadda … Ooh, she says she has a gift for me!"

"Really?"

"Can I go, Hero? CanIcanIcanIcanIcanIcanIcanI-?"

"Whoa!" Zack holds up his hands. "Slow down. It's not me you need to ask. I'm fine about it. You're technically an adult now, but the walk to Mosey City would take weeks. It's Cloud you need to speak to. He'd have to take you there."

Yuffie's face darkens. "Aw man, this means I have to ride that featherbutt again, doesn't it?"

"'Fraid so."

Without any warning, she launches herself at Zack and hugs him. Kairi's drawings scatter as he suddenly finds himself suffocating in Yuffie's armpit.

"Grunmpf!"

"What?"

"… Air…"

"Are you implying I have a BO problem?"

"You're crushing my larynx."

"Oh." She releases him and he gasps. Yuffie sniffs pointedly under her arms, wrinkles her nose and shrugs.

"What was that for?" Zack gasps.

"Just because. I happen to be in a good mood today."

He squints suspiciously at her. She's even bouncier than usual. She must be really pleased about Penelo's letter. She only went to say hi to Tifa when she went out, and that has never brought this sort of reaction before. "Well that's … good. Just give me some warning next time, huh?"

"I need to warn you that I'm gonna be affectionate?"

"You do if you're going to forget your deodorant."

Zack laughs as she squeals and chases him around the apartment, the disturbing images in Kairi's drawings forgotten as he fends off Yuffie's 'patented-because-I-just-thought-it-up' Kumquat, Bread Roll and Cookie Jar Attack.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_


	59. Leon Sees Red

**-**

**

* * *

**

58. Leon Sees Red

* * *

Cait Sith examines the three crayoned drawings before him. He looks so out of place in their apartment, surrounded by the smell of baking bread instead of incense, and hair accessories instead of his crystal ball. In a tent peopled with shadows, colourful throws and tiny mirrors, his cape and crown look silly but in an otherworldly way. At their kitchen table, with its sensible plastic tablecloth, they just look silly. His feet, which don't reach the floor, kick back and forth like a little kid in a high chair.

Zack sits next to him. "So?"

"Psychometry is nae really my thing. I could try scryin' for sumthin', laddie, but wiyoot a clear idea o' what I'm scryin' _for_ it could take a while, an' might not turn up anythin' at all. It's not an exact science, y'ken."

"Psychometry? Scrying?" Cloud looks confused.

"Psychometry is touching objects to magically see their history," Zack says knowledgably, pleased he's able to show he wasn't always sleeping, spacing out or imagining Cloud and Aerith naked when Merlin started talking about scholarly stuff. "Scrying is …" He falters. "Um, looking in mirrors to see things?"

"Isn't that what mirrors are for anyway?" Cloud asks, perplexed.

"Yer close, Zack lad. Y'can use mirrors, an' a lot of magicians like to, but that's the easy option."

Zack wonders what Merlin would say to that, since he'd always championed mirrors as the best tool for the job.

"Basically any reflective surface will do. Failin' that, anythin' translucent or luminescent. Back on my own world …" Cait trails off, lost in thought for a moment. Then he shakes his head and goes on in a voice so strong it's actually just weak in a different way, "On my world I used a scryin' pool, but a crystal ball works just as well, so long as y'dinnae mind the pictures appearin' all uppity-side down."

"So what will that do?" Cloud asks nervously.

Cait sighs. "Mebbe sumthin', mebbe bugger all. Scryin' works to its ain schedule, divinin' the past, present an' future – sometimes all at once! But it doesnae stick to what you _want_ to know aboot. Y'could be lookin' for the fate o' loved ones gone missin', an' find oot all aboot how to make cottage cheese the old-fashioned way. I'm nae a big fan, since it gives me a splittin' headache and sometimes y'gleek things yer nae meant to be gleekin'."

" … Gleek?"

"Aye, gleek. Observe. Glimpse. Shufti. _See_, laddie." Cait waves his hands. "If we was meant tae footer aboot in anythin' but the present, we'd be able t'do this sort o' thing wiyoot any tools. The more effort y'hafta put into preparin' the performance o' magic, the more dangerous it is. Tarot's one thing, but scryin' is quite another. I'm a fortune-teller, nae a proper wizard. I cannae cast spells, nor use sorcery the way the big yen, Merlin, did before he buggered off. I'm nae fooled. You never would've come to me if he was still here, but I'm nae substitute."

"We understand, Cait," Aerith says gently. "And we're grateful for any help you can give us. It's all for Kairi's benefit."

Cait glances at the crayoned Heartless and then his own fingers. Yuffie has taken Kairi over to Cid's house, to allow them to talk in private, but Aerith, Zack and Cloud all know that's where Cait's thoughts are. It's written in his puckered brow and flexing hands. He is fond of Kairi, after all.

"Well … if it's for the wee lassie, I suppose I can puggle mysel' a wee bit. Just dinna be expectin' miracles, y'ken?"

Aerith lifts his crown to kiss his head. "We ken."

* * *

Yuffie stares.

"Do … you not like it?" Penelo nibbles her lower lip. "I made it myself. A pet project. I'm working on some new designs for men's clothing for Esmeralda, since I can't compete with the beautiful stuff she makes for women. She's fantastic. I feel like I can't begin to compete with her until I'm more sure of what she's taught me. I want to be a proper designer, not just a penny-per-dozen seamstress, and I just thought … the way you talked when we were at the café last time you were here …"

Yuffie just keeps staring.

"You don't like it." Penelo shakes her head, deciding for herself what Yuffie's expression means. "I knew it. I mean, yeah, I guess it _was_ presumptuous of me, but I needed a purpose. You can't just start sewing and cutting with no inspiration, and I just thought … never mind, it doesn't matter, I'll just put it in the shop window and – "

"This," Yuffie cuts her off, "is so. Freaking. _Cool._"

"Really?" Relief floods Penelo's face like the banks of a reservoir after heavy rain. It starts in her eyes and overflows to her cheekbones and mouth. "You think so?"

"Absotively." Yuffie reaches out to feel the fabric – curiously rough and smooth at the same time. It's lightweight but durable, the stitching is so small it's almost invisible. "Posolutely."

"Oh good," Penelo breathes. "For a second I was worried I'd called you out here just for you to get mad at me. The look on your face – "

"How'd you know his size?"

"I didn't. I guessed based on some measurements of average chests and what you said about upper body strength."

"I talked about his upper body strength?"

"Well, kind of." For a moment Penelo looks embarrassed, but her eyes are still shining. Mischief sparkles in them. "You actually said how nice he looks with his shirt off."

Yuffie makes an odd squeaking that, if Esmeralda and Cloud were around, would have them setting mousetraps. Djali just looks up from sniffing a bolt of Hessian and rolls his eyes. He was, after all, practically Esmeralda's nursemaid while she was a teenager, and heard more than his fair share of shrill girly squeals back then, too.

"You're lying!"

"Why would I lie?"

"I dunno. But you are. You have to be. I never would've said that. It's gross and sick and wrong and … _grossness_. Besides, I've never seen him with his shirt off."

"But you said you once … when he was in the shower and walked out in his towel, and you'd snuck in early to raid his fridge before your lesson – "

"I _never_ told you about that! Don't tell me I told you about _that_!"

Djali butts her legs, bleating at her to stop being so screechy. Yuffie swats at him, so he clamps his blunt teeth on her hand and tugs. She yelps far more than is necessary, but eventually drops to a lower pitch. Only then does he release her and give a single warning bleat.

Penelo blinks, nonplussed. "You didn't sound too grossed out when you described his pecs."

"Was I eating sugar? I was eating sugar, wasn't I? I always get zonkoed when I'm full of sugar and start spouting garbage. I don't get sugar high, never had a problem with that, but it's, like, whammo! Instant verbal diarrhoea. Gahhhhhh-bage, darling. You should take no notice of me. Nope, none whatsoever. Lights are on, but nobody's home, and certainly nobody with binoculars sitting by the window ogling the neighbour's bare, sculpted chest …" Her eyes lose focus for a moment. "Ah, shit."

Penelo's smile is fixed, her eyes wide with something like alarm. She's still getting used to Yuffie's stream-of-consciousness speech. While she likes Yuffie's zest for life, it's definitely something that's easier to like from a distance. Actually being in her presence is like facing down a tornado with a cocktail umbrella. "Are … you okay?" Penelo asks.

"Hunky-dory. Peachy-keen. Super-duper. Why'd you ask?"

"You seem kind of …" She chooses her next word carefully, like someone playing with a lighter next to the fuse of a barrel containing an unknown quantity of gunpowder, wondering if _this _time is the time the little spark will appear. "… tense. Your shoulders are all …" She motions.

"Tension of muscles is important for gymnastics."

"You're going to do gymnastics in here?" Penelo glances around the cluttered workshop. There's a death trap in every corner with so many lengths of strewn fabric, hidden pins, and lost pairs of scissors. Just walking around is an exercise in courage.

"Nope. But it's still very important."

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"What does any of this mean?" Yuffie spreads her arms wide. "What, exactly, is the meaning of _life_?"

It dawns that maybe this is how Yuffie deflects from things she doesn't want to discuss. Rather than just saying straight out, she plays an elaborate game of Let's Change the Subject and lets her frenetic mind go where it wants.

Okay, she can play that game too. Penelo is tougher than even Esmeralda and the Thief King give her credit for. She survived on the streets without anybody's help, not even a goat-shaped guardian angel. That sort of experience sharpens a person's mind, however much they want to go back to being an ignorant little girl who thinks Mommy and Daddy can make everything better.

She senses something kindred in Yuffie, though it's buried deep and shifts around like a single grain of sugar in a salt seller. Penelo is sociable. She enjoyed living with all the other kids under the Thief King's care. She knows her job here with Esmeralda is for her own good, but she can't help missing them. She barely sees them anymore, since life as a street kid is rough and rarely leaves time for socialising. Esmeralda is fun, but so adult sometimes that Penelo feels half the age she actually is, and clumsy compared to Esmeralda's effortless grace and unparalleled beauty. She's grateful, but sometimes all Penelo really wants is a friend of her own.

Yuffie doesn't demand friendship, doesn't cling or cloy, but isn't distant either. When the number of hours spent together can be counted on one hand, what kind of person discusses the what Yuffie had discussed? Yuffie doesn't keep anything about herself hidden, though it's hit or miss _when_ she'll toss out another enlightening titbit. Yuffie, Penelo has found, works to her own schedule, just like she works to her own moral code, her own scale of what's important and appropriate, and practically her own language.

Plus there's something about Yuffie that makes Penelo want to be around her, just to see what happens next.

"Chocolate."

Penelo blinks. "Huh?"

Yuffie is emphatic. "That's the meaning of life."

"Chocolate is the meaning of life?"

"Can you think of a better reason for us to be alive?" she asks with such gravity it completely changes the shape of her face. Only her eyes show she's not being serious.

Penelo smiles. "Gringoire's does a mean chocolate crepe."

"I have no idea what that is, but if it's sweet and yummy, I'm in. Your treat." Yuffie grabs her hand and skilfully directs her to the door connecting the workroom to Esmeralda's shop. "C'mon, we'll see whether Es and Cloudy want some yum-yums too."

"But –"

"Time's a-wastin', Penny!"

Penelo blinks, registering her new nickname. "All right. But if you want some more of those candied chestnuts you have to pay for them yourself."

Yuffie's grip on her wrist tightens slightly, but releases again just as fast. "Believe me, I've had enough of candied chestnuts. That ship has sailed, and sailed with half a crew and no oars or rigging. In fact, if I ever see another candied chestnut again, I'll use my entire arsenal on it. At once. And then I'll feed the remains to wolves. And then I'll blow up the wolves. And then I'll set the whole mess on fire, just to make sure there's not a lick of candied chestnut left."

Wisely, Penelo decides not to ask.

* * *

Yuffie is in crisis.

Or, at least, she thinks she _would_ be in crisis, if she, y'know, _did_ crises. Which she doesn't. She just has the odd minor incident that _seems_ like a crisis, but are really just shenanigans with their backs turned.

To eat the extra crepe, or not to eat the extra crepe?

To throw up from too much chocolate, or not to throw up?

To go into detail about Reno and Lea to Penelo, or to paint a bigger, less detailed picture?

To balance on the canal bridge, or not to balance on the canal bridge?

To listen to Penelo's warnings about slippery stones, or go her own path?

To sink in the canal, or swim to the edge?

To take a shower, or not take a shower and instead sit milking her suffering on Esmeralda's damp couch?

To get icky canal water out of her hair, or smell like a toilet so she can stay to ogle the elusive Captain Phoebus?

To chase Djali with a pair of scissors for chewing the seat out of her shorts while she was taking a shower, or not?

To be in awe of Esmeralda's wrath at Djali's bald patch, or grin while running away?

To hide from Cloud in the chocobo stable hayloft, or try walking home to Traverse Town alone?

All extremely crisis-like, but not actually crises in the strictest sense. Nobody died, everyone is still sane, she doesn't owe anybody money, and the world sets itself back on its axis when Penelo finds her hiding in the workshop and takes pity on Yuffie's attempt to sew a coat for Djali until his fur grows back.

Besides which, as she and Cloud finally plod away from Mosey City with their gifts hung off the chocobo's saddle, all the little wannabe-crises pale into insignificance compared to one thing:

To give the gift, or not to give the gift?

Penelo meant well, and Yuffie has to admit she _is_ kind of cool. The way she jumped into the canal to rescue her took guts, even if Yuffie did have to dive down to cut Penelo's feet free of treacherous weeds and ended up saving her instead. It's the thought that counts. Plus she did rattle off these cool new, un-goat-bitten shorts in less time than it takes Yuffie to shine Mr. Pointy. They're far more comfortable than her old ones and don't come with added Essence of Goat Spit.

"Cloudy?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think of Lea and Reno?"

Cloud seems startled by the question. "Kairi likes them."

"You're deferring to a five year old?"

He makes a noncommittal noise. "They seem fine to me. A little rough around the edges, but okay."

"You don't disapprove of them?"

"Disapprove? Since when do you care about anyone's _disapproval_."

"Clooouuudy! Answer the queeeeeeestiiion!"

"Disapprove of what?"

"What they did before their world went kaplooey."

Cloud shifts in the saddle to look over his shoulder at her. His look is assessing, but apparently finds nothing suspicious in her smile. Of course, that makes it all the more suspicious – she's usually plotting _something_. Smiling is a litmus test of how much damage that something will cause. "What they did before is their own business, not mine. I believe in second chances."

Yuffie thinks of Leon. Instantly the memory of jimmying the lock to his apartment and standing eating a tub of cold brown rice (because Leon would never be unhealthy enough to have plain white or egg-fried, oh no) rises into her mind like water in a bath with a blocked plughole. She tries to keep a tight hold of her hostility, but when the memory continues to the click of the lock on the bathroom door, Leon's shocked face, and the gluey mouthful she suddenly couldn't swallow because of how much skin was on show. Hostility instantly becomes an emotional transvestite and starts going around telling everyone to call it attraction.

"Yuffie?"

She swallows, mouth gluey even though she hasn't eaten brown rice since. She never talked about seeing him all half-naked and glistening from the steam of the shower, and his response at the time (an expressionless "You're half an hour early" followed an even more expressionless "And that's _my_ rice") didn't incline her to believe he was even _embarrassed_. The bucket of cold water dumped over her hormonal libido was absolute.

Even so…

"How about third chances?"

* * *

Leon isn't home, which gives her a little extra time to consider her next move. Yuffie plays with Kairi, eats her own bodyweight in dessert, decides to find out whether it's possible to travel from one side of the apartment to the other without touching the floor, and answers all Aerith's questions to prove she hasn't got a concussion when it turns out it's not. She spends the last twenty minutes with her head pillowed on her arms and her feet dangling off the end of the sofa before hearing the chime of voices on the stairs.

" … should be up and running within a week …"

"… sooner is better than later …"

"… always say that …"

Yuffie bounds to her feet, grabs the coat-hanger with its protective plastic covering, and bides her time until Zack comes through the apartment door. When he has finished his manly yelp, his attempt to fight her off when she wasn't even attacking him, she pats him on the shoulder and darts into the hall.

A light shine under Leon's door. She knocks and rocks back and forth on her heels, plastic slung casually over her shoulder. She wonders whether whistling a happy tune would be too much. Then the door opens and she abandons her plan of sounding cool, calm and collected.

"Yuffie."

Okay, the whole 'I am not pleased to see you' vibe is off-putting, but she can overcome that. She has, after all, decided to give him another chance, and also decided to use this gift as a sort-of peace-offering, even though he should be the one trying to make peace with her. Like Penelo said, boys are dumb and sometimes too full of pride to admit they've made a heinous mistake. It takes a decisive action on the girl's side to smooth things over, even if she's totally not the one to blame for it all going haywire in the first place.

"Hey, Squall."

He frowns at the name. Well why not? He's probably forgotten it's his, since she's been calling him Leon to his face for a while now. What she's been calling him behind his back would make a tomato blush. "It's Leon. What do you want?"

"I come bearing gifts from the exotic, far-distant land of Moe Zee. I had to fight off twelve bandits and a posse of drunken grizzly bears to bring you this, but I did it, because I'm fantastic and kind and thoughtful."

"Yuffie, I really don't think –"

"No, you don't do that much, do you? Otherwise you'd have invited me in by now so I can show you what I've carted back from Mosey City especially for you. On the back of a chocobo, no less, and you _know _how I feel about those featherbutts."

"Yuffie," he says irritably, but she wags her finger at him.

"Ah-ah-ah, just shut up and open the dang door. You can talk after you've taken a look at this." She thrusts the plastic at him. While he fumbles to take it she uses the opportunity to shoulder her way inside.

It's just as tidy as ever. Man, what a neat freak. Everything has its own place, and everything is _in_ its own place, but to the max. Many times she has felt like she'd be arrested just for poking things a smidge out of alignment.

The only thing that ruins the effect of a happily ordinary homestead is the gunblade propped next to the couch. It gleams at Yuffie, faintly accusing in its perfection. The smooth lines are a total contrast to her own messiness. She realises she never brushed her hair after her earlier escapades. Her hair is still longer than she's ever had it before, and she has confessed to nobody that it actually makes her feel quite feminine – far more than midriff-revealing tops and cut-offs, which, since they emphasise her _female assets_ (take that for a synonym!), should make her feel more desirable than they actually do.

"Yuffie," Leon says behind her.

She spins on her heel. "Yes?"

"I'm tired." He holds out the hanger for her to take back. "It's late."

"All the more reason for you to check out what I brought you, so you can send me toddling off with a smile on my face and you can get to bed. 'Cause yeah, you look like chocobo-poop right now. _Warmed up_ chocobo poop."

He stares blankly at her, as though he can't comprehend that she's _not_ baiting him. Nope, she's one hundred percent sincere, which, coming on the heels of lots of vitriol and cold shoulders, is probably a bit jarring.

Apparently surmising he won't be able to get rid of her unless he complies, he unzips the protective plastic and pulls out the jacket.

And stares at it.

He stares for a long time.

This is going better than expected. Considering she has barely been able to get him to talk to her for ages, the fact she's in his hallowed apartment and he has strung together more than three words _directed at her_ is an achievement. Maybe he really was just having some kind of early-mid-life-crisis and needed breathing room. Well, now it's time for him to rejoin the land of the living and non-emotionally-constipated, and the Great Ninja and Grumpypants Rescuer Yuffie Kisaragi is primed and ready for the job.

With a jolt she realises she missed him. Yes, he's a big uncommunicative lughead, and he could use a kick in the pants now and then to remind him to smile, but he isn't as cold as a lot of people think. You just have to look at what he's done since they arrived in Traverse Town to see that. Plus … Yuffie has just plain missed being around him. She missed talking with him, absorbing his company, learning from him even though half of it wasn't stuff he intended her to learn. She missed bantering, teasing watery jokes from him and watching him slowly uncurl, like a claw holding a precious something so tight it's forgotten how to let go. She missed _him. _Leon makes her feel strange, and wonderful, and like she _can't_ do everything, but that's okay because nobody can, not even him. With Leon she feels like a little girl _and_ a young woman, impressed by his experiences and thrilled at how naïve he can still be.

This … is far more than a crush. And it's only now, watching his face, that she acknowledges the fact.

Sudden panic jolts through her. She tamps it down with a band-aid grin. "You like it? It was all Penelo's design, but she got the ideas from talking to me, so you could kind of say it's my handiwork too. There's not another one like it in the whole entire complete _world_."

Leon holds the jacket away from himself, examining it. Another good sign. His eyes run over the dark fabric, the zippers, the stylised lion-head and sword hilt motif on the short sleeves – a play on the meaning of his name, 'brave lion', which Penelo looked up especially. Her craftsmanship makes the simple jacket beautiful. Surely even Leon must realise that as he turns it over to look at the back.

He seizes up so fast it's like he's just been spontaneously mummified. All at once, his entire body goes rigid. His arm drops and he growls, "I'd like you to leave now."

Confusion rockets through Yuffie. Things were actually going quite well. What the hell happened? "Hey, no need to get all grim –"

"Yuffie, leave. Now. Just go."

"No 'please'? Don't I even get a thank you for going all the way to Mosey City to fetch that for you? I'll have you know I nearly drowned in a smelly canal full of duck crap, and all for you because I thought you'd like this lovely jacket instead of your usual – frankly iffy – duds."

"Yuffie –"

"It's the wings, isn't it? I thought they were maybe a step too far, but then I thought, hey, badge of honour, right? What a way to remember what you're fighting for than –"

_CRACK!_

Leon's fist crunching into the wall cuts her off more effectively than if he'd punched _her_.

It only lasts for a few seconds. Her babble restarts with a small shriek.

"_Damn it_, Squall! What the hell did you do that for? You're bleeding all over the wallpaper –"

"My name," he interrupts in a low, dangerous voice, "is Leon. And I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment. Now."

Yuffie flinches on the inside. "What rattled your cage, huh? What's _wrong_ with you? Because smashing up your own hand to prove a point? _Not_ sane behaviour, or even very clever, especially if you have a weapon with a trigger than requires some working fingers-"

_CRACK!_

"Damn it, Squall, what's your problem? Stop that before you just have a hamburger patty on the end of your arm."

"Don't you get it yet?" Leon's voice is still low, but with an edge now, like he's restraining his temper with both hands and a cattle prod. "_You_ are my problem, Yuffie. I thought I made myself perfectly clear last time, but apparently not. So let me spell this out for you." He sucks in a breath, though whether to steady himself against the pain in his hand or against what he says next is unclear. "I don't _want_ to spend time with you. I don't want _anything_ from you. While you're flitting around, wasting your energy and pleasing yourself, I'm trying to make a difference here, and unless you want to be a part of that, I don't have time to deal with you or your adolescent _nonsense_."

"The hell are you talking about? I know we haven't seen eye to eye recently, but I never thought –"

"That's just the point, Yuffie. You don't think. Not in the long-term. But I _do_, and I don't like what I see when I look at you."

She folds her arms. "And what _do_ you see when you look at me?" She doesn't actually want to know – not right now, in the heat of this moment – but her mouth has always had a life of its own. Apparently _it_ wants to find out.

He doesn't even hesitate. If she hadn't sprung this on him, she'd swear he sounds like he rehearsed. "I see a self-centred brat who only helps other people because it brings her self-gratification. I see someone who takes the law into her own irresponsible hands. I see someone," his voice rises, "who needs to _grow the hell up_."

His words are like a series of slaps. Yuffie can't help it – she's _hurt_. She, the Great Ninja Yuffie, whose family all died in the same night, who made the dangerous cross-country trek to Hollow Bastion, who _never _talks about dark rooms and the smell of blood, is hurt by a few measly words flung at her by a bitter guy with a chip on his shoulder the size of the moon. The hurt surprises her. It leaves her startled. Confused.

Pissed off.

"_I_ need to grow up?" she flares, unlike herself and her usual habit of turning a situation into a joke, or at least babbling at it until it dissipates. With Leon that wouldn't do any good. She knows that much, at least. "Look who's talking!"

"When was the last time you did anything for this town, Yuffie?"

"That's not the point –"

"It's completely the point. From here on out, my loyalty is to Traverse Town. Anyone who doesn't pull their weight, or have a damn good reason not to, will have to answer to me. You're too caught up in your own life to think about others."

She wants to yell at him that she was thinking of others very recently – she was thinking of _him_ – but the words dry up in her throat. They feel worthless, like a little girl's argument. _I like you. Please don't be mad at me. I missed you. I think I love you. Don't send me away_.

Surprised and vaguely disgusted at this pathetic part of herself, which she never anticipated, she shoves everything down and focuses on the rage rising inside her like a column of fire. She has been angry before. She knows how to be angry.

"And you," she spits, "need to get a fucking _clue_ and start remembering you're human, and that other people aren't your enemies."

"I know that. The darkness is, and the Heartless are. As long as that's the case, I don't need any distractions. That includes you and that big, flapping mouth of yours." His eyes narrow. If like he's _looking _for the best, most hurtful words to drive her away. "You're a child, Yuffie. You haven't grown up at all since the day I met you."

Pain sticks in her throat like peanut butter studded with broken glass. "You're a real mean bastard, you know that? All I've ever done is try to help you. I never gave up on you. Not once. Not even this time. You sent me away and I came back. Know why? Because unlike you, I actually care. I don't want you to turn into some dried up husk with a cobweb where your heart should be. You keep pushing people away, and they keep coming back, but you can't count on that forever. Someday someone's gonna take you at your word and _stay _away. They're gonna believe that you _like _being miserable. Maybe it's better Rinoa died. Maybe it's better she never got to see this side of you."

Yuffie knows she has overstepped the mark. She knows it before the words are out of her mouth, and before Leon's expression turns as angry as it did in the church when she, Aerith and Cloud discovered Rinoa's grave. She wants to think _So what? _and get defiant about how he overstepped the mark with the things he said, but the force of his anger cows even her.

"Get out."

She could stand her ground. She could keep arguing.

She barges past him.

"And take this with you." He tosses the jacket at her.

She tosses it right back. "Fuck off, _Leon_. Like I want it? It was a gift. It's yours now. Burn it, see if I care, but it's still yours."

With that, she runs down the stairs and doesn't stop until she hits the street and blends with the shadows that hide her wet cheeks.

* * *

Everyone jumps at the ear-splitting shriek. Aerith, falling asleep with her head in Zack's lap and her feet in Cloud's, rolls right off the couch onto the floor.

"Kairi!"

They find Kairi sitting bolt upright in bed, bleary-eyed and obviously shocked awake. Her mouth hangs open, her cheeks flushed. She gives another horrible wail.

"What is it?" Cloud immediately gathers her into her arms. She trembles and buries her face in his neck. "What's wrong?"

"Y-Yu … ffie…"

"Yuffie? What about Yuffie?"

"Her heart … it's _hurting_. I can hear … it's too loud … Cloud, make it stop. Make it stop, Cloud." Kairi bunches a fist in his shirtfront and begins to sob. "M-make it … s-stop …"

"But I only just saw Yuffie," Zack protests. "She was fine. She seemed happy." He doesn't even question what Kairi says; just accepts it as readily as he accepts Aerith's healing or the abilities granted him by the Buster Sword. Kairi's trick of listening to hearts is fast becoming just another part of who she is.

Aerith frowns. Her shins hurt where they hit the floor, but that fades as she thinks back. "She _has _been on tenterhooks all evening. Ever since she got back from Mosey City. She wouldn't tell me why. Cloud, you travelled back with her. Was she strange on the trip?"

"Yuffie's always strange. She wouldn't let me see whatever Penelo gave her," Cloud admits distractedly, stroking Kairi's hair. Kairi isn't quite hysterical, but her body judders with each sob. "She said it wasn't a gift for me. And she kept asking odd questions about Lea and Reno." He blinks. "And Leon. She didn't use his name, but she was talking about Leon. Something about giving him another chance."

"Was this gift thing wrapped in plastic?" Zack asks with a thoughtful frown.

"Yes."

"She went upstairs when I got home, and she took something wrapped in plastic with her. Leon's been so weird with her lately. He wouldn't hurt her, I'm sure of it, but …" He trails off. Then he spins on his heel and marches out of the room.

"Zack, wait!" Aerith calls, throwing Cloud a brief apologetic look. Cloud nods and continues to shush Kairi, rocking her back and forth in a soothing motion.

Aerith catches up to Zack on the stairs. He left the Buster Sword behind, but crackles with so much energy that the lack of it doesn't make him any less intimidating. Aerith grabs him the elbow and tugs, trying to turn him to face her.

"Zack, don't. We don't _know_ Leon did anything wrong."

"I know. That's what I'm going to find out." Zack meets her eyes. Abruptly some of the fire goes out of his. "I'm not going to beat him into a bloody pulp. What do you take me for?"

"Someone who cares too much to think things through." She moves in front of him, lacing her fingers through his and leading him forward. "Come on. Just don't run off at the mouth, okay? Let me do the talking."

Zack grumbles but complies.

The door to Leon's apartment is open. That's their second clue something is wrong. Leon never leaves his door open. Everybody's well-trained enough not to do it either. Zack tightens his grip on Aerith's hand as she knocks, causing the door to swing open even further.

"Leon?" She leans in and peers around. "Hello?"

Immediately her eye is caught by the two smears of red on the wall, and several more beside them. The larger smears are darker. Thin trails have trickled down to the skirting-board. It's all still wet. The smell of fresh blood is unmistakable.

Zack takes her gasp as his cue to get in front, every inch of him vibrating with protectiveness.

"Shit," he says when he spots the blood. "Leon? Yuffie? Are you here?"

They hear running water. The bathroom door directly across from them opens. Leon emerges, towelling off his wet hands. He glances at them as though there's nothing wrong, and his apartment doesn't look like someone's head has been slammed against the wall until they stop twitching.

Zack's tension doesn't ease. If anything, it ratchets up another notch. "Where's Yuffie?"

"Gone."

"Gone where?"

"How should I know? She left. If you hurry you can probably still catch her, unless she's using _shinobi-iri_."

Yuffie has tried several times to explain this technique to them. They understand it to a degree, but Aerith is always uncomfortably reminded of Heartless when Yuffie talks about using shadows to help her get from place to place. She doesn't _become_ a shadow, she was hasty to say when asked, but she becomes a part of them briefly. She had never really given a satisfactory explanation, though that's not for lack of trying.

If Yuffie has used _shinobi-iri_ there's no way they can catch her. She could literally be anywhere if its shadows connect with the shadows of another object. Where shadows end Yuffie becomes just a regular girl again and has to walk like everyone else, but where shadows flow from one into another she can use them to speed like the wind, practically invisible to the naked eye.

"She ran away from you?"

"She left," Leon replies. He rubs his hands with the towel, trying to cover them, but Aerith notices the red stains.

"Oh my gosh, Leon, you're bleeding badly." Without a second thought she crosses the room and holds out her hands to take his. "Let me see."

He steps away from her, back into the bathroom.

She stops, confused. "Leon? Why won't you let me see your hands?"

"Because he mashed them punching the wall." Zack's words are guesswork, but from the way Leon takes another half-step Aerith knows them to be true.

"Why did you do that?" she asks softly.

He scowls. "Why is everyone coming up here to bother me tonight?"

Zack folds his arms, regarding Leon with both concern and fading anger. Yuffie is his friend, but Leon has become a friend too. He is obviously pulled in both directions at once. Something strange and terrible happened up here in the short time it took to say hello to Yuffie and hear Kairi scream. "Leon, buddy, what's going on?"

If Zack expects his gentler tone to do any good, he's mistaken. Leon's face has slammed shut. His jaw is beyond tense. Only being so close does Aerith see the mix of emotions slewing from side to side in his eyes, like a sack in the back of a cart travelling over bumpy roads. There's anger in there, but also pain and regret. Whatever happened, Leon will be sorry for it later. He's already sorry now, but his anger is still in control as he strides past and holds the front door open for them.

"Nothing's going on," he says crisply. "Now if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to go to bed."

"Don't lie." Zack frowns at him. "Yuffie wouldn't just take off for no good reason, not if she was upset. You know as well as we do that Yuffie doesn't _get _upset easily. Something happened between the two of you – something that made her act out of character and made you keep punching the wall until you bled."

He's doing more than just bleeding. Aerith senses at least two of his fingers have hairline cracks. The knuckles of his left hand look like raw mince. His wrists have been jarred. His shoulder aches where he punched too hard and nearly dislocated it. If she didn't know better, she'd say he's been in a fight.

And she supposes he has, but only against the wall. The idea he might have struck Yuffie is out of the question. However strange he has been acting lately, Leon would never touch Yuffie. Rather, he's still protective of her, betraying himself in tiny movements and darts of his eyes when he, Zack, Cloud, Tifa and Yuffie spar together. They may not be on speaking terms – or may not have been until tonight, if Yuffie came up here of her own free will – but Yuffie would go to the mat for Leon in a heartbeat if he was in danger, and he'd do the same for her.

"Nothing is going on," Leon says again, the statement simple but ridiculous. "Yuffie's fine. I'm fine. Both of you go away."

Zack's frown deepens. "Leon, we may not always see eye to eye, but you're my pal. I respect you and care about you. In light of that, I'd like you to take this in the way it's intended – as one friend to another." He moves faster than Aerith can track and punches Leon in the jaw.

There's no indication this was what Zack was planning until the moment it goes from plan to result. Leon, distracted and not anticipating the attack, slams against the open door. His body reacts by falling into a combat stance, all his weight forward, heels dug in and hands bunched into loose fists.

He doesn't relinquish the pose when Zack holds up his hands, palm outward, and backs off.

"What the fuck was that for?" Leon slurs through his already rapidly swelling jaw. The towel having fallen on the floor, his hands drip blood freely. Aerith can now see the full extent of his injuries. Even she winces.

"Quit the bullshit." Zack lowers his hands to his sides but doesn't lower his gaze, not even when Aerith lets her powers snake out to coalesce in a flower above Leon's head. "You're going to explain, right now, what the hell has been making you act so crazy. And I'm not just talking about tonight."

"How I live my life is none of your business."

"Yes it is, because that's what being friends means. Didn't you hear me before? You're my friend, Leon. You're _our_ friend, and we're here to help you if you need us. We've been there for you so far, right? And you've always been there for us. So whatever you've been bottling up all this time, you should know that you can talk to us about it. Maybe we can help. Or maybe it'd just do you some good to get stuff off your chest. We won't judge you for whatever you say."

This last line obviously strikes Leon as incredibly funny. He stares at Zack. Then he lets out a short, barking laugh. "You won't _judge_ me?"

"Of course not."

"And who made you the ethics police?"

Zack's frown takes on a glimmer of confusion. "Nobody, but –"

"Then take this as it's intended, as a friend to a friend." Leon straightens. "Fuck off, Zack." He whirls to face Aerith, batting at the light spiralling down on him. "And you too. I wish everyone would just _stop_ trying to _fix_ me all the time."

"Is that what Yuffie did?" Aerith asks quietly.

Another barking laugh, this one oddly bitter. "No, she came with a peace-offering."

"Because you'd all but completely stopped talking to her."

"I have nothing to say to her."

Aerith takes in his stance and the prickles feeding back to her where her magic touches his skin. She's no mind-reader, but she's good at reading people when they let their guard down. Leon's is crumbling even as she watches. A muscle in his jaw jumps. His ruined fingers still try to clench into fists. Even so, everything about the way he stands screams he wants to flee, and that it's an alien concept he's fighting with all his proud heart. Leon doesn't know how to surrender without it being a last ditch, painful process.

A swatch of plastic is draped over the back of the couch. Half hidden beneath it is a jacket with lions on the sleeves and a pair of stylised red wings on the back. A faint idea appears in Aerith's mind, like the smudge of pre-dawn light on the horizon before the sun rises properly and sets the sky on fire.

"That's not entirely true, is it Leon?"

Fear. It flickers in his eyes for an instant. Then it's gone and he's back to hostile. "Both of you leave." He adds after a tense moment that might have Zack lunging to hit him again, "Please."

"Bull–" Zack starts, but Aerith stops him.

"Do as he says." She takes him by the arm and guides him out, gentle but firm, and deaf to his protests. "Leon," she says when closing the door, "Zack said we wouldn't judge you. That's true. So try not to judge yourself too harshly, either."

Leon just stares at her, distant and remote as a stone statue on a cliff top.

"And get some lemon juice on those stains or they'll never come out." Aerith shuts the door and descends the stairs.

"What the hell," Zack says, "was all that about? We didn't get any answers!"

"Yes we did."

"But he didn't say anything."

"Yes he did. You just weren't listening hard enough."

"Huh?"

Aerith sighs and stares down the second staircase, wondering where Yuffie is and whether they should go out and try to find her. Finding a ninja at night would be difficult enough, but finding a ninja at night who doesn't want to be found will be even harder. _Yuffie _at night will be near impossible, but maybe they should try anyway. Even if they don't find her, or if she sees them and decides not to respond, the gesture will still be clear for her to see. If her suspicions about Leon are correct, Aerith gets the feeling Yuffie needs that kind of reassurance tonight.

So does Zack, in his own way. He looks at her squarely, but she recognises his slightly lost air. She reassures him by trailing her fingers down his arm and pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek. Sometimes Zack needs physical reminders of what other people are thinking, and sometimes he just needs to be touched for no other reason than it calms him. "I'll explain on the way."

"The way to where?"

"Out."

"Huh?"

"We're going to look for Yuffie."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_Yuffie's grip on her wrist tightens slightly, but releases again just as fast. "Believe me, I've had enough of candied chestnuts. That ship has sailed, and sailed with half a crew and no oars or rigging. In fact, if I ever see another candied chestnut again, I'll use my entire arsenal on it. At once. And then I'll feed the remains to wolves. And then I'll blow up the wolves. And then I'll set the whole mess on fire, just to make sure there's not a lick of candied chestnut left."_

-- Influenced by a line from Blitzen in _Robbie the Reindeer_.


	60. Turk Faces and Ninja Masks

**-**

**

* * *

**

59. Turk Faces and Ninja Masks

* * *

Yuffie sits on the roof of the tavern and tries hard not to cry.

Damn Squall Leonheart. Damn him and all those who ever felt even vague affection for him. Yes, including herself. _Especially _herself.

She's disgusted and wobbly and exhausted, and this is totally _not_ how she imagined she'd be spending the evening of her triumphant return. Even the way she sits is bizarre for her – knees drawn up tight to her chest, arms circled around them, as though she's trying to hide and shield herself from the world. The Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi has never hidden from anything, but right now she doesn't feel much like a Great Ninja. She feels awkward inside her own skin, as though someone has planted an evil seed inside her and it has spread its deadly, choking vines around her emotions until they're twisted all out of shape and don't feel like her own anymore.

"I wish it _was_ like talking to a gargoyle," she mutters, widening her eyes to keep them dry. Bad enough she ran away like a total wuss; blubbing now she's had time to catch her breath would be totally pathetic. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words are like knives dipped in acid. "At least a gargoyle wouldn't ... at least … something."

Damn. Even her wit has deserted her. All she needs now is for it to rain, then the whole miserable picture will be complete. If she's lucky, maybe she'll catch pneumonia and die – better to die of a disease or battle wound than of humiliation. Or a broken heart.

That's what it feels like. Yuffie never realised when she read that phrase what exactly it entails – the raw, ripping sensation of something hot and red tearing in half inside your chest. She _hates_ this feeling. It embodies everything she has ever _not_ wanted to be. For eighteen years she has worked on the idea of Yuffie Kisaragi, turning her into a kick-ass, independent, sassy, smart, funny and _strong_ girl; someone who doesn't take any crap, can take care of herself and those she cares about, and who is in complete control of her feelings.

Now suddenly her feelings are out of her control, and it's the scariest thing in the world.

She's in love with Leon.

There, now it's been put into words. What else could make her swallow the degradation of his previous rejection, and his subsequent behaviour, and try again to reach him? Love is a many faceted thing all right – so many different hues, but all of them mixed together make the colour of puke.

It stopped being a simple crush a long time ago, but she was so mad at him she refused to even glance sideways at the frantically waving revelation. She finally admitted it to herself when she walked back into Leon's apartment – and it's the worst thing she could've done, because twelve seconds later he reached into her chest and squeezed all her arteries shut. Her brain isn't working properly anymore from lack of oxygen, her heart feels all squashed, and she's so mortified that she seriously considers finding a cave in the hills and living there until she's all hairy and smells like a field of diarrhoea-stricken cows.

She has always lived life on her own terms. That's important. It's always been important, and it'll always _be_ important. She didn't even let her father dictate to her while he was alive, but twisted the situation until she got what she wanted and he thought it was all his own idea. She makes her own rules, sets her own boundaries, pushes those boundaries into new shapes and carves her own path where nobody else has one carved before. Own terms, own self: they're crucial to the basic foundation of Who Yuffie Kisaragi Is.

You can't love someone on your own terms if they're determined to not only not love you back, but not want your friendship either, or even to be around you. You're forced into _their _terms, however unfair those terms may be. Love needs both people to agree on a set of shared terms, and with Leon that's never going to happen. It's his way or the highway, and he has already set Yuffie on the road with a spotted handkerchief hanging from a stick over her shoulder.

She presses her face so hard against her knees her nose gets squashed and her breathing sounds like a warthog breaking cover. "Fuck you, Squall, or Leon, or whatever the hell your name is," she mumbles against her hot, damp skin. "Fuck you with your own gunblade. And then fire it."

"That'd hurt. Not to mention make a huge mess."

Yuffie jerks her head up, cursing. Yet another indication that tonight she's become something less than herself, if someone can sneak up on her. Just like the tears glistening back at her on her knees. When did _they_ squeeze out?

Hell on a stick, being depressed is depressing. And tiring. And _boring_. No wonder she's never done it before.

A fresh wave of embarrassment washes over her when she sees who's up here. He ascended without her noticing, without becoming breathless, and without putting a hair out of place. He could've been watching her act out her little drama for ages, pathetic in the moonlight and twice as pitiable.

"Hi, Jailbait."

In that instant she could very easily hate Lea.

"Get lost. I'm really not in the mood right now."

"I can see that." He eases himself across the roof towards her, far lighter than his shiny-shiny shoes with their clicky-clicky heels should allow. "You look like crap."

"Thanks." She forces her favourite veneer into place – the special crazy-looking smile she uses when everything's going to hell in a hand-basket but she knows she can't show it because, hey, she's the Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi and she has _standards_ to maintain. "I thought I looked like shit, so it's not actually as bad as I thought."

"Nope, you definitely look like crap."

Okay, witty banter over with. She wants him off her roof so she can brood in peace. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm of age. I'm allowed to drink in places like this, you know."

Oh yeah. Tavern. She didn't choose it specifically; she just stumbled to a stop here when she took her flight to the rooftops and sank down among the thatch. It's actually quite prickly, not soft like it looks. It also smells musty, like old socks and tobacco pipes.

"Reno's trying to bum a smoke from the barmaid," Lea goes on. "Which basically means he's trying to get her into the back room for a quickie, but he's too cheap to buy his own cigarettes for after."

"He wants to sleep with _Molly_?"

"Is that her name?"

"Kind of tubby? Brown hair? Has 'Molly' on her nametag?"

Lea frowns. "No. This one's blonde and has a rack like two ham hocks – kind of looks like the twenty-year-old lovechild of Strife and Lockhart."

Yuffie spends a moment trying to imagine what Cloud and Tifa's lovechildren would look like – mostly crazy hair and giant busts with a right hook to bury you in the wall – and then shakes the idea away. "She must be new."

"Must be."

Silence falls. Yuffie's not sure what Lea's thinking about, but he doesn't move away and … weirdly, some part of her is grateful for that.

He hasn't asked her what's wrong, either, which she's also grateful for – until he spoils things by sliding past the question, long fingers trailing along its flank like an agitated horse, asking without actually asking.

"You wanna hire me to kill whoever did this to you? My rates are pretty cheap."

"No, it's not worth it." She shifts her seat. Damn, this is uncomfortable. And aren't you supposed to get piles or something sitting in the cold for too long?

"That sentence can be true of only a few things. Everything's worth something to someone."

"I can't pay you."

"We'd work something out."

She tips her face to look at him. Even sitting down he's taller than her. She can't read anything from his expression, or the distant look in his eyes. "Are you being serious?"

"Are you?"

It seems ridiculously coincidental that she should be pondering one irritating man and another appears to drag her out of her funk. Or possibly convince her to let him kill the first one. With Lea and Reno you can never be quite sure what's a joke and what's a thinly veiled threat or promise.

Of course, a big clue here is that Lea asked for her permission. If he really wanted to off Leon he'd have just gone ahead and done it.

From what she's learned, Turks don't take orders from anyone by their superiors, and the rest of the time they work by pivoting around loyalty to the name 'Turk'. To be a Turk is a dangerous, wonderful, intoxicating thing on one side, and an equally dangerous but more squalid thing on the other – like a coin painted black on one side, spinning through the air in an eternal rotation between light and dark. No Turk would ever ask permission before going on a hit, just like no ninja would ever hold stand in the open to be struck by arrows out of choice unless the objective has already been fulfilled.

CH-CLINK. CH-CLINK. CH-CLINK.

Yuffie glances at Lea's hands. In one is a thin-necked bottle half full of liquid. The other holds a silver lighter. He flips it open and shut with a dexterity that says the habit is a longstanding one. The flame lights his face from beneath, casting it in flickering, gruesome shadows. He grins when he sees her looking, takes a swig from the bottle and offers it across.

She's about to decline. She's never been drunk before, but the idea of losing control of her senses is unappealing.

"_You're a child, Yuffie. You haven't grown up at all since the day I met you."_

She grabs the bottle and slugs it back, then dissolves into a coughing fit. Her throat burns. The acrid smell of the drink fills her nose as it dribbles out the sides of her mouth. She drags the back of her free hand across her mouth, but keeps coughing – so much that she actually feels like she's going to retch.

Because wouldn't _that _be a fantastic addition to an all-around crappy evening? Having a hissy-fit in front of Leon, and then chucking her guts up in front of Lea. Marvellous. Simply marvellous.

A hand rubs her back and pulls her hair out of puke-range. Lea doesn't bother making soothing noises; he just waits to see whether she'll heave or not. When she has finished coughing, eyes streaming and throat raw, he releases her hair and leans back, balanced on his toes like a frog with both hands hanging between them. The bottle is propped behind him on the thatch, lighter nowhere to be seen.

"Amateur."

"Get … lost …"

"Done that. Ended up in this town."

"Wise … ass."

"At least I can handle my liquor."

Yuffie touches her chin where it ran down, still feeling the curious tingle. Surely drink isn't meant to burn that much on the outside as well as the inside? "What the heck _is_ that stuff?"

"Some kind of whiskey. I think." He reaches behind him to examine the label. "Yup, whiskey. Single malt, too. I grabbed the good stuff without even trying."

"You stole that?"

"I'm not exactly the richest guy in town right now, Jailbait. Reno turned green when I mentioned that ugly word to him when he said he wanted to go out – _work_. As in we're gonna have to find some, and we may have to redistribute our skills a little to fit in around this vanilla berg." He arches an eyebrow at her. "You can't look at me like that, _ninja_. Like you never got something on five-fingered-discount when you were short? But then, you're always short, aren't you? Besides, it was your fault I had to do it anyway."

"How is you stealing a bottle of best whiskey _my_ fault?"

"If I hadn't heard you land on the roof and snuck up the stairs to investigate I wouldn't have passed near enough the stash _to_ grab it."

That sounds like something _she'd_ say. "Shyeahright. You can't kid a kidder, but good attempt. Points for effort."

He tips the bottleneck towards her, but she holds up both hands, as if warding off evil spirits – which, in a way, she is. That stuff is _nasty_. Lea responds with a chuckle and tips the whiskey up to his own lips instead. He takes only a small sip, not an inexperienced glug like her, and lets out a contented belch afterwards.

"That's disgusting," Yuffie says.

"Who asked you?"

"It's still disgusting – you _and_ the drink."

"You wound me with your words, Jailbait."

She frowns deeply at him. "Don't call me that." Her voice loses its buoyancy suddenly. She rests her arms on her knees again, staring out across the pretty, twinkly expanse of Traverse Town at night. How many nights has she stared out across this town? And how many times has she wished she could introduce Leon to the way she sees the world?

"You're not yourself tonight."

"Mrrf."

"Was it Leonfart?"

"How the heck did you – um, not, of course not. I'm just trying new things. Y'know, maturity and junk. Thoughtful silences. Monosyllabic answers. I felt like a change. Is that a crime?"

"So it _was_ him. What'd he do, pee on your ice-cream?"

"Eew! Why would you even _say_ something like that?"

"To stop you looking like someone flayed the skin off your puppy and told you to turn it into a scarf and twinset."

She blinks, unable to think of a good enough answer to that. "Your mind must be a scary place sometimes, Lea."

"You have _no _idea, kiddo."

"Don't call me that, either."

"Ah, so the truth comes out. You're mad at Leonfart for making cracks about your age, right?"

"Grrnff."

"Real witty answer. Heart of a poet you've got there."

"What's it to you, anyway?"

"It's something to me because I," Lea leans across and flicks the end of her nose, "happen to think you're all right, for a brat who talks too much –"

"_I_ talk too much?" Yuffie interrupts incredulously.

"– and I _don't_ like Leonfart, so any opportunity to criticise him gets my vote."

Yuffie rolls her hips to one side to find a more comfortable seat. The mention of Leon's name only reminds her how miserable she is. "Leave me alone."

"Yeah, right. You're not a loner. You make out like you are, and that you can take care _of_ yourself _by_ yourself, but you're too attached to people for your own good. You can't help it. You need people, so I'm not going anywhere unless you toss me off this roof."

"That can be arranged."

"I'd like to see you try. My Turk skills against your ninja techniques." Lea purses his lips thoughtfully. "But we'd have to wait for Reno to run a betting ring first, get some good odds and then tweak the figures to make them even better – for _us_. Punters are so gullible. They actually believe every fight they see is genuine, when everyone knows all fights are decided before the opponents even lay eyes on each other."

"So who'd win between you and me?"

He looks speculatively at her. "You'd fight dirty," he says, not disapproving. "And you'd want to keep it short, since I have more pounds, more height and more stamina than you. You'd tire quicker than me. You'd try sneak attacks and rely on your speed. I, on the other hand, would just stand there and defend, defend, defend until you wore yourself out, then go in for a quick finishing strike."

"Are we talking hand-to-hand or with weapons?"

"Bare hands, definitely. Add weapons and it'd get a whole lot more interesting." He grins that wolfish grin, all sharp white teeth and burning green eyes. She can imagine that grin peering out from between snow-covered trees, staring at the one sickly moose left behind by the herd.

Talking about an imaginary fight between the two of them is oddly calming. Fighting isn't about deeper feelings or having your heart broken; it's about staying alive and showing off how good you are.

And Yuffie knows she's good. She wouldn't have lived so long if she wasn't in tip-top condition, her skills sharp as sin.

"But there's one thing that'd clinch it," Lea goes on. "Weapons or no weapons, I'd still win."

"Talk about overconfident. I could kick your ass any day of the week, Mr. Hedgehog Head."

He gives her a sceptical look. Okay, so maybe that wasn't one of her better nicknames. "Maybe. Maybe not. But I'd get up afterwards and keep on coming. Turk Tenacity, that's what everyone called it. You can knock down a Turk, but they just keep coming until you _put_ them down for good." He leans towards her. "And you wouldn't put me down like that, Yuffie."

She's suddenly very aware of the warmth of him next to her.

Lea isn't wearing gloves. He always wears gloves, while Reno goes bare-handed, as though Lea is constantly in the position of cleaning up his brother's messes while leaving his own for some other poor sap. Yet Lea isn't wearing his gloves now. The long bare fingers curled around the neck of that bottle are suddenly an incredibly engaging sight.

Yuffie mentally shakes herself. _Get a grip. Like you don't have man troubles enough as it is? Hormones. It's just hormones. You're still all loopy from realising you're totally in love with Leon. _A tingle jolts in her belly as Leon's face appears in her mind. She tries to squash it, but it won't go. _Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did you have to be so stupid, falling for him?_

None of which stops her mouth from going dry as she asks, "And why wouldn't I put you down?"

"Because you're not a killer anymore."

It isn't what she's expecting. She jerks back to reality. "_What_?"

Lea shrugs. "You may have been once, but now? You've absorbed too much of that sanctity of life crap from your friends." He lifts the whiskey but pauses with it still halfway to his face. "You're too attached to life, just like you're too attached to people. They've neutered your killer instinct. And don't tell me you never had one, _ninja_."

Yuffie sputters. She has spent so long _not_ talking about the time before she met her friends, knowing the knowledge would make them look at her differently. Even that time in Ragdim before she got to Hollow Bastion, when she allowed herself to be weak for the last time, has stayed secret even though sometimes, when she can't sleep for nightmares of it, all she's wanted to do is blurt out what happened and have her friends comfort her. They suspect, and they've probably guessed some of what her tribe used to do, but she has never actually _confirmed_ it. Part of her may even be ashamed of it. So Lea now talking as if she should pine for that part of her life is troubling.

"Where do you get off, making judgements like that?"

Lea doesn't rise to the bait. "So you're saying it's not true?"

"I'm Yuffie Kisaragi, the Great Ninja Yuffie. Great _Ninja_. And ninjas aren't famous for holding picnics and cooing over baby chicks."

"I dunno." He slides a lazy finger down the side of the bottle, tracing the line of the label. "I can see you going all goo-goo-eyed over a ball of yellow fluff that goes 'cheep-cheep-cheep'." His impression of a chick's cry is disturbingly authentic.

"I could _so_ take you. In a fight, I could totally take you down."

"Could you put me down?"

She stares at him, not knowing which answer is the right one. She's saved from having to choose by the sound of a window sash behind thrown up, and a head popping out of the wall below their perch. It has brown hair, and when it turns towards them Yuffie recognises the tavern owner.

"Hey! What the hell are you two doing on my roof? Get offa there before your feet go right through the thatch!"

Suddenly Lea's on his feet, hauling her up and shoving the whiskey into her hands. His arm is around her waist before she can protest, hooking her up so her spine slots into place beneath his armpit. Yuffie yelps as he backs up and takes a running, slippery jump off the thatch, swings one-armed on the curve of a streetlamp and slides down the pole to the ground below. Nonchalantly, he ambles away from the tavern and turns down a side-street lined with closed shops and cafés, while she dangles idiotically from his grasp like a ragdoll.

"You shriek like a girl," he says conversationally.

She angles her foot around to kick him in the kidneys.

"Ow! Fuck!"

"That was for pulling a stunt like that _without freaking warning me_."

"Hey, I didn't know you'd be frightened."

"I wasn't _frightened_; I just don't need to be carried like some stupid helpless princess! I can get off a roof by myself, thankyouverymuch." She whacks an elbow into his stomach. "And _that's_ for getting me so close to your stinky B.O.-pit – which I'll bet you've never even washed since you landed in this world. And this -" She angles her elbow to get him again, but he catches it in one strong hand.

"Don't," he says tersely, "do that." It's not quite a snarl, but may be its lesser cousin.

Yuffie doesn't give up her glare. "And _this_," she says again, "is for not _putting me down already_." She wrenches her whole body around and bites him, hard, on the shoulder. Lea yelps and drops her, but Yuffie lands, catlike, on her hands and toes and turns it into a handspring that only just misses his chin with her heels. She lands several feet away and rounds on him.

Lea gapes at her. "You _bit_ me?" He doesn't sound angry anymore, just surprised. "You actually bit me. What are you, five?"

"I'm _not_ a child!" The words rip from her. It's a raw cry, so unfamiliar in her voice. She's horrified to find the backs of her eyeballs hot and prickly. _Damn. Damndamndamndamn-_

"You have issues."

"Bite me."

"I'll leave that comeback for a second. Instead I'm going to point out that _you_ just kicked, hit and bit me for doing something you do all the time. Something you're quite happy to do all the time, too."

"Not under someone else's arm, I'm not."

"_That's_ the problem?" A slow smile curves the edges of his lips. He actually finds her rage _funny_, which makes her madder. He really is a big freak, from the tips of his freaky hair to the soles of his big freaky feet. "You frigid little thing."

Yuffie decides now would be an optimum time to make use of the library of words, phrases, and other insults she has collected from Cid. Lea tries to speak, but the weight of her tirade beats his tongue into the floor of his mouth and pins it there. It's as if he pressed a button on her forehead marked 'Go!' and now there's no way for her to stop until she either winds down or runs out of things to say. Since she has spent years ducking in and out of Cid's shop and house, and has a good imagination of her own, her brain is fizzing over with curses. They all scramble to finally get to her mouth.

Lea's eyes widen after the first couple of minutes. He actually looks impressed when she gets to the part about the lemon juicer and bitumen.

Yuffie can't stop. Every feeling that has run through her this evening – or run her through – does a U-turn and heads back the way it's come, travelling into her gullet as part of the hissing, spitting outburst. She purges herself of the hurt, the disgust, the embarrassment, and the humiliation that has followed her from Leon's, and also the eagerness and hope she took up there along with that stupid jacket. She tries to purge her love for him as well, but that one sits like a rock at the bottom of her heart. By the time she has dug through the welter of other crap to get at it, she's too tired to do anything with it.

She realises belatedly that a slow, deliberate hand-clap is filling the silence left by her voice. She glares furiously at Lea, but he just smirks back.

"Feel better?"

She doesn't have the breath to reply. That doesn't stop her. "Fuh … Ffff …"

"Don't strain yourself. It sounded like you needed that." He has the whiskey bottle in the crook of his arm. He must've caught it when she bit him, demonstrating impressive reflexes that, she now realises, mean her hits shouldn't have connected. Maybe the first, but not the rest. "A bit of catharsis does a body good."

"Fuck … y-you …"

The look her gives her is funny, and not in a funny-ha-ha way, but Yuffie is too busy trying to swallow down the dry walls of her own throat to dissect it.

"He really did a number on you, didn't he?"

Yuffie looks away.

"Why don't you like to be touched?"

"Th'hell?" She takes a breath, canting her hips to one side and adopting one of her favourite poses – the Don't Mess With Me Because I Can Kick Your Ass one she honed by watching Tifa.. "I don't mind touching."

"I never said that. I said you don't like to _be_ touched. I've been watching you – not, not stalking you. I'm not a complete perv. That's Reno's territory. But I've seen you with your friends. You never touch anyone unless _you_ initiate the contact; not if you can help it."

Yuffie realises the implications of what he's saying and straightens up with a sharp, "Nobody ever _abused_ me or anything."

"That's not what you said before. I seem to remember something about travelling to Hollow Bastion and getting into some trouble along the way?"

Yuffie pales.

She recalls the people who wanted to pay her for more than just her ninja skills, despite her tender years. Sickos. She also remembers burying her fist in quite a few guts, faces and crotches, leaving all broken and wailing in her wake. Yeah, that was pretty unpleasant, but no way was that kind of groping the reason behind her reluctance now.

She squares up to Lea. "I'm not some poor little broken bird who ran to Ponytail, Hero and Cloudy so they could put me back together."

He arches an eyebrow. "So why?"

"No reason."

"Don't kid a kidder, remember?" He taps the side of his head. "I got that memorised."

"Why do you even _care?_ "You don't even _know_ me! Why should it matter to you?" Never mind that she has flirted with him on more than one occasion, or that she offered to buy him some new chakrams for no apparent reason. Lea could have secured a job and earned enough to pay for his own, but no, Yuffie marched in and did it for him. Why?

Because she does kind of like him, that's why. Not the way she likes Leon, but enough to want to do nice things for him.

Well, until now, that is. Now she's wondering what it'd feel like to break his nose.

Both their noses! Men are all rats. Seriously.

"Weren't you listening?" Lea moves with a speed that could out-strike a snake and give lightening a nasty shock.

Yuffie moves to block him. He sweeps her feet out from under her and she lands backwards in his arms. He scoops her up as though to carry her like the daring hero and helpless damsel from the covers Chicha's romance novels.

The thought stokes Yuffie's anger. Fighting to get free, she lets loose another volley of curses until he drops her feet and spins her to rest backwards on his left arm, hand slightly curled around her elbow like partners in a waltz, and presses his right hand over her mouth. His hand is warm and smells of whiskey and something sweet, and his breath smells the same when he brings his face close to hers.

"I like you. You're one of the only people in this sanctimonious little town who's worth giving a damn about. You're a little fuck-up who wears a big smile when you could probably slit the throats of everyone in a three block radius before anyone even has a chance to raise the alarm. You're like this little lost puppy with big brown eyes and teeth like needles that it uses to gnaw off its own legs. Do you understand how fascinating that is to a guy like me? Congratulations. You've engaged my interest. That's hard to do these days. You could be so _great, _Yuffie, but you're letting these people dictate their moral code to you, confusing the hell out of you, making you forget what you could be and what you're really good at. What you really _are_."

She darts her neck forward, trying to clamp down on his hand with her teeth. He pulls it away.

"Excuse me for saying so, Mr. Armchair Psychologist, but you're talking a big crock of shit. Nobody dictates to me. I'm my own boss and I live on my own terms. _That's_ why I don't like to be touched – not because I have a tragic past, or for any big philosophical reason. I like being in control. I'm not good about physical contact because it's just a hop, skip and a jump from a hug to decapitation or a knife in your belly. That's one of the first things you learn as a ninja – keep your distance and keep your control, that way you get to keep your life."

"And that lesson certainly runs deep in you."

"I'm a survivor."

Lea snickers. "You're so lost you don't even know it. Trust me, you're so lost nobody's even bothering with a search party. They drank the brandy and gave away the St. Bernard. You're a walking contradiction – a ninja who doesn't kill? A girl who can't live without people but hates to be touched? Near enough an adult in body but still a kid in your mind and emotions?"

"_You're a child, Yuffie. You haven't grown up at all since the day I met you."_

"Fuck you." Hers isn't some measly cousin, it's a real snarl. She has never snarled before; not even yelling revenge at the Heartless for taking her clan. She's surprised her face knows the right shape, but it does and the snarl slithers between her teeth, hot and angry and corrosive. "I'm _not_ some dumb kid."

"_I see a self-centred brat who only helps other people because it brings herself gratification as well. I see someone who takes the law into her own irresponsible hands. I see someone who needs to grow the hell up." _

"No," Lea says with a smirk. "Not a dumb one. Just stupid enough to let other people dictate to her. You like to think you're independent, but you're really completely dependant on them. Not just for a place to crash at night, but for them to tell you what you're doing is good and right and all that other crap. You're so caught up in how they make you feel like you're worth something, you leave yourself wide open to getting hurt by them – like tonight with Leonfart."

"_You're too caught up in your own life to think about others." _

The slap makes her hand sting, even through she's wearing her gloves. The fingerless parts hurt, but the rest of her palm tingles as well. It's a good slap. The echo reverberates around the empty street.

Lea's face stays turned away from her for a long moment. When he slowly swivels back there's an imprint on his cheek. The teardrop tattoo bisects her fingertip. When he smiles her handprint gets all squashy and odd-looking. "So much for keeping your distance and keeping your control."

She's breathing hard, and this time not from the effort of speaking, but from the effort of keeping her tears inside. She _won't_ cry, damn it. The Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi doesn't bawl like a baby just because some guy says things she doesn't want to hear. That's just demeaning. And when did she turn into such a pathetic specimen, anyhow? Crying over Leon, crying over Lea, crying over nothing at all! This is … this is …

"You're still in my arms, you know."

This is _so stupid_!

She has always slept on the couch. Giving up a couch is easier than giving up a bed. Maybe some part of her really has always been waiting for the other shoe to drop; for all the things she has built with her friends to crumble, the way her clan crumbled when it was the most permanent thing in her life.

Her father used to hug her. Not often, and just a quick, gruff embrace, over practically before it'd begun. She let him hug her every time without so much as a wriggle. She _looked forward_ to it.

"Poor little lost ninja girl," Lea quietly singsongs. "You fell hard for Leonfart, didn't you? And he doesn't want you. Now you're questioning your whole little world because you can't reconcile what you really feel with what you've taught yourself to be." His volume drops even lower. "But it's in times of crisis we learn who we really are under our labels and masks."

Yuffie shakes her head and spins out of his grip. She does the unimaginable and turns to run away from him, but his voice stops her in her tracks.

"I was ordered to kill Reno."

She stumbles to a stop. "What?"

"He was my designated hit. I'm not even sure what he'd done to piss off those in charge. It was need-to-know, and apparently I didn't need to know. There were rumours of conspiracies with terrorist organisations against the people who employed us – one of those pathetic 'freedom fighter' groups that couldn't strategise their way out of a paper bag without someone on the inside telling them where the exit was. Maybe the higher-ups thought I was in on it too, but didn't have the same kind of evidence to implicate me, so they decided to test me." Lea shrugs. "Turks follow orders without question, and are loyal to their bosses. It's binding – you become a Turk and you never stop being one until you die or they kill you. The Turks _own_ you." His grin is sharp and meaningful. "As you can see, it was that crisis when I learned who I was under the Turk face."

"You didn't do it."

"Execute my own brother? No, I didn't. Could've, but didn't. I chose not to. Reno learned who _he _was under his Turk face, too. Apparently he's a lot softer than I gave him credit for. I thought he was just a sex-mad, irreverent asshole, but it turns out he's a sex-mad, irreverent asshole with a conscience. That's why he was out cold and I'd lost my chakrams when everything went to shit and our world exploded with Heartless. Lucky break for us. Once you refuse a direct order like that you get … re-educated. In all the confusion I just picked him up, made a break for it and kept on running."

"What does that have to do with me?" Yuffie asks harshly.

"You're in a similar position."

"You reckon? Nobody in my group would ever order me to kill someone I care about."

"That's not what I meant. Who are you underneath _your_ mask, Yuffie Kisaragi?"

Yuffie can't answer. Not comprehensively. She could sling a mocking retort at him, pull her usual trick of babbling, but in the space of a few minutes Lea has stripped away her veils and left her feeling naked and vulnerable.

Leon's rejection is still an open wound, bleeding betrayal like a head injury leaking blood into her eyes, making it difficult to see what she should do next. Put together and arriving close on the heels of each other, these things reduce her to the basic person hiding under her overwhelming, uncontainable and bombastic character.

And Yuffie isn't sure she likes what she sees.

"I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie," she says doggedly. "And I'm a kick-ass independent girl with enough moves to pulverise your sorry butt if you keep talking this brand of garbage."

Lea sighs and shakes his head, as though he tossed a life preserver at a drowning man, only to watch him club himself over the head with it. His gaze meets hers for a nanosecond. She glimpses a pinprick of something like tenderness, but it's fleeting, and replaced so quickly by his knowing smirk, that she probably imagined it.

Probably.

"Hey!"

"Hello?"

The voices that cut across them give Yuffie just the opportunity she needs. Lea glances over his shoulder and she takes a step back, into a shadow, and instantly fades from view. When he turns back his eyes dart about, trying and failing to separate her from the gloom.

She takes a deep breath and runs away on cat feet.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

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	61. Finding a Lost Lamb

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**60. Finding a Lost Lamb**

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If he thought it'd do any good, Zack could quite cheerfully punch Leon again.

"Yuffie!" He cups his hands around his mouth. "Yuffie, where are you? Yuffie!"

"Yuuuuffiiiie!" Aerith tries a different tack, exchanging sheer volume for sustained vowel sounds.

Zack sighs. This is ridiculous. They sound like they're searching for a lost puppy that broke out before it'd had all its shots. Traverse Town isn't like Ambleton. You can't wander around looking for one person and expect them to turn up just because you want it to happen – especially not now night has fallen.

Then there's whether Yuffie even _wants_ to be found. She's fiercely proud, Zack knows. If she's hurting, for whatever reason, she may not want them to see her that way.

"This is like searching for a needle at the bottom of an ocean," he says with a frustrated kick at a battered cardboard box.

"It may not be the finding her that's important, just the looking."

"Huh?" He looks in bemusement at Aerith, and then shakes his head. "I'll defer to you on the logic of that one. I _do _want to find her and make sure she's okay."

"And I don't want her to be okay?"

"That's not what I –"

"Don't worry; I know what you really meant." Aerith looks at him with gentle sympathy. Even when little worry lines wrinkle her forehead, obviously tense about the state Yuffie might be in, as well as the state they left Leon in, Aerith is the most beautiful woman on the planet in Zack's opinion. Now might not be the best time to tell her this, though. "You're upset."

"I want to go back and give Leon a good kicking," he admits.

"That wouldn't do any good. He's hurting just as much as Yuffie."

"How'd you figure?"

"You saw his hands."

"That doesn't mean he's in pain. Not the same kind of pain, I mean."

Aerith sighs. "Sometimes I wonder how you can be so sensitive and smart, and yet so dense at the same time."

He's about to protest this when she turns her head sharply and all but swivels her ears like a cat.

"What?" Zack also pauses to listen, virtually stilling his own breathing.

Across the street a restaurant door opens and a woman emerges, hanging off the arm of a humanoid lizard in a black fedora and spats. She woman has a laugh like a family of mice crying out in agony. Zack resists the urge to glare at her for covering more subtle sounds with the horrible noise.

"This way." Aerith grabs his wrist.

Zack's happy to be led, though he feels a little surplus to requirements. He's supposed to be the great hero, who battles monsters and has been tracking them to make sure his home is safe since he was a teen. Just because he hasn't actually _fought_ any in a few years doesn't mean he should be outperformed by a girl, even if that girl _is_ Aerith. Yuffie's not the only one with pride.

They make their way down a side-street and emerge in a place laden with memories. As always, Zack immediately recalls the embarrassing trek he and Cloud made home from the tavern the first time they went there – nearly the last night of it being a tavern and not a smoking pile of ash.

Aerith stops, frowning slightly. "I thought I heard …"

"What?"

She frowns again and releases his wrist. Zack responds by grabbing hers instead and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, "Yuffie! You here?"

No reply.

They comb the area, and eventually start investigating the other streets and alleys leading off to other parts of town. They're on their third before they hear voices, muffled but familiar. One of them is a man's, but the other is high and feminine.

"Hey!" Zack calls, hoping they're not about to interrupt the laughing woman and her lizard date. Any guy who can flick out his tongue and encircle his date's _waist_ is not someone you want to stumble across making out.

Aerith follows eagerly, not sharing the same misgivings. "Hello?"

It's not the couple. Neither is it Yuffie standing with her back to them.

"Lea."

Zack recognises the distinctive red-brown spikes and posture. If Reno cut off his ponytail, styled his hair like his brother's and stood in silhouette, they'd still be easy to tell apart just by the way they stand. Reno prefers a deceptive slouch, while Lea stands upright, emphasising his height and the length of his limbs. He reminds Zack of someone stretched on a rack who has had to re-learn how to walk, making all his movements languid but deliberate.

He turns to face them, grinning broadly. Lea can have a nice grin, but also a very unsettling one. This is one of the latter. It instantly sets Zack's nerves on edge. He doesn't dislike Lea on sight the way Leon does, but something about him troubles Zack in ways he can't accurately identify. Maybe it's because he's naturally honest while Lea has made a career – and a lifestyle – out of subterfuge and deceit. Or maybe there are some people in life you may like, but know you can't trust.

Aerith doesn't share this feeling. She is forever giving people the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes her patience seems infinite. She comes forward with hands clasped in front of her. "Sorry to disturb you, Lea, but we're looking for Yuffie. Have you seen her?"

Lea cocks his head to one side. "You just missed her. I looked away for a second, and by the time I looked back she'd pulled a disappearing act on me."

"Oh." Aerith can't hide her disappointment. "Did you see which direction she went?"

"Nope. Seriously, I took my eyes off her for, like, three seconds and she was gone."

"All right. Thanks for telling us." Aerith looks back at Zack. He nods. "She didn't go past us, so she must have gone this way." She indicates the other direction, past Lea.

"Unless she was taking the Shadow Express," Zack points out. "Which is pretty likely. Hey, Lea, are you doing anything?"

"Depends why you're asking."

"Would you help us look for her?"

Lea straightens his neck and tips his head the other way. He spends a moment tapping his chin, squinting in thought. "Nah. Yuffie and I have talked enough for one evening."

"You spoke to her? Was she okay? Did she seem all right to you?"

"She seemed fine to me." It's an obvious lie, emphasised when he says, "Considering she's a blubbering wreck who yelled obscenities at me and tried to beat me up. Compared to, say, a crashed and burning plane wreck, she seemed just peachy."

"Yuffie was _crying_?" Zack gapes openly. "Seriously? With tears and everything?"

"Isn't that what most crying involves? Why would I lie about something like that?" Lea asks in a very reasonable voice. He presses one hand against his side, wincing a little. "The girl's got good aim for kidneys. I won't hold it against her, though. She didn't really seem," he smiles, "in her right mind."

Zack continues to gape, trying to process this. In all the time he has known her, he has never once known Yuffie to cry. It's an implicit thing: Yuffie can take care of herself. She doesn't _do_ emotional breakdowns. The idea that she might cry, and possibly still be crying at this moment_,_ while they're standing here talking, is like hearing fire has suddenly decided to be wet.

Aerith keeps her voice level. "What did she say to you?"

"It wasn't what she said so much as what she didn't say." Lea breaks off to drink from a bottle in his hand, taking his time and sighing with satisfaction afterwards. "Oh, that's the good stuff. She _didn't_ tell me Leonfart and his big mouth mangled her up inside and then drop-kicked her out of his life when she's _clearly_ warm for his form. And she _didn't_ tell me that she's feeling completely humiliated by the entire experience. She _didn't_ tell me her heart has been stepped on until it's only good for cheap dog-food, and she didn't tell me she's not as emotionally mature as she's forever making herself out to be."

_I'll kill him. _Zack knows he won't do anything of the sort, but it still feels good to think it. _I'll strangle him with one of his own belts. I'll make him eat his gunblade – after I've made him apologise to her. Except …_ He flinched to think it. _You don't do what he did to that wall unless you're nuts or really, really upset. So maybe Leon's gone nuts? No, don't be an idiot, Zack. Does that mean he regrets what he said to her? But then why did he __**say**__ it in the first place? What's going on here? Hell, Angeal, what should I do now? _He often thinks of his uncle when he's lost and frustrated, or when situations threaten to overwhelm him. Thinking of the methodical way Angeal would approach a problem gives Zack focus and helps him think more clearly.

"Oh dear. This is all getting incredibly messy."

_And the Understatement of the Year Award goes to Aerith Gainsborough._

"Tell me about it." Lea doesn't seem at all concerned. In fact, he sounds almost pleased, like he could easily revel in this misfortune if Zack wasn't there with a huge sword strapped to his back and a scowl strapped to his face. Zack loves to smile, but even he can recognise when it's inappropriate.

"We should keep trying to find her," he says, speaking to Aerith but watching Lea.

"You do that," Lea says, flipping a lazy salute with his free hand. "Good luck."

"What did you say to her?" Zack asks before they leave.

Lea shrugs. "Just some stuff she needed to hear."

Uneasy prickles race up and down Zack's spine. 'Not in her right mind', that's what he'd said. There's a lot of weight to that statement. "What sort of stuff?"

Lea's smile is razor-sharp. "Private stuff. Stuff you wouldn't understand, being a true-blue hero and all."

"Excuse me?" Zack's confusion shows in his face.

"Me and Yuffie, we …" Lea spirals a hand at then wrist, apparently searching for the right word, "We _get_ each other. Or at least we think we do, which is kind of the same thing for people like us."

"'People like us'? What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Great, as if they don't have enough to deal with, without mind-games from another side to mess Yuffie up further. "What did you - ?"

"Yo." The sound of someone coming down the side-street towards them, footsteps echoing off the walls of the building on either side, breaks off the conversation like pulling up a weed by its roots. The flash of white teeth and red hair does an admirable job, too. "You okay, Lea?"

"I'm fine, you drunken bum. Did your date fall through?"

"Nearly fell through the storeroom door when she leaned on the handle. Does that count?" The trail of Reno's cigarette wreathes his face in smoke. The cherry glows hot when he breathes in, grinning like an idiot.

Only a _true_ idiot would consider Reno one, though.

"Yo, Zacky-poo and Aerith are slumming it. I didn't know you kids hung around these parts."

"We don't," Zack replies. "Not usually. And it's not Zacky-poo, it's Zack. We're looking for Yuffie."

"Jailbait?" Reno's eyes flick to Lea with an unspoken question. Lea treats his brother to that pleased little smirk, which greatly amuses Reno for some reason. "Can't say _I've_ seen her, but I've been otherwise engaged."

"We can see that," Lea says dryly. "Your pants are on backwards."

Reno looks down. "Aw, man, and I sat in gum too." He finishes flicks the butt of his cigarette away, earning a disapproving look from Aerith. Scratching at the hardened chewing gum with a fingernail, he asks, "You want us to go look for Jailbait?"

"Lea already declined to help."

"He did? Miserable asshole. Ignore him. We'll help. I'm full of the joys of Spring and shit. Nothing like spreading the love."

"There are so many ways I could turn what you just said against you. You're definitely full of shit, and the only thing _you're_ like the spread is gonorrhoea," says Lea.

"Kiss my ass."

For the first time Lea's smile wavers. "Reno, I don't think -"

"Can it, bro. Don't tell me you don't want to find her if she's anywhere to be found."

"I already found her once tonight."

"Then you can be the faithful hound while I pose with one leg raised for a picture with a cool elephant gun and a stupid hat." He pats his pockets, drawing out another cigarette from a pack labelled 'For Ladies on the Go'. He obviously isn't its target audience, and probably didn't buy them himself. He pats his pockets again, but this time turns up nothing. "Hey, any of you got a light?"

Lea sighs. "I _always_ have a light and you know it."

"Yeah, but you waste the lighter fluid just so you can look at the pretty fire."

"It relaxes me."

"Fucking pyro. My fist'll relax you if you don't send that thing over here pronto, yo."

A silvery box flies over Zack and Aerith's heads. Reno catches the lighter and flips it open, snapping it shut again once his cigarette is lit and returning it the way it came in the same fluid movement. Lea catches and pockets it in the same way. They move like dancers or gymnasts, ease of movement suggesting this dance is a longstanding one.

"Let's go." Reno strides forward. "Which way?"

"Pick one," Lea says in a voice he'd deny is surly.

As they move off, Zack feels Aerith's hand. He closes his fingers around hers without looking at her, knowing they share the same thought.

_Wherever she is, I hope Yuffie's okay._

* * *

Yuffie rubs in small circles, marvelling at the velvety-soft fur and the way it seems to get lighter when she rubs against the lie of its roots. "Feeling better now?"

"Not really, but it's the thought that counts. Thanks for botherin' yer head over me, lassie."

"No biggie."

In actual fact, finding Cait outside his tent, retching into a gutter, was just the distraction she needed. Totally icky, but taking care of him and getting him back inside occupied enough of her thoughts that the here and now overtook the pull of … wherever else her brain wanted to go.

Avoiding the issue? Her? Whatever makes you think that?

The defiant little voice in her head saying _Now who's not thinking of others? _echoes in her head. _I can do altruism just fine. Look at me, being all altruistic. Altruism, thy name is Yuffie._

The kettle on the paraffin ring whistles shrilly. Yuffie flits about, preparing two mugs of tea even though she doesn't really like the stuff. Everyone says tea is calming, and damn it, she really needs to feel calm right now, before she can even _begin_ to sort through the events of the evening. Cait even has that weird herbal stuff. Anything that tastes _that_ bad _has_ to be good for you.

She's exhausted; physically and emotionally drained. Cid's voice echoes in her ear, telling her to let the teabags stew, and she shouldn't _dare _trying pressing them against the side of the mug with a spoon to make them darken the hot water faster. She waits, poking the bags to float in little circles. When they're done – or she can't be bothered wait anymore, she's not sure which – she prepares tea the way Cid has drilled into her, gives one to Cait and keeps one for herself. She takes a sip. Maybe Cid's way of preparing tea makes it taste better.

Nope, still gross.

"Ahhhh, that hits the spot," Cait groans with pleasure. "You're pretty good at bein' a tea lady. I should get you a cart or sumthin' an' employ you. Cannae pay you much, though. How aboot you get wages in tarot cards?"

Yuffie doesn't have the energy to get into witty banter. Instead she asks, "What were you doing to make yourself so sick you ran outside instead of going to the bathroom?"

"I needed fresh air." Cait sighs and blows steam off his tea. "I was scryin', but it's a difficult bit o' magic wiyoot also havin' to be careful about this world's powerful magical field sendin' the magic doolally an' doin' myself an injury. 'Tis a slow process an' damnably time-consumin'."

Yuffie remembers Kairi's crayoned Heartless. One of the drawings is on the round table, in front of the crystal ball with an ornate gold hand mirror placed on top of it like a paperweight. "Were you scrying for Kairi?"

"For whatever the wee bairn's been seein' – or not seein'. Or dreamin'." He rubs at the base of one ear, as if trying to screw it further into his head. "Truth be told, I'm nae sure what I'm scryin' for, which makes it difficult, but I promised I'd try sumthin'. Poor Cloud looked so anxious I could nae offer any less."

"Yeah." Yuffie stirs her tea disconsolately. "He's real fond of her."

"Fond?"

"Mm."

"An interesting word."

"I'm full of interesting vocabulary ever since I …" she pauses. "… learned to read."

Cait gives her an incredulous look. "Lassie, you look like someone told you it's your turn t'clean out the didgie."

"The what?"

"The septic tank."

Yuffie pulls a face. "That's a pretty accurate way of putting it. Also, _ew_!"

"Care to jaw aboot it? I could use a distraction from that dang mirror." Cait glares at it. "What I wouldnae give for a good scryin' pool."

"Can't you just use your crystal ball?"

"Aye, but it's enchanted too, an' the feckin' magical field around this world is so strong I dinnae like to think what might happen if I combined regular scryin' wi' those enchantments. Besides which, it's always good t'explore other options when you think you've hit a dead end wi' one."

Lea's face appears in Yuffie's mind.

_Go away, you!_

Yuffie shakes it away, sighs and wraps her hands around the comforting warmth of her cup. Lea might just be an even bigger asshole than Leon. Or not. They may be equal-but-different assholes. Leon scrunched up her heart like a used paper towel, while Lea straightened it out again only to write things she doesn't like all over it.

She stopped crying a ways back. Thankfully she never wears make-up, so as soon as the redness faded you couldn't tell she has ever cried in her life. Or so she thinks. In truth, her unusually downcast behaviour pokes through her veneer. Cait noticed it even as he was coughing his guts up and she was grabbing his crown before it fell into his half-digested dinner.

She doesn't really want to talk about it. She's not sure she _can_. Her pride is in tatters, but what's left still makes her want to keep up her act: Yuffie Is Kickass And Doesn't Fall In Love, Especially Not With The Wrong Guy, And More Than Even That She Doesn't Listen To Guys Who Tell Her She's Not Kickass And Totally Perfect Just The Way She Is.

It's no use. Her self-esteem has taken a critical hit. Funny. She thought they'd be flying around on winged pigs, dropping poop bombs on their enemies, before that ever happened.

"I have guy trouble." No point in dressing it up. She skips the bit where she also has personality-deconstruction trouble – and that one of those guys is insistent she's not who she thinks she is, while the other considers her nothing more than a selfish child.

Who knows? Maybe they're right. The current Yuffie Kisaragi isn't doing too hot right now. Maybe it _is_ time to re-examine herself – 'explore her other options' now she's hit an end so dead with Leon it makes a graveyard seem like a kegger.

She frowns and contemplates kicking the ass of that traitorous thought.

"Aye," Cait says. "What of it?"

"It sucks."

"Hence the word 'trouble'. Trouble doesnae usually mean good things."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do next." She sounds so forlorn she'd pity herself if she didn't know who she was. Is. Whatever.

"Well first you're going to finish your tea. Don't screw up that pretty face at me, lassie, it'll do you a power o' good. Good stuff, tea."

"What _is_ it with people around here and _tea_?"

"_Then_," Cait goes on, "y'can march right over to that tin there an' fetch oot the wee chocolate biccies inside. Tea may do a body good, but sugar's a salve for the heart, right enough." He settles back in his chair. "An' then, if you're still interested in talkin', I'm interested in listenin'."

"I'm not sure if I'm interested in talking."

"Then I'm interested in sittin' quietly so my achin' head doesnae explode. You're welcome to join me, if you think y'can handle the frantic pace."

Sitting. Sitting _quietly_. Two words that usually strike fear into Yuffie's heart and adrenaline into her legs to move her away from whoever said the dirty things. Now, however …

Now her poor heart feels like someone smashed a bottle and rammed the end into it. Lea's words – plus the thoughts that came from it – babble in the back of her head where she's pushed them. She'll have to confront those things at some point, but not now. She's too damn tired now to think of anything but the chocolate and caramel covered concoctions she sees when she pops open Cait's biscuit tin.

"Oh … _Oh_ …" she murmurs through her first bite.

Cait smirks. "I've never met a women yet who doesnae like a good bit o' millionaire's shortcake."

"Every other guy in the world can feck off," Yuffie exclaims, using her favourite curse word from hanging around here, and spraying buttery crumbs like a fountain. "I love _you_, Cait."

* * *

Yuffie doesn't come home until the next day.

Zack and Aerith keep looking for her, calling incessantly. Eventually Lea and Reno split off on their own, aiming for the sewage plants and that less pleasant side of town. Reno flips a salute as he leaves. Lea says nothing. Zack and Aerith continue to wander, until their cries earn them a boot thrown from an upstairs window.

"I've had a bellyful of your shouting. Put a sock in it already! She's not bloody well here, and you're ruining the mood I'm trying to cultivate with this young lady!" It's the lizard, though now he isn't wearing his spats, or much else.

They hurry away. Aerith shivers. Zack realises how cold it is. A baleful moon shines down on them so brightly it's almost as god as sunlight.

"She doesn't wear coats."

"What?" Aerith looks at him.

Zack doesn't tear his gaze from the moon. "She must be freezing in that skimpy outfit."

The understanding breaks like a wave over Aerith's face. Still holding her own elbows, she knocks her hip against him from the side; her version of a reassuring shoulder-punch. "She's not stupid. She'll have found a place to keep warm."

"Right enough, she has."

They turn as one.

"Cait!" Zack exclaims. "You know where Yuffie is?"

"Aye, she's at my place, fast asleep in a blanket and full o' shortcake. I went wi' my gut an' scryed for her pals, an' the dang-blasted mirror showed me you two freezin' your hawmaws off."

"Hawmaws? Wait, never mind, I can guess what that means. Is she okay?"

Cait shrugs. "A wee bit worse for wear, but she's in one piece. Seems right doon, though. No spark, no runnin' off at the geggy, no nuthin'. Seemed odd enough to merit tellin' you where she is, even though she's usually oot wi' nary a care at this time. 'Guy trouble', she said." He makes quotation marks in the air and tries to imitate Yuffie's voice. He even says it again, exaggerating her accent compared with his own. 'Gah-yeee truh-buh-luh'.

Zack's anger is the only thing keeping him warm, and it sputters the more he thinks about the whole situation. Just after Lea and Reno left them, he asked Aerith whether she thinks Leon rejected Yuffie because he's genuinely not interested, or because he's still loyal to Rinoa. She could only shrug.

"Possibly either. I'm a healer, not a mind-reader."

"But you said to him –"

"I said what he needed to hear."

"You're treating him like he's the victim in this!"

Aerith said nothing to that. What was she supposed to say, after all?

Zack takes stock of the situation now, once he has confirmed that Yuffie is safe and well – or if not well then at least safe. Yuffie has had a crush on Leon practically since Day One. It has become such an integral part of daily life that he stopped thinking about it a long time ago – the sky is blue, gravity keeps them on the floor, Yuffie likes Leon. She has never tried to progress it past the crush stage, though, so everyone just assumed it would always be that way. This changes everything, and yet it changes nothing at all. Yuffie still isn't with Leon, and as Zack and Aerith walk with Cait back to his tent, Zack suspects Yuffie will try to brush the whole thing under the carpet the way she did the last time he rejected her friendship.

Or was the last time just a precursor to this? Did Leon figure out how Yuffie feels about him, panic and do the knee-jerk thing of pushing her away? Perhaps. About the only person who _doesn't _know about Yuffie's crush is Leon himself, or so they all thought.

Aerith is right: this _is_ getting messy.

But as Cait shushes them inside, they look down at Yuffie's sleeping face, pulled tight with troubled dreams, and decide to leave her here for the night, they have no idea just how messy things are going to get from here. If they did, they'd value this time more, because 'easier' and 'better' are words they aren't going to be seeing a lot of for a long time.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

_-_


	62. An Unexpected Development

-

* * *

**61. An Unexpected Development **

* * *

"So this is where you've been hiding."

Yuffie freezes. She nearly made it all the way home without seeing anybody she knows. "Go away."

"Is that any way to talk to a guy who spent most of the night out in the cold looking for your sorry butt?"

"I mean it, booger-breath. Leave me alone."

She can't see him, but she _feels_ Lea's smirk in the air. Slowly she turns. Yep, there it is. "Booger-breath?"

"It's the only thing I didn't call you last night."

"That _was_ an impressive curse-fest. You didn't get _all _of those from Highwind. You'll have to write some of the really obscure ones down for me. I'd never even heard of a … what did you call it – a keek something?"

"A keech gob." Did she really say that one? "It means 'shit-talker' on Cait Sith's world."

"That's the little cat in the crown who put you up for the night, right?"

"Yeah. Unlike _some_ people, he doesn't take pot-shots at a girl on the verge of a nervous freaking breakdown."

"Pfft." Lea folds his arms. "You were hardly in nervous breakdown territory."

"You seemed really intent on _putting_ me there."

"You're too strong for that." He winks at her.

"_I like you. You're one of the only people in this sanctimonious, insignificant little town who's worth giving a damn about."_

The memory pops into her head unbidden. It makes her narrow her eyes, but also causes a flutter somewhere in her chest. She supposes that's because, after Leon's rebuff, Lea's declaration that he _does_ like her struck an already raw nerve. No boy has ever told her he likes her before – not unless he was trying for a quick grope at the same time.

Except Lea _isn't _a boy, not by a long shot, and she hasn't forgotten the rest of what he said. He basically tried to rip her sense of self apart last night, and tried to make her believe her friends aren't good for her. Yuffie would die for her friends – her _family_, she corrects, a little defiantly. That makes her plant her feet, ram her fists against her sides and eyeball him so much her optic nerves ache. "What do you want from me?"

"The pleasure of your company."

"Pull the other one. It's got bells on."

"No, really." Lea actually looks a little discomfited. "I said a lot of stuff last night. I'm not apologising for any of it, so don't expect me to say sorry."

"And don't expect me to say 'I'll be gentle about pulling my foot out of your ass'."

He chuckles. "Maybe I deserved that."

"Gee, you think?"

"I can talk a lot of shit, but hey, can't we all?"

"_You're like this little lost puppy with big brown eyes and teeth like needles that it uses to gnaw off its own legs."_

Yuffie tries out one of Leon's best Disparaging Looks. It feels funny, kind of tight and uncomfortable, but she keeps it there out of bloody-mindedness. She refuses to look like a lost little puppy.

"I do like you though." Lea runs an agitated hand through his hair. "Fuck, I sound like a fucking teenager. Look, I like you. Don't ask me why – especially not after you were about this close to turning my face into macramé last night. And I wouldn't mind getting to know you a little better. Seeing if you really are more than the sum of your parts."

Yuffie frowns. After everything he said and did, is he really …? "Are you asking me out?"

"Would you say yes if I did?"

"Does 'go and die in a corner' count as a yes?"

His frown matches her own. "I'm not Leonfart," he says after a moment. "Don't take how you feel about him out on me. I promise, I'm on the level."

"And how much is a promise from a Turk worth, hm?"

He laughs aloud at that, throwing back his head. "Nothing unless you're another Turk. You're sharp, Yuffie."

"No, I'm not. I'm tired and pissed off and bored with this conversation unless you're taking it somewhere."

"All right." He straightens up. "Go out with me." The words are a statement, not a question, and said with distaste, as though the connotations of them hurt his throat. Still, he still says them. And, Yuffie realises with a jolt, he _means_ them.

"You want _me_ to go out on a date with _you_?"

"It sounds weird, doesn't it? Maybe it's the suit. Guys in suits like this don't usually _ask out_ girls in outfits like … well, _that_."

"Seriously? You think the only reason I'd say no is because you're wearing a suit and implying the way I dress makes me look like a hooker? Are you _trying_ to bleed?"

"Can't we just put the past behind us? I had my Turk face on last night. It happens. I've been a Turk for so long it's difficult to shake off all those wonderful Turk habits – like preying on the weak and vulnerable, and kicking people when they're down. But I _am_ on the level this morning. I'm not asking for you to fall madly and passionately in love with me. I'm _definitely_ not talking about marriage and kids and a house with a white picket fence. Just a little fun. Nothing too serious after you took that knock-back from Leonfart. If not a date, then at least agree to spend some time with me. In broad daylight, if you like. With lots of other people and witnesses around."

"Hmmf."

"Remember what I said about Reno being my hit?"

"I remember."

"I promised our mom I'd keep him alive, and I promised Reno I'd look out for him. I kept the promises non-Turk me made." The looks he gives Yuffie is meaningful. "I'm not asking you out as a Turk. I'm asking you out as the guy under the Turk mask. Me. Lea."

He's not Leon. He's not even close. Leon is safety and gruff concern. Lea is a knife-edge between caring and sadistic, and goodness help you if you fall off that thin blade into the rest of his personality.

But Lea has also proven he's capable of integrity, courage and even love. He turned against the scariest organisation she's ever heard of to keep his brother alive. If the darkness hadn't come, they might've caught and killed him for that. And he came to find her this morning, didn't he? While Leon is still at home in his apartment, probably glad she never came back with Aerith and Zack. Leon is like her comfort blanket, but with all the silky edging unravelled.

Children have comfort blankets.

"_Who are you underneath your mask, Yuffie Kisaragi?"_

If Leon thinks she's a child, she'll show him. _We'll just see how adult I can be. Maybe it's time I played with fire, took a few chances rather than sitting on my feelings and sticking just to what I know how to deal with. 'Cause frankly? Doing that sucks. Majorly. _

The times, they are a-changing, and Yuffie Kisaragi is going to change with them.

* * *

Kairi slams into her so hard they both go flying.

"Small Fry!"

She buries her face in Yuffie's neck. Instinctively, Yuffie wants to push her off, stand up, and then maybe pick her up again on her own terms. Her hands freeze as she recognises the reaction, and she instead places them on the back of Kairi's head and shoulder.

Is this what her father felt like when he hugged her – full of love but also kind of trapped?

"Your heart," Kairi mumbles into the soft below her throat. "It's all tangled up."

"You called it, kid."

"Yuffie?" Cloud appears at the apartment door and immediately pulls Kairi off. "Are you all right?"

"No bruises, so I must be fine. Small Fry tackles like a true ninja. I never even saw her coming." Yuffie picks herself up and dusts herself off. She holds out the bakery bag. It's only a little squashed, but half the fun of doughnuts is licking excess filling off the inside of the bag. "I bought breakfast."

"I didn't mean from this, I meant …" Cloud trails off, uncomfortable. "Are you _all right_? Kairi was so upset, she woke up ad she was calling for you, and Zack and Aerith went up to see Leon, and then they came back down and said you'd run away, and they were going after you, and Zack took the Buster Sword, and Leon was bleeding, and –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. Leon was bleeding?" Concern pings into place. "Was he hurt? Did Zack hurt him?"

"Of course not." Cloud's expression wavers between Bad Liar and Zack Will Kill Me For Telling You This. "Well, not really. Leon hurt himself punching the wall, I think. Repeatedly. Aerith had to heal his hands."

"Really?" Yuffie suddenly realises what she's doing and hurls her concern away. Leon didn't care enough about her to check she was okay, or even not say those things in the first place. No _way_ is she going to treat him to an _ounce_ of concern now.

She carefully ignores all her other memories of him showing concern over the years, instead focussing on her resolve not to care about him anymore. She doesn't even hate him – well, not much. Mostly she feels hurt when she thinks about him, which is pathetic and Not Going to Happen Buddy. So instead she's going to do the adult, mature thing and pretend he's not there anymore.

Yeah. Really mature.

Or maybe she'll just wing it.

"Well, I'm fine, Cloudy. No need to worry about lil' ol' me."

"But -"

"I _said_ I'm _fine_, Cloudy." It's a miracle she manages to say this without gritting her teeth. "_No_ need to _worry_ about _me_. Right, Small Fry?"

Kairi stares up at her. "Your heart's still hurting."

Stupid insightful kids with their stupid insightful ways. "It's not broken, is it?"

"No…"

"Then everything's hunky dory! C'mon, I got you a doughnut with sprinkles."

Kairi immediately lights up. "Strawberry?"

"Is that your favourite flavour?"

"Yes."

"Then I got you strawberry." Yuffie grins as Kairi dashes inside, shouting to Aerith and Zack that Yuffie got doughnuts for everyone. Yuffie looks at Cloud and doesn't allow her grin to dim one iota. "You'll get premature wrinkles."

He doesn't stop frowning. "You're not okay."

"I will be when I have some sugary grease-soaked carbs inside me."

"Yuffie –"

"Cloud." She uses his real name. It's enough to make him shut up for a second. "I? Am fine – in both senses of the word. I was a little off-kilter last night, but that's over with. Finished. Done and dusted. Ended. So long and don't forget to send a pigeon. Get it?"

"I –"

"Get. It?"

He sighs. "Got it."

"Good." She beams and shoves him backwards through the door. "You like raspberry jelly, right?"

* * *

It's not even Tifa's lunch break, but she leaves the shop anyway. Cid doesn't try to stop her. A glance out the door to see what she has spotted, as well as the look on her face, kick in his self-preservation instincts. He wisely pretends to be checking the cash register and doesn't look up as she vaults the counter.

Tifa goes down the street, nodding hello to people she sees, avoids a yappy little dog straining on the end of its leash, passes the coffee shop without inhaling like she usually does, and grabs Leon from behind by his collar. Dragging him into the mouth of an alley behind the bookshop, she pins him against the wall and holds him there.

When he sees who she is, his face registers a kind of weary resignation, as though he was just waiting for this to happen. The fact he knows he's done wrong doesn't make Tifa feel any more kindly disposed towards him.

"What did you say to Yuffie?"

Something in her eyes must tell him not to try avoidance. "I set her straight."

"Come again?"

"I told her a few home truths. She needs to get her act together, stop thinking everything is just a game."

Tifa can't believe what she's hearing. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"You're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?"

"Tell _me_," Tifa says, releasing his collar and placing a hand either side of him on the wall, effectively boxing him in with her body. To escape he'd have to go through her, and Tifa is incandescent enough to keep even the densest person right where she wants them. "When did you first figure out Yuffie's got a crush on you?"

Leon scowls. He doesn't, however, look shocked, or try to deny it, which just confirms her suspicions that this wasn't really about Yuffie thinking life is a game at all.

"Go on." Tifa won't be budged. "When?"

"I don't remember."

"Was it when she went to Mosey City the first time?"

"Maybe."

"That's a yes then." Tifa nods. Okay, next question. She keeps going, like an oxen dragging a plough but no driver, cutting furrows in a field in the hope that something – _anything_ – will grow in them. "When did you decide that was a bad thing?"

"What's the point of all this?"

"_When_, Leon?"

"I don't remember that either."

"You -" One hand leaves the wall long enough to jab a finger into his chest. "- have got to be one of the most hypocritical men I've ever met. In my _life_. I swear, you make me want to scream."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Now you listen to me, Squall Leonheart, and you listen good. Yuffie is my friend. You're a friend too, or at least we both thought you were – now I'm not so sure. Where the hell do you get off being so _awful_ to her when all she wanted was to be near you?"

Leon glares at her fiercely. He uses his words with a tone and volume that makes them as good as fists – which she blocks as easily as she would amateur punches and jabs. "Where the hell does everybody else get off telling me I'm the worst scum ever to walk upright just because I spelled out to her that she was barking up the wrong tree?"

"Did anybody ever teach you it's not what you say, it's the way you say it?" Tifa takes a deep breath. "Yuffie won't tell anyone exactly what you said, but I'm betting it was hugely unpleasant because you managed to make her act so out of character. She's been crazy about you for years."

"It was a teenage crush." He says it the way you might say 'it was crud on my shoe' or 'it was a fly in my food'.

"So? Yuffie's been your greatest champion from the beginning. She stuck by you when you tried to push everyone away, and she did it because she cared. She cared about_ you_. Did she ever ask anything more from you than friendship?"

"No," he grudgingly admits.

"Isn't that a big clue that she _knew_ you weren't ready to offer her more than that?"

"'Weren't ready' implies that someday I would have been. There will never be any chance of me returning Yuffie's feelings of adolescent attachment. I just let her know that."

"Oh for crying out loud, _listen_ to yourself. 'Letting someone down gently' completely bypassed you, didn't it? You were _cruel_ Leon, and you were cruel to someone who didn't deserve it. We all knew you could be an asshole, but to ignore and then openly attack someone who cares so much about you is … is …" She sucks in a breath to keep from yelling and shaking him by his shirtfront. "Do you even _see _how cowardly that is? She's still not okay. You and your stupid 'home truths' have a lot to answer for."

"I can see that." Leon's eyes are fixed over her shoulder and to the left. His tone is flat, but his eyes are suddenly lit by an inner fire.

Tifa looks.

Yuffie has just come out of the shop. Behind her walks Lea, swinging a pair of what look like large metal wheels by his sides. Yuffie grins, playing tag with a trio of moogles that flit around her head. Lea's expression mirrors hers. At this distance you can't tell whether it's a genuine smile or a devious smirk. His body language is relaxed, though; he actually looks _happy_. As they watch, Yuffie dances closer to tell him something, and then dances away again, but not before his whole body tilts towards her since his hands are occupied. The meaning couldn't be any clearer if blue sparks of electricity crackled between them.

"She looks really broken up about it," Leon deadpans. "Are we done now?"

Tifa is too busy gaping. Her anger towards Leon drains away, leaving behind surprise and mild confusion at this unexpected turn of events. Yuffie has been so focussed on Leon for so long that nobody, not even Tifa, ever anticipated her dating anybody else. Not that Yuffie dating _Leon _was ever more than a hazy pipe-dream, either, but at least it's crossed their minds more often than … this.

Yuffie and Lea?

_Well, at least it's better than Yuffie and Reno. She'd probably catch some horrible disease from that guy. _

Leon exaggeratedly clears his throat. "If you've finished hauling me over the coals for something that, apparently, you feel more strongly about than Yuffie herself does, I have groceries to buy." He pushes one arm away with the palm of his hand. Tifa doesn't resist him.

It _does_ seem pretty ridiculous to reprimand him when Yuffie's capering about like nothing's wrong, has ever been wrong, or will ever be wrong in her life. When Aerith told Tifa what happened, Tifa was livid at the idea of someone hurting her friend so badly, whether he also happened to be her friend or not. Tifa is protective of Yuffie and loves her like a sister, so when she discovered Yuffie's infamous crush on Leon finally had reached breaking point, Tifa had to be restrained from going after him with fists clenched right away.

"Leon, wait."

He stops and half turns towards her. "You have more to say to me?"

"I don't …" Tifa wonders how to phrase this. Seeing Yuffie being her usual happy self has thrown her. She gathers herself. "Leon, you and I may not have always seen eye to eye, and sometimes things have been a little … strained between us." What an understatement for him seeing his dead lover whenever he looks at her – although he hasn't looked at her with that distant I'm Missing Rinoa and Wishing You Were Her expression for some time now. "But we're friends."

"Apparently."

She clenches her teeth. "You don't have to be an asshole _all _the time, you know."

"Are those your parting words of wisdom?"

"You know what? Forget it. I just wanted to tell you I'm here if you need someone to talk to, but you obviously don't like talking unless it's to verbally attack those who give a damn about you. Be miserable. See if I care."

She stalks back to Cid's shop, sneaking looks at the couple turning the corner and pausing to consider how she feels about this.

"Don't really matter how _you_ feel about it," is what Cid says when she voices her concerns. "What matters is the pipsqueak and the lanky streak of piss, and whether they're okay."

"He might not be good for her."

"And she's good for him?" Cid shakes his head. "They're kids." This isn't as disparaging as it sounds. To Cid, everyone younger than him is a kid, and to be treated as such until they can prove they're worthy of more. "Let them have their fun. Strikes me there's been too much heaviness about Yuffie lately. She's not a profound kid, she's a little brat with a lot of good friends like us watching out for her. This ain't the greatest love story ever told with her as the female lead. She's a teenage girl who just had her heart broken and she deserves a bit of fun. If you ain't allowed to have a little fun at her age then life's dealt you an even rougher hand than cards made of sandpaper."

"You're willingly counting yourself as one of Yuffie's friends?" Tifa asks.

Cid grunts and throws a wrench at her.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

-


	63. How Far Away the Stars

-

**

* * *

**

62. How Far Away the Stars

* * *

'_How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!' _-- William Butler Yeats

**

* * *

**

"I can't believe how quickly those little mutants made these." Lea admires his brand new chakrams, running his hands over them and testing the point of each spike. He hisses and draws back, a droplet of blood welling on his fingertip. "They've never even _seen_ chakrams before."

"I _told _you moogles are cool."

"You did tell me, but I didn't believe you." Lea shakes his head, marvelling at the perfectly designed weapons. "When they said they'd upgraded them with magic I was ready to walk out the door, but now I'm glad I stuck around."

Yuffie grins, remembering his expression when one moogle showed him how to ignite the end of each spike with magical flames that needed no fuel to burn.

"When you came to give us your specifications we saw how fond you were of the tiny fire in the silver box, kupo."

"My lighter?" Lea immediately brought it out and flipped it open. As always, his eyes flared just as much as the flame. Yuffie reckons he really does nurse some pyromaniac tendencies. Reno jokes that you can always knowing tell where Lea's been on a mission because it's on fire. Lea himself is like a flame, flickering between one form and the next, never still and always a hairsbreadth from destroying something.

"Yes, kupo!" The moogle clapped its hands in delight. "So we fixed a few flaws in the structural integrity of your chakrams, and also added a few extra upgrades, kupo."

"What … kind of upgrades?"

A moogle grin is the cutest thing in the history of all worlds – sweeter than swallowing a honey pot followed by an entire bag of sugar, and fluffier than a basket of kittens. Yuffie had to restrain herself from an involuntary 'Awwww' – especially when two other moogles held one chakram by its centre and their spokesmoogle uttered a single word.

"IGNITE!"

If the fact it didn't add 'kupo' wasn't a surprise, the blaze of orange and yellow light around the edges of the chakram made both Yuffie and Lea step backwards. Lea didn't try to touch her shoulder or take her hand, but he brushed against her. A shiver radiated from the contact point. He wasn't looking at her though, too fixed on the union of chakram and fire – his two favourite and deadliest weapons.

"Magic makes everything cool," Lea says now, spinning one chakram up into the air and catching it by its centre. His fingers hook around the bars and struts that keep it circular even if it smashes into a solid object, like a wall – or a Heartless.

"You wanna go practise?" she asks.

"I'm not taking these babies into the sewers for their first outing." When Leon, Zack and Tifa first tested Lea and Reno's skills, they all went down to the sewer system when Zack and Leon usually spar.

"How about we go outside of town?"

"I can live with that." Lea grins and tosses one chakram at her. "Think fast!"

The heavy metal circle might as well be a regular hula-hoop. Yuffie mimics his hold, although it's not as unbreakable. Not bad for a first try, though. She puts all her weight on one hip and dangles the chakram from her hand, as though it's a Frisbee she's about to throw for a dog.

"You're a natural," Lea says mock-admiringly. At least she assumes it's mocking. Then again, everything out of his mouth sounds mocking, so who can really tell?

"And you're still trying to butter me up."

It has been three days since he met her on the way home from Cait Sith's. Lea has mostly fallen back into his easy, acerbic charm. Every now and then, however, he seems to remember some of the things he said in that alley by the tavern. She can tell when he does, because he looks at her in a very particular way, and makes an extra effort to be nice. It doesn't always ring true, but Yuffie finds herself flattered by his eagerness to atone, especially since it's obviously such an alien impulse. It almost makes up the words still echoing in her ears, zinging around her brain and burying themselves in her thoughts like shuriken into soft flesh. Some of what he said has taken root. She has taken a step back and started doing some really hard thinking about herself, and the way she relates to her family and friends.

And Lea.

And Leon.

Does she still count Leon as her friend?

_Shut up, brain. Stop being such a downer. _

She has also fallen back into her usual, comfortable behaviour patterns, and Leonfart (she will never get tired of that nickname) is not worth thinking about right now – not when Lea is grinning at her and holding out his hand to retrieve his chakram.

"Gotta catch me if you want it back." She dashes away.

He gives chase, long legs matched by her habit of leaping onto buildings and hopping away over their roofs. "Hey! Give that back!"

"Slowpoke!"

"Thief!"

"Loser!"

They don't pull out the big guns – the really hurtful, spiteful things – even though each is fully aware of the thin points in the other's armour. Their self-restraint would surprise anyone who knows who they are.

Mostly, however, people who spot them shake their heads and mutter only, "Hooligans."

* * *

Chicha sees the fireworks from her kitchen window. Seconds later Kuzco bursts in, grass fronds trailing from his mouth. He hates to admit he indulges in his llama body's more bucolic habits, but now he doesn't care. He grabs Chicha's sleeve between his teeth and drags her from her seat to hide under the table.

"Where's Pacha?" Kuzco scans for the little boy. "Pacha! Kid! Get your skinny little butt under here before –!"

"He's playing over at Kairi's," Chicha interrupts, half-crawling out and being pushed back in again. "Kuzco! What's this all about?"

"The sky is falling!"

"What?"

"Comets! Meteors! The end of the world – just like before!"

There aren't any Heartless, or a cyclone of darkness sucking up reality around them, so Chicha seriously doubts this. She shoves Kuzco's hooves aside and clambers to her feet.

"Chicha, no, you'll get eaten! Or worse, _I'll_ get eaten keeping _you_ from getting eaten!"

Chicha wrenches open the back door into the garden, noting the ugly hoof-prints where a panicked llama-emperor kicked it open rather than fiddle with the handle, as he usually insists on doing. Another comet-tail streaks across the sky, claiming her attention. It's coming from the other side of town, but doesn't look much like the fireworks she originally imagined. It whips in a wide arc. Almost immediately after passing out of sight behind a line of houses, it reappears, never aiming at anything, just travelling to and from an unknown point outside town like a fiery boomerang.

Pursing her lips, Chicha looks around and spots a pile of firewood Cloud helpfully cut for her last week. It's quite near the hives she has spent so long cultivating, so she's careful not to disturb her bees as she examines the structural integrity of the pile. A few buzz lazily around her head, but she pays them little heed. As soon as they realise she has no pollen they leave her alone. Hoisting her skirts, she finds a few good hand- and foot-holds and scrambles up.

"What the heck are you doing?" Concerned by her lack of panic that the world is ending, Kuzco has abandoned his shelter under the table. He keeps glancing back, until he realises the sky is still a gorgeous blue and none of their neighbours are screaming, running, dying or all of the above.

"What does it look like? I'm climbing onto the roof for a better look."

"But –"

"Kuzco, the world isn't ending."

"But you might fall –"

"I think I can handle climbing onto our roof. I used to do this sort of thing all the time when I was a little girl." She grunts, heaving herself the last distance and hanging her knees over the gutter to catch her breath. She obviously had a better lung capacity when she was a little girl, though chasing her son around has certainly built up her stamina. Pacha has boundless energy. Both she and Kuzco often collapse in tired heaps while Pacha is still asking to play another game of tag.

Kuzco gazes up at her. "But I can't follow you up there," he says plaintively.

Chicha is about to answer when the non-firework reappears. She stands up, wobbling a little.

Kuzco dashes forward, spots the bees, and skids to a halt. He chews his lower lip and edges forward again, eyes flicking between her and the hives. "Don't worry, if you fall you can land on me! Just, uh, don't land on anything important. Or, y'know, fall at all, if you can help it. That'd be good. You're not planning on falling, are you? Because falling's bad for the health – namely _mine_."

"It's not a meteor or fireworks." Chicha shields her eyes against the bright sunshine and strains to see, even from her vantage point.

"So what is it?"

"I'm not sure. There are two people on the ridge just outside town, and they're … throwing something."

Two non-fireworks scream into the sky, cutting a path across each other. They leave blazing green afterimages on her retinas. One returns to the taller of the two figures, while the other streaks towards the shorter, who catches it and dances around in a circle. Chicha squints. She thinks she recognises the way that one moves, but it's too far away to be sure.

"Chica!" thunders a gravelly voice.

She rolls her eyes and looks down into her garden, where Kuzco's own eyes have widened in alarm. He seems frozen, refusing to look at the two-hundred pounds of angry, floral-printed woman marching through the gate from next door.

Chicha suppresses a groan. "Hello, Muriel."

"What the devil are you doing on the roof, girl?" Miss Finster demands.

It's been a long time since anybody called Chicha a girl. Her husband was the last, with his bass rumble that she was 'his girl' even when she was married and heavy with child. When Miss Finster says it, it doesn't feel like a compliment on how young she looks for her age, and it certainly isn't an affectionate pet name.

Chicha pushes away the memories of her old life that will never stop being painful. "I'm just trying to see what the lightshow's all about, Muriel."

"Hmmf. It's that Kisaragi girl and her new beau making a nuisance of themselves. I saw them headed out of town earlier. I should've known they'd be up to no good."

So it _is_ Yuffie on the ridge. But … "A new beau?"

"One of those two reprobate brothers with the ridiculous hair and no manners." Miss Finster folds her arms, condemnation rolling off her. "The other one pushed past me at the grocer's just this morning. Smelled of smoke and looked like a pile of laundry, and as for that rat's tail he calls a haircut, I've seen better presented bird nests! I tell you, that girl is bound for a sticky end if she hangs around with those types. But then, I've always maintained she's a bad egg. So impolite and disrespectful, and she can be positively vulgar when she opens that mouth. I'm convinced she's the one who egged Medusa's house. Now she's taking up with older men as well! It'll be drugs and alcohol abuse next, you'll see. It's enough to make me sick to my stomach – and believe me, when I get sick to my stomach it's not a pretty sight."

Kuzco quivers. He has been terrified of Muriel Finster ever since she caught him eating her begonias. Just knowing she's there is enough to turn him into a statue, though his eyes, fixed on Chicha, are pleading.

Chicha is more concerned with the idea of Yuffie and Lea than rescuing Kuzco. She has always been concerned about Yuffie's attachment to Leon, and has only ever foreseen heartbreak if Yuffie ever acts on her feelings for the unattainable and, frankly, unsuitable man. Leon is a powder-keg and Yuffie has more than a little spark in her. The results can only ever be messy. On the other hand, Chicha is equally dubious about Leon's replacement.

_That girl certainly does have a knack for making me worry about her love life._

"Chica!" Miss Finster says sharply. She mispronounces her name, just like always, but Chicha has long-since learned not to react. Living next door to Miss Finster is an exercise in self-control. It is also great training in how to 'chillax', as Pacha said when he learned the word from Kairi, who picked it up from goodness knows where. Probably Yuffie.

"Yes, Muriel?"

"While you're up there, you might as well make yourself useful and clean out the leaves from your gutters. They're a disgrace."

* * *

Yuffie leaps high into the air, plucks the chakram from its flight path, and lands with a flourish. "EXTINGUISH!"

You have to be holding one of the chakrams for the magic words to be effective, and the sight isn't nearly as impressive as when they ignite. The flames flare once and then go out, leaving metal that isn't even hot to the touch except were her sweaty fingers have gripped it.

Lea, the other chakram jabbed into the ground at his feet, gives her a slow hand-clap. His admiration is genuine. "You really _are_ a natural."

She twirls the chakram, gets her fingers twisted, and drops it. The spikes lodge in the ground scant inches from her boots and tilted slightly. If she tripped she'd impale herself. She hastily picks it up again, ripping out clods of earth that smack against Lea's shirtfront. He has taken off his jacket and tie. Now muddy stains are splattered across the rumpled white cotton.

"I totally meant to do that." Yuffie fakes nonchalance and hopes she isn't blushing. That'd be totally uncool.

Lea smirks but doesn't comment. Hefting the other chakram, he spins it around his head for a moment, retesting its weight and balance for the millionth time. He is exacting in his standards. So far the moogle-made weapons have passed every single test – and Lea's obvious delight prompted Yuffie to demand a turn with the wicked looking things.

Her shuriken training has come in useful, but she has never before fought with anything like the chakram. The only similar thing would be a pair of dustbin lids she once flung at a gang of muggers in Ragdim, back in her own world. The chakram are as far from that as champagne from stagnant water. They're an elegant, far more complicated weapon than she realised, requiring a degree of skill that makes her stomach twist when she sees them in action. Watching Lea at work is exciting. He puts on a bit of a show for her wide-eyed wonder. One false move and the chakram could gut, impale, shred, crush, slice and burn you to death, all that the same time. The thrill whenever she successfully catches one is intoxicating.

"This? Is so. Much. Fun!"

"Enjoying yourself?" Lea grins.

"Short answer: yeah. Long answer: hell yeah! IGNITE!" She flings the chakram off the edge of the cliff, watches its arc, and times her retrieval so she doesn't lose her arm. "EXTINGUISH! That's twenty-four out of twenty-five. And it's would've been a full twenty-five if you hadn't spoiled number four."

"You were on fire."

"Only just!"

He shakes his head at her. "And I thought Reno was a daredevil. "

"You compare me to your brother again and I may have to use this on you." She brandishes the chakram at him, but she's smiling too hard to be serious. This is such a _rush_! She flings and catches a few more times before realising Lea has stopped. He is watching her. "What?"

"You look good with that in your hand," he says speculatively.

"I look good all the time."

He quirks an eyebrow.

Bizarrely, being around Lea is both more difficult and easier than she expected. Yuffie feels relaxed with him, knowing he has already pulled up a corner of her secrets. Instead of exploiting them or broadcasting her weaknesses, he just patted it down again – _after_ making her aware of what he discovered underneath. He has, in his own way, been wholly honest with her – about himself, his past, the way his mind works, and about her. Weird, that she has to have someone else be honest with her _about_ herself, but when has she ever done things by the book? Normality's for suckers and people for whom 'heartless' is just an adjective.

"Well," she concedes, "maybe not when I'm covered in monster guts or Heartless dust, but I still look a damn sight better than you."

"Oh really?"

"Sure." She shrugs. "You're like a giant q-tip that got stuck down somebody's ear, pierced their brain, and came back all bloody."

Lea blinks. "That's completely disgusting."

"I know." She's proud of that one. "C'mon, show me that trick of throwing them both at once but catching them one at a time."

"Why don't you get some of your own?"

"Chakrams? Because they're you're thing. I'm not gonna step on your toes; just borrow these to play with whenever you turn your back. In battle I'll stick with what I know to keep me alive."

"Kunai and sais," he says, unimpressed. "Oh, and throwing needles."

"And shuriken!"

"Oh yeah. We mustn't forget the tiny metal pencil shavings."

"You've never had a shuriken lodged in your throat before, have you?"

"I know that when you throw them they don't come back." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "I worked with a girl – well, a woman. A Turk. She used a giant shuriken, easily the size of my chakrams but more lightweight. It worked like a boomerang. She called it 'Rekka'. I used to tease her about that – seriously, who names their weapon unless they're compensating for something?"

"Let me guess: you called her Shuriken? Or was her nickname Rekka?"

"Nah, I called her Cissnei. Everyone else called her Shuriken – except Reno, who called her Hot Lips." Lea gave another loaded pause, "Right before she tried to make him eat her shuriken sideways."

Yuffie sniggers. She can imagine that. Still, the admission of closeness with this woman, dead or not, causes a spangle of something unpleasant in her chest. "Was she pretty?" What? Where the heck did that come from?

"Jealous?"

"No!"

"Then she was pretty. Tall, brunette, brown eyes, a waist like a wasp. Always kind of distant. Grew up in an orphanage before she got adopted by the Turks. They really _did_ own her, and they had the paperwork to prove it. When I refused to kill Reno she was the one they sent after us."

All the hairs prickle along the backs of Yuffie's arms. "So she tried to kill you." Uh, why does that make her feel pleased? She's _glad_ someone tried to murder Lea? Or she's just glad Cissnei wasn't perfect? Either way, bubbly tummy is not yummy!

"I don't know. She might've. She'd disarmed me and had me pretty much at her mercy, since Reno was out cold, but she hesitated before she finished me off. I think maybe she was going to let us go, but then the Heartless came and she was a goner before I could spit." Lea shakes his head. "Man, talk about a mood killer. Why am I talking about this?"

"Because you're honest and open and a New Age Sensitive Man."

He snorts. "Or you needed reassurance that I'm not on the rebound like you."

"I'm not on the rebound."

"Yes, you are. But don't worry." Suddenly she realises he has been stepping towards her as he talks, and is now much closer than is comfortable.

She takes a step backwards, but the edge of the cliff and the crumbly lip of soil nuzzles her heels.

Lea bends at the waist, bringing his face towards hers, obviously enjoying her discomfort. "I forgive you. After all, this is just a bit of fun, right? Nothing too serious."

She swallows ands shrugs. "Sure."

There's a chakram between them. He left his stuck into the dirt, but she holds hers up like a shield. When she realises she drops it to stick into the dirt as well, forcing herself not to react or make the first move. New Yuffie. Adult Yuffie. Not a little kid anymore. Not a brat who can't deal with this sort of … thing.

Lea grins. In that instant she knows he's going to kiss her. She thinks she's supposed to open her mouth a little, so she does and kind of lets her eyes drift shut, head tipped back. That's right, isn't it? Or does she just look a total dork? She _is_ standing here with her eyes shut and her mouth open. Man, she must look like she fell asleep standing up! Way uncool! She should –

She hears him chuckle right before he covers her mouth with his own.

As first kisses go, it's not bad. Mostly it's warm and a curious mix of dry lips and wet tongue, since Lea pokes his inside her mouth after a few seconds. Pushing it back with her own tongue is a little gross, but nowhere near as bad as she expected. That might be because she's stopping herself from freaking out by concentrating on the nice parts instead of the less-nice. She expects him to push or paw at her, but his mouth is surprisingly soft and pliable. He brings a hand up to cup her cheek and hold her steady, but he doesn't try to hold her _still_.

Her brain maintains a litany of _OhmygoshfirstkissfirstkissI'mgettingmyfreakingfirstkiss_. She opens her eyes and keeps them open. It wrecks the romance of the moment, but hey, this is her first kiss. She's not about to miss a thing just because novel heroines always have their eyes shut. She also learns you can breathe through your nose when you kiss, so it lasts a lot longer than expected. When Lea finally pulls away she whines in the back of her throat at the loss of contact.

"Just like a little lost puppy," he murmurs against her ear in what she assumes he thinks is a sexy manner.

"Just like _what_?"

The sexiness leaves his voice. "Um, not a little lost puppy?"

"Not good enough." She follows through from where her hand has slid between them onto his chest, and tweaks his nipple hard through his shirt. It's not intended to be a turn on; it's intended to _hurt_.Lea yelps, stumbling backwards, and Yuffie's grin has a feral edge. "I'm not a little puppy, because calling me a puppy implies that I'm a kid, and we've already established I'm not. Or do I need to yank off your other nipple to re-teach that lesson?"

"No, we're good." Lea rubs his chest and pouts. He actually _pouts_. "You're even better at killing the mood than me, you know that?"

"It's not like you need them anyway. You're a man." Yuffie picks up the fallen chakram and hooks her arm through like it's Aerith's wicker basket. "Hey, that's a good question. Why _do_ men need nipples? Yet another addition to the list of Really Good Questions Everybody Asks But Nobody Ever Answers: Why is the sky blue? Why is water wet? Who invented the sneeze? And can we do that again?"

Lea smirks. "I don't see why not. You're mediocre for a first-time kisser, but we can fix that."

"How do you know I'm a first-time kisser? I could've kissed millions of times for all you know. I could be the Great Ninja and Kissing Goddess Yuffie Kisaragi for all _you_ know."

His smirk widens. "C'mere. I'll teach you how to improve your technique. Then you'll know how I can tell."

* * *

"Tifa?"

"Hm?"

"Have you moved my spare set of goggles? The ones I use when I'm welding."

"No. Why?"

"I can't find the fucking things anywhere."

"Well where did you last have them?"

"That's always been a craptastically stupid question and it don't sound any less stupid coming outta your mouth now. If I knew _that_ they wouldn't be _lost_, would they? Stupid girl. More tits than brains sometimes …"

"Excuse me? _What_ did you just mutter?"

"Nothing, nothing. Was anybody back here today, besides you and me?"

"Not that I know of. Although the moogles came down to boast about the 'excellent job' they did with Lea's new weapons."

"Yeah, I saw those things. They looked fucking dangerous to me, and even worse in his hands."

"You don't trust him?"

"I trust him more than I trust that goddamn thieving brother of his. I caught that slacker mooching around in the workshop the day before yesterday, poking his beak into places it didn't belong, asking if I had any more cigarettes after he found that old pack under the floorboard. Like _I'd _have any goddamn fucking _cigarettes_ after you cleaned me out?"

"Good grief, don't let's start that again. You've come too far to fall off the wagon now just because Reno keeps blowing smoke in your face. Cid? Cid, are you all right?"

"That little fucktard."

"Who? Reno?"

"He was back here! I'll bet it was him who stole my fucking goggles."

"That's some leap of logic. Why the heck would he want your spare goggles? I hardly think he'd steal something so random, if he stole anything at all. I don't think – Cid? Cid! Where are you going? Cid, no, you can't chase him based on just a hunch! Cid! _Cid Highwind, get your butt back here this minute!_"

* * *

"Yuffie." Leon nods at her, or at least his face tips up and down as if in greeting.

She doesn't pause, just gropes in her pocket for her key and shoves it into the lock.

"So you're ignoring me now?"

"Leon," she replies without any hint of the frantic paddling going on beneath the surface.

She can still taste Lea, still feel his hair and the back of his shirt against her fingers, but here's Leon standing and being all imposing and Leon-like, right outside her front door, just to confuse her. He has been the focus of so much of her energy over the years. You could plug light bulbs into her feelings for him and they'd glow. She forcibly she turns them off again, like nightlights a scared little kid believes she no longer needs, and concentrates on being the New More Adult Yuffie Who Doesn't _Need_ Squall Leonheart Cluttering Up Her Head or Her Heart.

"He's too old for you." Leon, usual, doesn't mince his words.

"If you're referring to Lea, I don't see that it's any of your business." Politeness, the great substitute for passion. Yuffie is shocked that she even knows how to be this courteous. Is that really her voice? Are those really her words? Is this really her talking, or the version of herself she needs to be around Leon now?

"I don't trust him."

"That's your prerogative." Big, impressive words, too. Go her! _Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Leon – or stick it in your gunblade and fire it, since you're too damn healthy to smoke. Or, y'know, whatever._

Yuffie opens the door and is about to go inside when Leon reaches for her. Her reaction is instant and instinctive. She avoids his hand, shoves his arm aside, and stands looking at him properly for the first time since she reached the landing.

He stares right back at her, unrepentant.

Yuffie burns. "If you're not going to apologise then I don't think we have anything to say to each other."

"I could say the same to you."

She remembers what she said to him about Rinoa. Talk about hitting below the belt. Still, she shakes it off. That came on the tail end of him being a git, she reasons. If he says sorry she might also apologise for insulting the memory of his life's greatest love who died tragically … okay, moral high ground getting difficult to maintain. Time to talk again.

"_Are_ you going to apologise?" she demands.

"For what?"

"See you around, Leon." She goes in and tries to shut the door, but he sticks his foot in the way.

"Yuffie," he says in a quite different voice.

She pauses. Despite herself, hope flares. "Yes?" It's killing her to look at his face and not want to try out her new kissing skills. Leon is undeniably hot, but she's still angry and hurt. He may look troubled, but he's still too remote for her to even think about forgiving him yet.

She thinks about Lea's smirk, about the way he throws a chakram, and about the smoochies. Always good to think about the smoochies. The knot of tension in her stomach loosens, as she uses these things to block out Leon except as a face between the door and its frame.

"Was there something else?" she asks disinterestedly.

"This isn't a good idea, Yuffie."

"And you're the expert on what's good and bad for me now? Because as I see it – and as you made _really _clear – _you're_ bad for me Leon, and I'm bad for you. I'm an annoying brat and you're an uptight asshole. Lea, on the other hand, has never treated me the way you did, so I think that qualifies him as good for me. Now please get your foot out of my door or I'll shut it anyway and probably break your ankle." All said in a sweet voice with no hint of anything deeper. Dayum, she's good. Old Naïve Yuffie or New Improved Yuffie, she's good at whatever she sets her mind to.

Except where her actual _feelings _for Leon are concerned, but she's working on that one. Sincerity is important, after all. Fake that and the world is your oyster.

"He's too _old_ for you," Leon says again. He seems really hung up on that.

"He's twenty-five."

"And you're eighteen."

"Big whoop."

"Yuffie…"

"I'm not a little kid, Leon, no matter what you might think. I'm capable of making decisions on my own." She shoves the door, and this time he removes his foot. "More than capable," she adds, ruining the moment a little. It's never good to over-egg the pudding.

She listens until she hears his footsteps on the stairs. Then she slides backwards down the door and sits on the floor, knees falling open and hands resting on her feet.

Someone clears their throat. Yuffie raises her face to Aerith and wonders how long she has been standing there. Hm, Leon must've sent her ninja senses on the fritz. Another good reason to forget about him.

Aerith looks a little sad, but she's doing the sympathetic motherly smile thing, and says neutrally "Lea?"

"Don't you start too."

"I wasn't going to; but Yuffie, I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do. I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie, remember?"

Aerith sighs. "Would the Great Ninja Yuffie like some snacks? I was just making some for Kairi and Pacha."

"The Great Ninja Yuffie would love some snacks. Ninja snacks. Hey, that's a good idea. I'll donate one of my shuriken and you can use it as a template to make special ninja cookies." And just like that, it's as if the conversation with Leon – their first since he told her what he really thinks of her, she insulted Rinoa's memory, and he threw her out of his apartment – never happened. Nope, nothing to see here. All is well with the world, where assholes are plentiful but kisses even more so.

Yuffie considers it a victory in her battle to fall out of love with Leon.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

"_Nah, I called her Cissnei. Everyone else called her Shuriken – except Reno, who called her Hot Lips." Lea gave another loaded pause, "Right before she tried to make him eat her shuriken sideways."_

-- A sidefling to the character Cissnei (finalfantasy. wikia. com/wiki/Cissnei) from _Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core_, who also appeared in the mobile phone game _Before Crisis_, but only as 'Shuriken', since all the new Turks featured there were named after their weapons. Cissnei received her name when she graduated to a speaking role in _Crisis Core_, though on some webpages she still appears as simple 'Shuriken: Female'.

_Sincerity is important, after all. Fake that and the world is your oyster. _

-- Based on a famous quote from Jean Giraudoux, which originally read: 'The secret of success is sincerity. Once you can fake that you've got it made.'

* * *

-


	64. Attack of the Bimbos

.

* * *

**63. Attack of the Bimbos**

* * *

A Mexican wave of whispering goes through town when a piece of gummi falls on the Survivor Centre and collapses the left wing. Some people call it an ill-omen, but most just pitch in to help dig out those trapped inside. There are quite a few trapped after yet another two worlds fell to the darkness and several animals survived along with their humanoid companions. All are in the medical rooms when the catastrophe occurs.

So is Dr. Sweet.

He isn't killed, for which everyone is grateful, but his injuries are extensive and include a damaged spine and a ruptured spleen. Even with Aerith's help (the kind that takes so much out of her she literally falls asleep on her feet), it takes a couple of days for him to recover. She camps out at the surgery to look after him and a whiny newcomer teenager called Brad.

Brad apparently has issues with 'freaky stuff', which includes practically everything and everyone in Traverse Town. His home world must gave been a very boring place if his reactions are anything to go by. He panics and starts shouting hysterically about dragons when one anthropomorphic lizard woman drops off a message at the Survivor Centre on his second day there.

"I couldn't find the ninjjjja girl," the woman lisps. "Sssso I brought the messsssage to you insssstead. A pigeon delivered it at my housssse by misssstake." She watches Brad try to hide under his bed and shakes her head at the strangeness of some humans. "

"Thank you." Aerith scans the letter and immediately resolves to give it to Zack or Cloud so they can take it home for Yuffie. Zack and Cloud always visit her at mealtimes, as if she can't feed herself away from home. It's sweet, although their idea of 'making lunch' involves cheese sandwiches with so much filling her arteries start to close just smelling them.

Except her visitors are neither Cloud nor Zack, but Tifa and Cid. Tifa has a pan of fried chicken. Dr. Sweet smells it and sits up in bed.

"If I'd known I'd get food like this I'd have collapsed a building on myself long ago."

"You gave us a real fright," Tifa says. Then she elbows Cid, who comes forward with his eyes lowered. Cid has respected and liked Dr. Sweet since his heart attack, though you wouldn't know it to look at his surly face. Tifa elbows him again.

"So … those sprockets I got for you okay, Doc?"

Dr. Sweet nods without missing a beat, "A little rough to begin with, but they evened out after a while. Now they're perfect."

Cid grunts. "Good quality sprockets, those."

"Damn skippy." As if Dr. Sweet knows anything about sprockets. And as if that's really what Cid was talking about.

Aerith exchanges a look just short of an eye-roll with Tifa. Men and their macho ways. It'salmost cute, when it isn't irritating.

Brad crawls out from under his bed and sniffs. His belly growls.

Tifa put some chicken in a bowl and offers it to him. "Hungry?"

He hesitates, but another growl makes him accept. He pokes hesitantly at one crisp golden thigh. "Is it made from mutant fire-breathing chickens?"

* * *

"You got another letter from Penelo."

"I did?" Yuffie grabs it from Cloud's hand. "Cool!" She immediately runs off to read it in the girls' bedroom. She has taken to sleeping in there since Aerith temporarily moved into the doctor's surgery and Kairi started having nightmares about shadows trying to eat her.

Cloud takes off his boots and starts to clean them. It's a simple job with a noticeable outcome and makes him feel like he has achieved something. It also gives him something to do other than worry about things he can't change, or strange feelings of apprehension he can't understand.

Yuffie sticks her head through the door. "How to you spell despicable?"

"What?"

"How. Do. You. Spell. Despicable? Keep up, Cloudy. It's a simple question." After he tells her she snaps a salute. "Thanks." She disappears, only to re-emerge seconds later asking, "And how do you spell obnoxious?"

When she appears a third time with a pen in her hand and asks how to spell putrid he puts down his boots.

"What kind of reply are you _writing_?"

"I'm just telling Penny what Leon thought of her jacket." At his expression she shrugs. "She asked."

"Yuffie, you can't tell her he thought it was putrid."

"Oh, I'm not. I'm telling her it was a wonderful gift he's just too stupid to appreciate. I could write it fine on my own, but I thought it'd be more mature to skip the cussing and get some better vocabulary in there instead. So, are you gonna tell me how to spell putrid, or am I gonna have to fetch a dictionary?"

* * *

"And then she wanted me to read it. The paper was practically _glowing_. And she asked me how mature it sounded. How are you supposed to answer a question like that?"

"She moved into the bedroom. I can't believe she moved into the bedroom."

Cloud props his head on his hand. "Well it _is_ partly hers."

"I know that. I'm not disputing her claim over it. It's just ..." Aerith searches for the right words. "Yuffie has always slept on the couch. She actually said she prefers it, but now she's really gung-ho about having a bed. It's like she's making some sort of point."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. When I asked her why she just said something cryptic about beds being less difficult to give up than couches."

Cloud frowns. "And I thought she was difficult to understand _before_. Since she started going out with Lea she's become almost incomprehensible."

"Who has?" Zack shuts the door behind him with a yawn. He stifles this when he sees both of them at the head of the bed, Cloud stretched out and Aerith curled up so her entire body fits onto one of Zack's own enormous squashy pillows. "Aerith, hi! You're home."

"Well spotted. Dr. Sweet was well enough to leave his bed and he sent me away. Said I was getting under his feet and I should go back to people who actually _need_ mothering."

"And the reason you're in our room instead of yours is…?"

She explains about Yuffie and Zack blinks in surprise. He, too, finds it unusual, but his surprise is quickly subsumed by a shameless grin.

Aerith recognises it. So does Cloud. He flops his head back with a muttered, "We're both absolutely exhausted after a hard day at work."

Zack pouts. "Nobody's _that _exhausted."

But they insist they are, right up until Zack gets a mischievous gleam in his eye and starts singing. It's one of the songs Kairi learned in school and took it upon herself to teach everybody who stayed still long enough. Of course, when she sang it, it didn't sound quite so much like a pack of wolverines being fed through a Gummi Ship engine in the middle of a gale.

"Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the coooow jumps oooover the moooooon!"

"Stop! Stop! You're absolutely tone-deaf!"

Cloud claps his hands over his ears. "Zaa-aack!"

"Zack, I love you, but that's _awful_!" Aerith cries.

Zack just winks and continues to croon. They throw pillows. He deftly avoids them and strikes a pose to sing even more, moving from 'Hey Diddle Diddle' into a rousing rendition of 'How Much is That Doggy In the Window'?

Cloud tosses a shoe at him. "Is singing supposed to put us in the mood?"

Zack ducks and it hits the closet. "Well you have to do _something_ to shut me up."

Eventually they pin him down on the bed, Cloud holding his hands above his head while Aerith sits on his stomach to stuff a sock in his mouth.

"_Now_ try to sing!" she huffs, tendrils of hair from the tussle getting into her face.

"Mrrrf!" Zack replies, somehow still grinning around the gag. "Mrrooooo! Mrooo-oooo-oooh!"

"That wasn't a challenge," Cloud says in annoyance.

"Mrooooooooh!"

Aerith tries tickling his ribs to make him stop. He twists to get away from her nimble fingers.

"Cloud, hold him!"

"I'm trying!"

Unfortunately for them, the nearness of their bodies, plus the adrenaline of the game, means it isn't long Zack's plan actually _does_ work after all.

* * *

Lea and Reno manage to avoid getting proper jobs by volunteering to help clean-up and rebuild the Survivor Centre's ruined wing. Or rather, each one blames the other for volunteering him even as they roll up their sleeves and get stuck into the hard work. They even end up replacing their slick suits and fancy footwear with more durable clothes donated by those who want the pious satisfaction of helping without actually getting their hands dirty. The brothers find themselves benefiting quite nicely from this impulse. People keep giving them things – clothes, food, gifts – and they don't even have to bother with false modesty.

"If they're stupid enough to give it without naming a price, then fuck 'em," Reno says decisively while trying on a loose white shirt nearly identical to his old one, but with gold cufflinks and a collar not browned by a dirty neck.

The first time Yuffie sees Lea in slacks and a tee-shirt she actually does a double-take – goggle eyes, mouth open, hands slapped theatrically to either side of her face. Zack is next to her at the time, overseeing the other volunteers. He agrees Lea looks different out of a suit. He neglects to reply when Yuffie says how 'luscious' he is. Zack isn't sure whether this makes the other man seem more or less dangerous. Lea's grin has a feral edge, but Yuffie's obvious joy at seeing him squashes most misgivings. Zack wants her to be happy, and there are worse ways she could go about it.

And she _is_ happy. Indisputably so. Everyone kind of expects her to still be broken up about Leon. She invested so much time and effort into befriending him and sanding off his sharp edges. Now, however, she's polite but distant with him, and comes alive in ways they're not used to when Lea is around. Her manic energy returns, but she has developed a fixation with maturity that clashes with this. Sometimes she'll be playing with Kairi, or hanging upside down from the rafters of Aerith's church, or creeping up on Cloud's chocobo with a paper bag full of air, and she'll stop and ask "Would a mature person do this?" Often she shrugs and does it anyway, but sometimes she'll actually abandon her crazier schemes.

They're all waiting for the other shoe to drop, and constantly surprised when it doesn't.

"It must be because Lea's so much older than her," Tifa says. "She doesn't want him thinking she's some little kid. It's classic First Boyfriend jitters – girls get possessive and clingy with their first."

"Maybe." Aerith's tone isn't convinced. To her, Yuffie has always been older than her years – certainly older than Aerith at the same age. Yuffie has been through so much, how could she not have a different mindset than an average girl? But Yuffie has always dealt with life by finding the lightness in it, joking and shrugging off bad things like shucking an ill-fitting coat. Now she seems to be taking things on board more. While this might be a sign she's finally growing up, the flashes of uncertainty, confusion and hurt Aerith sometimes sees in the younger girl's eyes disturb her.

Leon shows up to the Survivor Centre in between patrolling, acting as some sort of leader for the Little Town That Doesn't Need One, and training in the sewers, where he's spending more and more time lately. He actually seems comfortable down there, which prompts Yuffie to make a comment about rats and turds and family trees, because even she can't resist such an obvious comparison. Everyone winces to hear it, because Leon _is_ still their friend and ally. As time passes they begin to understand how he could never have let Yuffie down gently because nobody has ever let _him_ down gently in his life, so he genuinely doesn't know how to do it, and all the aloofness in the world can't mask his regret about this.

Once, Aerith catches his eyes slide briefly left after Yuffie passes him in the hall with her nose in the air. The glimpse of misery in his eyes startles her, and makes her wonder, but it's gone again in an instant.

It's inevitable that Lea and Leon should interact at the rebuilding. The first day nothing happens. Nothing on the second day either. By the end of the first week Zack actually thinks they may get through this whole thing without any disturbances.

Wishful thinking, of course.

"If you hurt her, there will be reprisal."

Lea looks up from his lunch, provided today by Chicha. She has decided to introduce everyone to food from her world by serving Butifarras. The thick-cut sandwiches of soy masquerading as ham, special secret spicy sauce, sliced onions, sliced chilli peppers, lime and pepper aren't a hit with everyone, but Lea loves them. He has already finished his own and moved on to Reno's, since Reno has spent all day complaining of a hangover too nasty to contemplate 'eating the kind of slop that'll set your ass on fire as well as your mouth'.

"Did you really just use 'reprisal' in a sentence?"

Leon stares down at Lea, an intimidating silhouette in the midday sun.

"Who do you mean by 'her'?" Lea asks with mock-innocence. "Aerith? I think Cloud and Zack have that one covered."

"No."

"Tifa can take care of herself."

"Not Tifa."

"Chicha has her very own Attack Llama."

"You know who I mean."

He smiles broadly. "Aw, are we a widdle bit jeawous, Weon?"

"Heh," Reno murmurs beside him. "Wee on what?"

Leon ignores Reno, focussed entirely on Lea. It's like, if he looks away, he knows he'll either never say this or stab the guy without warning him first. His words are clipped, as though carefully chosen to threaten without implicating himself too much in that 'reprisal'. "Just remember what I said."

"Firstly, you've got no right to start sticking your nose into Yuffie's business, or mine. Secondly, you missed your chance if you really wanted one, so you forfeited your right to comment on what we do. Thirdly, who said I was going to hurt her? Yuffie's a blast and we're having fun together. Fourthly, you're blocking my sun. And fifthly, piss off." Lea glances at Reno. "Did I miss anything?"

"The part where he accuses you of being a dirty old man for dating someone practically in diapers."

Lea smacks his brother on the back of the head, provoking a howl. "Fuck, man! My brain's already aching without you pulling that kind of shit."

Leon narrows his eyes. "The age difference _is_ an issue."

"Yeah right. To you, maybe." Lea shrugs and takes a leisurely bite of his Butifarra, chewing and swallowing before speaking again. Weird that just eating lunch can turn into a power struggle. "Is that what _really_ made you reject her, or was it the thought of your dead girlfriend watching you hump some other chick?"

Leon's eyes blaze brighter than Lea chakrams. It's fortunate Zack arrives at that moment and places a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder.

"C'mon, man. Leave it alone."

Aerith crouches next to Reno, asking where it hurts. They both provide a calming presence that settles over everything like wet cotton wool, stifling and dispelling the electricity in the air.

Lea gives a little wave. "Toodles, Leonfart. You've made your point. Now shove it up your ass and get lost."

Leon stalks away.

"You're not helping," Zack says to Lea.

He just shrugs again. "Didn't realise that guy's issues were my responsibility."

"It's not a good idea to get on Leon's bad side."

To which Lea just looks at him and asks through a mouthful of bread, "He has a good side?"

* * *

"What the … heck?"

"Well that's an underwhelming response."

Yuffie reaches to take the huge metal crosspiece. Lea plunks the whole thing into her waiting palms like dropping a bag of candies, folding his arms and waiting for her reaction with a faint smirk. She runs her fingers over the smooth metal, curving a hand into a fist around one of the four perfectly sharpened points, like heads of arrows attached to a durable but lightweight alloy frame. The spikes are heavier, which will give extra power from the momentum once it gets going.

Some girls get gooey over flowers and chocolates. While Yuffie wouldn't say no to chocolate, a hunk of metal that would break her foot if she dropped it on her tootsies leaves her breathless.

Lea attempts to ruin the moment by saying, "I figured you could decorate it all girly and shit. Paint flames down the sides of something."

"Flames aren't girly."

"Cooler than unicorns and pink sparkles."

"Lea?"

"What?"

"Shut up and let me savour this."

Yuffie tosses the giant shuriken high above her head. It makes a lazy half-spin, directing one spike right at her as it falls. She jumps and whips it out of the air, firing it out horizontally with a much sharper flick of her wrist. It whizzes, a deadly silver blur, and thunks into the trunk of one of the ornamental trees lining the street.

She turns to Lea and stares up at him. "Best. Unexpected. Gift. Ever."

"If you hadn't aimed it for the tree it would've come back to you – oof!" Lea topples backwards and hits the dirt, suddenly top-heavy with squealing girl. He props himself up with his hands, but it's difficult because she has his arms pinned to his sides like he's been wrapped in sticky-tape.

"How the hell did you _pay _for this? You don't have a job. You live on freebies and good wishes."

"Nicely put. Are the insults part of the gratitude or did you throw them in for free?"

"Idiot." Still hugging him, she tilts her head up, chin resting on the hollow in the centre of his collarbone. "But how? No way something like this was just hanging around."

"Saved a moogle from a coyote. They did it for free." He tries to raise his hands. "What? It's true."

Yuffie continues to look at him askance, but she's so pleased with her present her glee sweeps away the expression and propels her up to meet his mouth in an awkward kiss. Mmm, she'll never get tired of this kissing thing. "I think I'll call you the Masked Moogle Marauder from now on."

"Do that and die."

"Triple M? The Moogle Master? Mister McMoogle? The Magnificent Moogletini?"

"It was one baby moogle. Don't overreact."

"A _baby_! You rescued a _baby_ moogle?" She releases his arms to prop herself up on his chest and throw her head back in a raucous laugh. "The big bad Turk rescued a fluffy oosty cutesy baby moogle from an eeeevil coyote."

"Actually it wasn't fluffy. It was kind of silky, like velvet. And it wasn't a _baby_-baby, it was like a moogle teenager that'd wandered off because it thought it knew better than its elders and poked the wrong pile of dirt. If I hadn't been out practising with my chakrams that little guy would've been toast."

"And you used your favour to get me a giant shuriken. You," she presses the tip of a finger into his clavicle, making him wheeze, "are a good boyfriend."

He smiles slyly. "So I'm your boyfriend now?"

"You don't like the title?"

"Sounds like another mask to me."

She frowns. "We'll call it a probationary thing. You can be my boyfriend until you screw up."

"We haven't actually been out on a date yet."

"Isn't playing with your chakrams a date?"

"Must … stop … innuendo … reflex."

Her smile is also sly as she kisses him again. "Why?"

He pulls her into a third kiss and she lets him. He interpreted her willingness during that first smooch on the ridge to mean that he can touch her whenever he feels like it.

And Yuffie has let him, surprising everyone who knows her when she doesn't react to the arm draped proprietarily around her shoulders, the vague palming of her knee or thigh when sitting beside him, or the hand locked around her waist when Leon's around. Independent Yuffie not only allows the touching, but enjoys it, even if she hasn't let it get any further than kissing.

Yet.

Lea runs a hand along her side and murmurs something into her mouth that might be words. When his fingers slip under the hem of her top she pulls back and playfully slaps them away.

He pouts up at her. "Spoilsport. I never would've taken this from a broad back in my world."

"None of the broads back in your world could kick your skinny butt up and down a cobbled street like I can."

He refrains from replying that some of them probably could, since there were, apparently, quite a number of female Turks. However, these women learned how to be tough to survive in such a harsh atmosphere and defeminised themselves, whether intentionally or accidentally. Even those who still looked like women – "Long hair, big tits, legs that didn't stop and asses like you wouldn't believe!" as Reno had gleefully informed her – were ruthless and so brutal they would've used their own wombs as slingshots for grenades if they could've. In comparison, Yuffie's lack of curves are far more attractive – or so Lea says.

"You're as bad as your brother."

"You take that back."

"Aw, Moogletini doesn't like what the Big Bad Ninja's saying?"

"Moogletini's a monogamous moogle-saviour. Besides, Reno would only wine and dine a girl if she was paying."

Yuffie raises an eyebrow. "Are you offering to take me out for dinner?"

"I _said_ we haven't been out on an official date yet."

A tiny thrill goes through Yuffie. This is what she missed out on, being a ninja girl, jumping through worlds and trailing after other people like a 'little lost puppy'. Boyfriends and dating and all that other stuff she never thought she wanted until now. She even has a sort-of best friend in Penelo, who wrote her another letter, this one full of exclamation marks and capital letters, when Yuffie told her about Lea.

"All right, Moogletini. You can go on a date with me."

"So gracious of you. Do I get another kiss to say thank you?"

"Maybe." Suddenly she leaps to her feet, going from perched on him to standing in less than a second. "But first you have _got_ to go out to the ridge and teach me some of your moves for my new gift. Kissing's brilliant, but smashing stuff up with a big-ass shuriken is _awesome_."

Lea sighs and climbs to his feet. "I guess I didn't think this part of the equation through."

* * *

Reno is doing something subtle and incomprehensible to the battery of his EMR when Lea gets home. He looks up, the new pair of magnifying goggles (which he refuses to say where he got) pulled down over his eyes. When he blinks his baby-blues look the size of Lea's chakrams.

"Dude, you're whistling."

"Uh-huh."

"Cut that shit out. You sound like a moron."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Uh-huh."

Reno sets down the screwdriver and slides the casing back into place. "You've been with Jailbait again."

"Uh-huh."

"Quit that! You always get that shit-eating grin when you've been with her. So, did you get lucky _this_ time?"

"You're obsessed."

"I'm _normal_."

"You're deranged."

"You're a loser who can't get any."

"I," Lea says smugly, "am taking my time."

"Since _when_?" Reno's voice climbs to a pitch and sharpness that could slice bread. "You never took your time with a chick in your _life_."

"Yeah, well, that was before. Things are different here. This world isn't like ours."

Reno narrows his eyes and pushes his goggles into his hairline, using them as a makeshift hair-band to keep his bangs out of his face. The effect is rakish and will probably win over another girl when he realises there's a lot of mileage in looking windswept but intelligent over just plain unkempt. "More like _you_ aren't the same in this world, yo. What is _with_ you lately? When you're not grinning like an idiot you're rescuing kittens and shit, and now _whistling_. Do you know who whistles, Lea? Simpletons and people who think they're clever because they can roll their tongues. You're turning into a candidate for Care in the Community!"

"Fuck off," Lea says pleasantly.

"See what I mean? A few months ago you never would've let me say that without attempting (and failing) to kick my ass."

"I never failed at kicking your ass."

"I remember one really memorable time you did."

An uncomfortable silence falls between them. They don't often bring up that last hit. When it does surface neither is entirely sure how to deal with it. Reno is uncomfortably aware of what Lea risked for him when he started leaking information to AVALANCHE, the freedom fighter group intent on taking down their corrupt government and replacing it with a fairer one.

Like all Turks, both Reno and Lea learned to turn a blind eye to what the higher-ups did, cleaning up after them as and when their boss commanded it. Turks were good at cleaning stuff up. They were even better at making a mess on behalf of their employers and then cleaning _that_ up.

Reno lost count of the number of times he had to wash blood off his hands, and it never bothered him … until suddenly it did. Not even he can explain the sudden, random urge to subvert the very people signing his paycheque. Misplaced late teenage rebellion, maybe, or catharsis, or maybe he just got a thrill from nearly being caught.

Then he _was_ caught, and it wasn't much of a thrill. Mostly it'd been a pain – a big black ball of the stuff nestling in his legs and lungs from running, and in his skull and spine when Cissnei's Rekka scored a gash between his should-blades like tissue paper and he knocked himself out crashing into a wall from the impact. If it hadn't been for Lea he'd be in an unmarked grave now – or maybe not even that, if they'd shoved his body in the incinerator and let him blow away on the breeze. The Turks were _good_ at cleaning up messes and making the debris disappear.

So Reno, in his own inimitable way, is invested in making sure his brother is okay. He owes him, and knows he'll probably never be able to pay the whole debt. He's pretty good at welching on debts, anyhow, but this is one he _wants_ to pay off.

In instalments, natch.

Which doesn't mean he can't ridicule his bro on the way to paying off his debt.

"You're getting _mellow_, yo."

Lea sits down opposite him at the table, long legs crossed at the ankle and arms folded. His chakrams rest against the side of his chair, evidence he's _not_ as peaceful as his loved-up demeanour would suggest.

Loved-up?

Reno peers at Lea's face and draws back in alarm and disgust. "Fuck, man! I don't fucking believe this!"

"Don't believe what – that you're an idiot or that I'm better looking than you?"

"You're actually falling for her."

Lea shrugs, noncommittal. "Me and Yuffie are having fun. She's actually pretty cool."

"Yo, there's a _reason_ her nickname's Jailbait!"

"She's eighteen. Half the girls at the Gold Saucer were eighteen, and I never heard you complaining whenever we went and blew our pay packets there."

"Yeah, but those girls weren't built like a little boy without the junk or the Adam's apple." Reno shakes his head. "That's the not even the point, man. You know how it goes: you have fun with them, you sleep with them, but you don't fall in love with them. That's just asking for trouble."

"Like I said," Lea says with another shit-eating grin, "this world's different."

"Not _that_ different. Is this part of some elaborate scheme to piss off Leonfart?"

"No, that's just a handy and highly enjoyable by-product."

"Fuck, man. Just … fucking hell. You aren't my brother. Seriously, yo."

Lea just links his hands behind his head and grins some more, giving nothing away.

* * *

Yuffie tosses her shuriken and catches it, tosses and catches, tosses and catches, never breaking her stride. She's not quite to the point where she can toss and catch without looking, because she quite likes her hands were they are, thank you very much. Still, as with all things, it's only a matter of time before she masters it – and the admiring and awestruck looks she and her new toy are getting anyway are still cool.

_Maybe I should name this thing_, she muses, and spends a pleasant few minutes thinking up names better than 'Rekka'. _Like that'd be hard. Rekka – what a dumb name. Gut-Splatterer. Shiny Shiny of Shininess. Shrieky Shuriken. Run Away Quick She's Got That Damn Shuriken Out Again!_

She's just up to 'Don't Piss Off the Ninjaaaargh' when she hears a giggle from one of the awestruck masses. Not a happy giggle, either. More like one of those malicious things that hides behind hands and raised books. She's not all that surprised when her way is suddenly blocked by four people with only a shade more cleavage than herself and _waaaaay_ more make-up. Wow, they really troweled that stuff on, didn't they?

"Yo." She catches her shuriken and lets it rest idly in her hand where they can all see and admire it. "Is there a problem, ladies?"

The girls are a few years younger than her – fourteen, probably, or fifteen at a push – and all delicate, pretty and perfectly coifed in different ways. There's something schooled about their identical smiles though, which rings about as true as Fool's Gold. Their eyes, though different colours, also share a quality that reminds Yuffie of snakes.

When she was travelling, before she got to Hollow Bastion, she stopped for a while in a city where snake charmers lined the streets. She learned there that snakes respond to the tone of your voice. Sometimes they can even be dissuaded from striking by calming words.

And sometimes, she also learned, the snake strikes anyway and you have to break its neck to keep from being bitten.

"Are you for real?" one of the girls demands.

Yuffie checks herself all over. "I was last time I checked. Why? Are you having an existential crisis?"

"What _is_ that thing?" the one in yellow demands.

"'Tis a shuriken," Yuffie replies in a mangled version of Cait's accent, just so she can use the word _'tis_.

"A _what_?"

"A sure-you-can," says the blonde one with a nose-wrinkle.

"Do you girls want something, or can I be on my merry way now?" Yuffie recalls, suddenly, that these are the girls who always walk into school arm in arm, and have to turn sideways to get through the gate because they refuse to let go of each other. She has seen them several times before, but they've never spoken to her. They're symbiotic; when one speaks, another curls her lip, and when Yuffie bites out a reply at the blonde one, the little auburn thing with the flicky hair taps _her_ foot.

"Shuriken, not sure-you-can."

"Sure-you-can sounds more appropriate to me," the blonde girl responds, words heavy with meaning. Suddenly the shuriken feels heavy in Yuffie's hand – like it's just aching to be let loose to buzz-cut those perfect locks, mar that perfect skin and pop her perfect petite boobs.

Yuffie's boobs don't even make it to petite; they're entrenched in 'Go on, you can admit you're really a boy' territory. She injects her voice with just the right amount of disdainful bafflement. "Do I know you?"

"Probably not. You never _went _to school, did you?"

The other three titter at this.

"Never needed to," Yuffie replies easily. "Had a hot tutor instead." Ghastly and invisible as he may be to her now, Leon's aggravating hotness might as well be useful for _something_.

"_Had_ him?" The blonde girl's eyes flash. As if they've all received her telepathic signal the whole foursome cries, "Scandalous!"

"Madame was right," snickers the one dressed entirely in shades of green – though not, Yuffie notes, in too much snot-coloured; just enough to offset the foetid lime skirt. "Everyone in your freaky little _non-_family is either a slut, dangerous to society, abnormal, a freak, a weird little kid, or all of the above."

Clickety click, Yuffie registers the name and the insults and makes the connection. Her muscles bunch involuntarily. "Madame Medusa? Is that old hag still _alive_?"

The blonde girl sniffs, hoity-toity from her shoes to her pink hair-band. All four girls are immaculately dressed, each based her outfit on one – yellow, green, pink and blue. It's too perfect to be a coincidence. They practically radiate Madame Medusa's influence.

"Are you the old cow's new dress-up dolls?"

Miss Finster and Aunt Sarah pulled away from Madame Medusa in the wake of public support for Zack, Cloud and Aerith. It stands to reason she'd want some new cronies. Apparently she decided to train them up young this time to ensure loyalty, blind devotion and not too much independent thought. Oh yeah, and a healthy hatred of anything to do with Zack, Aerith and Cloud, the nefarious trio who got one over on her last time.

"We," Blondie replies stiffly, "are Madame's apprentices. We are her protégés. We are her disciples."

"Getting a bit full-on there, Blondie. You're her yes-girls. Creepy, but I can deal with that. Now if that's everything, I'll just bugger off –"

"You'd do well to learn from Madame's wisdom Yellow Girl interrupts. "Hey, she could still be saveable," she says to Blondie's disparaging look.

"She's too far gone. Have you seen what she's wearing?"

"Yeah, but with a little guidance even the biggest fashion disaster can be turned around-"

"Not on a moral compass," Blue Girl cuts her short. "You heard what Madame said – she's nothing more than a common guttersnipe like that healer she lives with."

"Yes but that healer's helped so many people …" Yellow Girl is obviously the least blinkered and, thus, the weakest link in their chain, but the others shore her up.

"She's still a deviant whore," Blondie declares, clearly parroting someone else's words but doing her best to build them into her own speech. "You saw what she and her _partners_ did to poor Madame, driving away all her business and spreading malicious lies so nobody takes her seriously anymore. Because of them, people _laugh_ at her and fail to recognise the spirited genius of her designs – eek!" She shrieks as the shuriken whizzes between her and the redhead, then whips up and around, back into Yuffie's waiting hand.

_Good thing I caught it. It would've totally ruined the dramatic moment if I'd screamed and bled out on the floor. _

"Are you _insane_?" Blondie demands. She feels her face with her hands, as though making sure nothing was sliced off.

"Nope. Mildly nuts, but not insane. At least, I don't think so." Yuffie tips her head to one side to regard them, and takes pleasure in the fact that at least two take a hesitant step backwards and one more is thinking about it. Yuffie looks young for her age – probably, if asked, the average person would peg these girls as her elders. However, she's had time to hone her Baleful Eyed Stare That Makes People Wonder if She's Wondering What Their Liver Tastes Like. She treats them to it now. "I might be persuaded to act in pretty insane ways if you keep insulting my friends, though."

Blondie isn't one of those pushed back by the force of Yuffie's Look. She folds her arms and tosses her head. The action is so redolent of Madame Medusa that Yuffie has to laugh. Blondie narrows her eyes and spits, "You're a disgrace to everything decent Madame stands for."

"Everything she …? Bwaaahahahaha!" Yuffie dissolves into fresh laughter. "Oh, man, I haven't laughed like that since _at least_ this morning."

"You can laugh –"

"I know I can, and I fully intend to."

"_You can laugh_," Blondie says through gritted teeth, angered that their bullying intervention hasn't gone according to plan, "but outside this little town you and your friends are still nothing more than sluts and whores. And that includes you and your vile murdering scumbag of a –"

Zing! Yuffie's spine snaps to attention. "I'd advise you to stop right there," she says in a dangerously sweet voice.

"Ashley." Green Girl tugs on Blondie's sleeve. "Maybe we should just –"

Blondie shakes her off. She smiles, glad to have found a nerve at last, since Yuffie refused to react _properly_ to attacks on her appearance, reputation or insults to her friends. "Didn't you hear me right?"

Yuffie nods. "Mm, I did. Are you going to take it back?"

"Why should I?"

"How about because I'll turn your face into week-old casserole if you don't?"

"You're just proving my point about you being an awful piece of human waste that nobody but that miscreant would ever even _want _– eeeeeeeeeeeeeek!" Her cry is thin and drawn out, but also slightly muffled by the hands crossed in front of her face. Her lovely pink outfit gets smeared with dirt as she and Yuffie roll, clamped together.

"Are you going to take it back yet?" Yuffie's voice is still level, even cheerful, while Blondie spits out mouthfuls of hair.

"Bitch!"

"See? Now you've gone and made me mad. It's not good to make the unstable ninja mad when you obviously couldn't win a fistfight against a used teabag."

"Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!" Blondie squeals, gripping her head to protect it. "Please, don't hurt me."

Yuffie gets up with no small amount of disgust, but offers her hand anyway. Aerith or Tifa, gracious to the last, would offer their hands even to a little witch like this. If she didn't do it, she'd feel like she was letting them down, which is a complete no-no after those insults.

When Blondie jabs the palmed hairpin into her outstretched palm, then scrambles up and runs away, Yuffie actually finds herself a little surprised.

_I'm losing my edge_, she thinks, staring at the welling blood. _Also, OW!_

"I can't believe you actually did that," she hears Green Girl say as the remaining three also flee.

"She, like, totally deserved it," Blondie replies, breathless but triumphant.

"Madame will be so proud!" Blue Girl cries with delight. "She hates that horrible ninja girl. And you, like, beat her in single combat!"

"She _has_ to give you that dress now."

"I'd have done it," Blondie says primly, "even if there _wasn't_ a reward."

The signal goes up again amongst Green, Blue and Yellow: "Scandalous!"

Yuffie sighs, deciding they're not worth chasing. They're only puppets. Madame Medusa, as ever, is the one pulling the strings. Yuffie returns to where she left her shuriken lodged in the dirt and carries it home in her uninjured hand so she doesn't get icky blood all over it.

* * *

Yuffie shows off her gift to anyone and everyone. Reactions to it differ.

Cloud looks at it with alarm. It's unclear whether this is because it's awesomely awesome or because she now has a big chunk of destructive metal easily at hand.

Zack wants to feel its weight with his own hands. He asks how she throws it without falling on her butt, since projectiles aren't something Angeal went into and he's Making An Effort after Cloud's reaction.

Aerith sighs and says to sit down so she can clean and heal her palm, and tells her she'd just better keep the shuriken where Kairi can't get at it.

Kairi says it's ugly and asks to play pony-rides.

Tifa raises an eyebrow and make a comment about gift-giving that causes Yuffie to chase her around the shop offering a personal demonstration of her new weapon's spikes.

Cid watches them with a grim smile and mutters about how the hell Lea paid for the goddamn thing.

Chicha worries and frets, then goes to furiously wash dishes. She's still caught up Lea's unsuitability and this just hammers the point home. Chicha believes fully in the true romance of a bunch of flowers.

When he finally sees it, Leon asks Zack whether she can fight with it and then never mentions it again.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_Brad apparently has issues with 'freaky stuff', which includes practically everything and everyone in Traverse Town. His home world must gave been a very boring place if his reactions are anything to go by. He panics and starts shouting hysterically about dragons when one anthropomorphic lizard woman drops off a message at the Survivor Centre on his second day there._

-- Brad is from the Disney Channel cartoon series _American Dragon: Jake Long_.

"_She's eighteen. Half the girls at the Honeybee Inn were eighteen, and I never heard you complaining whenever we went and blew our pay packets there."_

-- The Honeybee Inn is a members-only adult club from FFVII (www. uffsite. net/ff7/goldsaucer. php).

_As if they've all received her telepathic signal the whole foursome cries, "Scandalous!"_

-- Well spotted, those who recognised the Ashleys from Disney's _Recess_.

* * *

-


	65. Nothing Like a Normal First Date

**A/N****:** Just a quick note to let readers know that I'm currently running my annual fanart competition, details of which can be found at obabscribbler. livejournal. . There are prizes available, including a package of prizes you can receive through snail-mail and fic written by me to your specifications, so I hope people will consider entering and making it as fun this year as it has been for the past two years.

* * *

**64. Nothing Like a Normal First Date**

* * *

As promised, Lea takes Yuffie out for dinner for their first official date. They don't dress up, though Aerith does manage to corner Yuffie by the closet with the 'suggestion' that hot-pants and a string top aren't really date-wear.

"But they're so comfy!" Yuffie protests.

"You wear them all the time."

"So? Lea has liked me fine in them so far."

"This is special. You keep saying it's the first _proper_ date you two have gone on. You should dress up."

"Why? You don't dress up when you and _your_ boyfriends go out for dinner."

"That's because Aerith's food beats anything from a restaurant," Zack calls from the living room, "so we don't go out for dinner."

"Yes we do," Cloud corrects, right before he's loudly muffled.

"You're not helping."

"Mmmrrff!"

Aerith rolls her eyes and goes back to inspecting Yuffie's wardrobe – pitifully slim pickings, as it turns out. Yuffie's range of shorts, vest tops and the occasional sweater aren't jazzy at all. Aerith offers her own clothes, but Yuffie recoils at the profusion of pink and spends a few minutes trembling in the corner at the idea of wearing ruffles, lace or 'any of that girly crap'.

"You weren't so against girliness when you wore that ball-gown to José's party."

"I wore shorts and a vest underneath."

Eventually they compromise, cobbling together something remarkably like Yuffie's everyday wear, but offset by jewellery and make-up.

"I cannot believe you talked me into wearing this stuff," Yuffie complains at the sight of eye-shadow and mascara. "I haven't even put it on yet and my lashes are sticking together!"

"Considering you like this guy so much, you sure aren't making much of an effort."

"Why should I go out of my way to impress him? He should like me for who I am, no matter how I look!"

"There's a difference between acceptance and laziness. You show you like someone in more than one way, you know."

Yuffie falls into sullen silence and allows the make-up to be applied without further comment. Aerith also styles her hair so the front falls in soft waves that frame her face, while the back is held up by a clasp in a more sophisticated way. Yuffie's hair is much longer than it used to be, and the combination turns her from a ragtag tomboy into a … more feminine tomboy.

While she brushes and pins, Aerith asks how Yuffie got the cut on her hand.

"I was messing around with my shuriken."

"You're not taking that with you, are you?"

"I thought I'd tie a bow around its spikes and we could have a double date – me and Lea, plus my shuriken and his chakrams. Of course, they'd have their own table. No way am I sharing my breadsticks with this greedy wench…"

Yuffie continues babbling in her unique way, and Aerith smiles indulgently. "There," she says eventually, turning Yuffie to face the mirror. "You look pretty as a picture."

"That is such a tired old cliché." Yuffie squints. "I look like what I am – me in make-up and fancified hair."

"Well _I _think you look lovely."

"That's your opinion. Which is wrong, by the way. Polite and sweet and yadda yadda yadda, but still wrong." Yuffie pulls a face. "Thanks, Ponytail."

"No problem. Just do me a favour and stop belittling your looks. You _are _pretty, Yuffie – in make-up or with dirt on your face, you're a pretty girl."

It's something a mom might say to her daughter on her prom night. Yuffie feels strangely touched. She shrugs off the feeling, but it snuggles in the bottom of her mind, refusing to go away.

It's frustrating, Yuffie thinks, that Aerith, with her ugly brown boots and boring old ponytail looks ten times more feminine and attractive – at least until Yuffie approaches the restaurant and Lea turns and beams at her. _Then_ she feels like the most attractive girl in the world – even if she _does_ have no tits and hips like two sides of the same ruler.

"Greeting, beautiful lady," he says in an affected accent belied by his lascivious grin.

"Pish posh," she replies, brushing past him but also grinning.

"Let me show you to your table."

"You do that. And you'd better pull out my chair for me _without_ letting me fall on my ass, since we're in public and I'll put itching powder down your neck if you try that."

The restaurant is one of Traverse Town's nicest. They sit, yet despite their initial banter the conversation is a bit stilted, as they try to find their feet in an unfamiliar situation. Neither Yuffie nor Lea has ever been at home with ceremony – _rituals_, yes, but not _ritual_. Lea has on his suit but no tie, shirt open to reveal a good few inches of pale chest.

Yuffie wonders whether his chest is hairy lower down. Then she wonders what colour any chest hair would be. The image doesn't play well in her head, so she decides chest hair is altogether icky. She raises her eyes back to his face, where he's grinning.

"You're ogling me," he says.

"No, I'm not."

"You're _so_ ogling me."

"Am not!"

"Are so."

"Am _not_."

"You _so_ are."

She pouts. "You're meant to sound older than me."

"Who says?"

And abruptly everything is all right. Conversation is no longer stilted. They could be in one of their usual haunts – on the ridge pitching chakrams, perched on rubble at the Survivor Centre, or just sitting with their backs against a wall, sunning themselves and talking about absolutely nothing in incredibly interesting ways. They chat, joke, laugh and act the way they always do despite the formal restaurant and other diners around them.

After an exhausting breadstick duel that sees Lea the victor when he leans forward and _eats_ Yuffie's sword, he asks her about her world – not just Hollow Bastion, or the country she came from before that, but her life in general before everything went wrong. He wants to know who she was, and while a fraction of her brain yelps, the rest actually _wants_ to share with him. To Yuffie's surprise, she wants Lea to understand her, the way she used to want Leon to understand her. She made the mistake with Leon of not giving enough of herself to match the part of him she was demanding, so now she ends up talking for almost an hour without interruption, waving her hands and nearly knocking over her food when it arrives. She only stops to eat, and does that furiously, barely chewing so she can go back to her story about how the Wutai Clan _totally_ beat the Gongaga Clan during the Hundred Years War.

Lea listens, a faint smile always on his lips, but it rarely reaches past his gums. His eyes are watchful, taking in her expression and body language, absorbing this strange anomaly of a girl and comparing what he learns with what he already knows – or thinks he already knows – about her. Unbeknownst to Yuffie, Reno's accusation rolls around in his head all evening. He wonders whether he's even capable of falling in love as he tugs at her to lay her past bare in ways he wouldn't be totally comfortable doing himself. For him, women and relationships with them have never been about love before, just survival and making the most of whatever time you can grab or buy or work for. He's not an innocent. Love, as far as he has always considered it, requires innocence to work. It needs a belief that you can honestly want someone else's happiness over your own, and can maintain this belief when the chips are down. People who can do that are saps, pure and simple. If you didn't look out for yourself in his world, you were a sap, and saps died quicker than suicides.

He has only known Yuffie a couple of months. That's months longer than any other girl he has ever dated. His work never lent itself to anything long-term, and he has never wanted anything more than that. Even his fellow Turks weren't more than a distraction. Yuffie is nothing like any woman he has been with before – and not just because she only just qualifies for the term 'woman'. She's a curious blend of childlike ingenuousness and bloodied experience that makes him wonder whether there's more to life than just grabbing what you can _while_ you can.

Her diatribe moves on to when she first arrived in Traverse Town, and finally Yuffie drags Lea back into the conversation as an active participant. She gulps water for her dry throat and demands to know what he thinks of the place now he has been here a few months.

Lea shrugs. It's like watching an unfolding ladder click down a few notches. "S'okay."

"_Just_ okay?"

"Sure."

Yuffie throws a piece of pasta at him. It leaves a red mark on his forehead – not because he's hurt, but because the tomato and basil sauce is apparently made of acid with some colorants and additives. He peels it off and rubs at the spot, but that just makes it look like a myopic vampire tried for his neck and missed.

Yuffie grimaces. "This stuff is as fake as Madame Medusa's hair dye. Hey, maybe this is what she uses! What do you think of her, anyhow?" Her voice has hit babble mode, but something fierce burns in her eyes as she asks this.

"Madame Medusa? That cougar is so far off my radar, she's not even a blip on the screen."

Yuffie, who has little idea what radar is, replies with an intellectual and pasta-muffled, "Whut?"

After he explains, she seems mollified, which segues into her telling him about the various stunts Madame Medusa has pulled, right up to her own run-in with her new posse of star-struck hangers-on.

"They think she's the bee's knees," Yuffie says around a slurp of water – no wine for her. She prefers a clear head, and after showing him what a lightweight she was last time she tried liquor, she's not surprised when Lea doesn't try to convince her to drink anyhow. Neat whiskey lights a nice fire in the belly, but it's not a good introduction to the delights of alcohol.

As for Lea, he has spent many nights getting smashed in bars, sometimes propping up Reno, sometimes being propped up by his brother, and sometimes with both of them too sloshed to walk straight. His tolerance has built up to the durability of a concrete elephant. Tonight's wine barely gives him a buzz; he drinks it mainly for effect. He is therefore perfectly lucid throughout Yuffie's story.

Yuffie is surprised by the anger in his voice when he asks, "And she actually _stabbed_ you because this woman offered her a _dress_?"

"Methinks that wasn't the original wording, but something like that. And I wasn't _stabbed_, you know. That implies I let the little psycho fashionista get the better of me – which I totally did _not_. She just stuck me with a hairpin. Real girly stuff. Kind of embarrassing, actually, but _so_ not a big deal. I scared the poop out of her with my shiny new shuriken, and increased my street cred by about a bajillion points because those girls rule their school and I kicked their _asses_. Or I kicked one ass, but since they're symbiotic I _practically _kicked all their asses at once. So all is well with the world once more."

"Hmm."

She carries on jabbering, missing Lea's slight frown. The conversational floodgates have been well and truly opened. When they order dessert, she's at a particularly vehement point and gives a wild wave that dumps her sundae in her lap. She squeals at the sudden cold and then groans

"What a waste of good ice-cream! Man, this is humiliating _and _annoying. It was chocolate, too – my absolute favourite flavour!"

"You really like your food, don't you?"

"Food is food is food," she replied cryptically. "Taste, texture, temperature – so many combinations to try out, just one lifetime isn't enough. I'm trying my best to test every single one before I head off to the big waste disposal unit in the sky."

Lea orders another sundae and a damp cloth for Yuffie to clean herself up with.

"How the heck can you afford to order me another dessert? Did you rob a dragon's horde or something?"

His blink is slow. "I forget, even when you've just told me, that your world had dragons and monsters and all that stuff in it. Mine didn't even have magic."

"Sucks to be you. Now fess up."

He sighs in a 'you're not going to give up until I tell you, are you?' kind of way. When he actually asks this question she shakes her head.

"Nope. I'm stubborn. I've been told it's my best and worst quality."

"I've been doing some part-time work after I get home from the rebuilding each day. The Survivor Centre will be finished soon, and I kind of like having cash to buy things with. I can't keep rescuing moogles for the rest of my life."

"You? Got a job?" Yuffie boggles, trying to imagine where. Nothing fits in her mind. "As what?"

He looks uncomfortable. She has to poke him before he mutters, "At the bakery."

Yuffie gazes at him, recalling the little sign in the window advertising a job with the title ... "You're the _baker's boy_?"

"Baker's _assistant._"

"From hard-core Turk, kicking asses and taking names, to sprinkling poppy seeds on sourdough rolls and making sure the money stays _in_ the cash register."

"Stop laughing. I'm new to this whole 'small town' thing. It's embarrassing enough as it is. Notice how I didn't bring it up?"

"Do you get to wear a hat?"

"No."

She squints at him, noting the tightness of his reply. "You have to wear a hairnet, don't you?"

He brutally forks up pasta. "You better appreciate this dinner."

* * *

In a lot of actually quite significant ways, Yuffie is still a child. She has spent so long sidestepping the parts of adult life she doesn't like, now she's not sure how to deal with them.

When Lea suggests they take a walk after dinner, she doesn't argue, but as they amble away from the restaurant she's struck by indecision – neither of them is carrying a weapon, and this _is_ technically a date. Should she hold his hand? Should she snuggle up to him? Would he let her? What happens next? Is she supposed to initiate any touching, or should she let him? And why the heck is she being so freaking indecisive all of a sudden?

She is so taken up with these thoughts that at first she doesn't notice where she is being steered. When Lea stops she finally recognises the street, she realises their 'aimless little walk' has actually been headed in a specific direction all along.

"This is Madame Medusa's shop."

"Yup." He has his hands in his pockets, head tipped back as if admiring the architecture. She couldn't have taken his hand anyway. She's both pleased and miffed at this. This is a _D-A-T-E_, after all.

"You brought me to Madame Medusa's dress shop."

"Yup."

"Why?"

"How do you feel about a little light revenge?"

She blinks at him. Indecision obviously has the same effect on brain cells as jam spread over gauze, because her neurons are glued together and she's embarrassingly slow on the uptake. "Huh?"

"Follow me." He grasps her wrist, not at all romantically, and pulls her into the alley that runs along the left side the shop.

The alley is dark, dank and dreary, as alleys often are in Traverse Town. A cat hisses at them before retreating to the top of the fence to watch with the irked interest of a feline that doesn't want you to know it's paying attention.

"What are you – hey!"

Lea is taking of his jacket. For one crazy, heart-stopping moment Yuffie wonders what the real reason is for bringing her to this secluded spot. His recent fumbling for her bra leads her to think so, as does the fact this street isn't heavily crowded at night – in truth, they're the only ones around. The element of danger, being so close to Madame Medusa's shop, feels _so_ Lea she's almost convinced this is what he's up to.

"Is anyone there?"

She pokes her head around the corner at his command. "Uh, no?" While her mind is busy whirring she heart is busy thumping. Would she mind if Lea tried anything? How does she feel about –?

But there's no more time to think about it as Lea drags over an old, dented metal trash can and positions it against the wall.

"Good." Balling his jacket around his fist, he clambers on top of the trash can and punches out the tiny window high in the wall. Madame Medusa's infamous money-grubbing shows itself when no alarm blares. The sound of Lea smashing and sweeps away glass is the only noise.

"What the hell are you _doing_?"

He jumps down. "She wants to set little girls on you in exchange for dresses? We'll just take away their initiative."

Yuffie stares at him. "The hell? You're insane."

"You mean you've never done this before?" He shoots her a look so solidly disbelieving it's practically made of concrete.

"Breaking and entering aren't something I write real high on my official list of talents."

"As if. Your resume has 'ninja' at the top."

"… okay, so maybe I _can_ claim a few B n' E moment in my illustrious ninjatastoic career –"

"A _few_? Come off it, Great Ninja. This is payback. Don't you want to pay her back?"

"It may have escaped your notice, bucko, but _she_ wasn't the one holding that hairpin."

"No, but she may as well have. You think those girls would've bothered you without her whispering venom in their ears? And she was holding the bottle of poison she poured all over your friends with that smear campaign you told me about, wasn't she? She wanted to destroy them just because she could – because they didn't fit into her idea of what was 'right' and they defied her by going ahead and being happy anyway. And she was holding all the things she beat her husband with. And then there's every man she ever chased. Her husband has been humiliated every single time she –"

"Okay, okay, okay, I get the picture. She's a bitch. This is not news."

Lea arches an eyebrow. The streetlamp throws only half a maggoty yellow beam back here. In the dimness his tattoos look like insects crawling up his face. Yuffie shakes her head and squints harder until they turn back to normal. Lea has never given her a straight answer about why he chose teardrops instead of random stripes like Reno. Reno himself only offered some half-assed suggestion about all the tears he never cried over their losses and their victories, which sounded like a cheesy line from an especially cheddar novel. The fact he was wearing his best 'shit-eating grin' when he said this also clued her in.

Lea mistakes her head-shake for disagreement. "You think it's okay that she's allowed to do these things – and keep doing them?"

"Are you kidding? Of course not."

"Has this woman ever really gotten what she deserves?"

"Her business success went down the tubes …" Yuffie tries, but it sounds lame even to her ears. "She broke her leg?"

"You said that was an accident."

"It was."

"Did she also think it was an accident?"

"… Yes."

"So the answer's no, she has never gotten her comeuppance. She's been allowed to get away with whatever she wants for the longest time, just because people are scared of her or just haven't told her where to get off. Now she's planting more poison seeds in a new generation of pawns and twisting them into mini versions of herself." The tamped down ferocity of his words is shocking. Yuffie wonders whether this is really just about Madame Medusa being a mean old lady with a grudge. "People like her make me sick. They need retribution."

"Look at you, being all Noble Hero."

"Yuffie."

"What are you suggesting?" Yuffie asks carefully. "'Cause this sounds like a ticket to Crazy Town, with a stopover in Warped Morality and a pee-break in Violence Village."

"I was watching that waitress at the restaurant. We could do her job, no problem. First task of our version: Madame Medusa's large helping of just desserts."

"Hey now –"

"I thought you hated her."

"I do, but –"

"So what's the problem?" Lea eyes her speculatively. "You scared?"

"You're baiting me. And not very well, either. This is very amateur baiting. Master-Amateur-Baiter."

"I'm waiting to see what you do next."

The challenge is obvious – couldn't be _more_ obvious if it painted itself blue and danced naked in front of her singing 'I'm a challenge, yes I am! Are you with him, or are you a scam?'

"What happens," Lea adds, "if Kairi is the next one caught in the crossfire? Madame Medusa already went after Aerith, Cloud, Zack, Tifa and you, and it didn't work. Each time it doesn't work, she aims for someone else. What if next time Kairi is the one stabbed by a hairpin, or made to feel like she's worthless? Do you think she'd find it just embarrassing?"

Yuffie's face falls into a scowl, but something inside her chest flutters. Lea has that wolfish look again. Buried deep in his eyes is a spark that sets fire to the nerve endings in her hands and feet and sends a ripple up her spine. It's the same feeling she gets leaping from one rooftop to the next and hoping she doesn't fall – the thrill of adventure and scraping the top layer of danger to see what waits underneath.

"I've seen people like Medusa before, on a much larger scale," he says softly. "They don't stop. They just keep getting nastier and nastier, until someone shows them to the door or makes them scared enough to back off. Trust me: eventually things will get out of control unless someone gives her the message to stop _now_."

Yuffie swallows. When did her throat get all dry? "Those people; I'm assuming they were in your old world, right?"

"Right."

"Were they the people you used to work for?"

"Amongst others."

"Which door were they shown, exactly?"

"One of several metaphorical ones."

There it is again, that brief shiver of excitement and knowledge that _this isn't right_, except in the ways it is. It _feels_ rightto be here, now, like this. Madame Medusa _does_ deserve her comeuppance.

Still, is this really the way Yuffie wants it to happen? What would her friends say?

They'd disapprove like crazy, of course. That heroic streak that runs through all of them – Zack, Aerith, Tifa, Cloud, even Cid – prohibits any hands-on, direct preventative action. They're all about reacting to problems, not cutting them off at the pass – except maybe Leon. Leon knows the value of preventing problems before they have a chance to _become_ problems.

Except that she's _so_ not thinking about Leonfart right now. She's thinking about how her friends – of which he is _so not _one – would criticise giving someone the message to quit being a heinous bitch, especially if delivering that message involves broken windows and the kind of predatory smile curving Lea's lips right now …

"Are you going to let other people's ethics and principles dictate to you your whole life, Yuffie, or are you willing to do what's _right_ once in a while?"

"Like you did for Reno?"

"Yeah," he says after a moment. "Like that."

Lea is skinny for a guy. There's no way he'd fit through the tiny window.

Yuffie sighs, takes down her hair and scrapes it back with her hands so it's all out of her face, then uses the clasp Aerith spent so long arranging to stab everything into a tight bun. "Okay," she says, giving her head a few shakes to make sure it won't come loose. "But you'll have to give me a leg-up if we're going inside."

Lea grins and makes a platform with his hands. He gives Yuffie a lift so she can manoeuvre her way into the shop like toothpaste trying to get back into the tube. She's really glad she wore shorts, but wishes she'd ignored Aerith and brought her belt of ninja pouches. She unlocks the back door in the dark. Madame Medusa may not have splashed out on an alarm but there are enough padlocks, deadbolts and keyholes on the _inside _of the door to keep her occupied for … ooh, all of three and a half minutes.

"What, no hug?" Lea asks as he steps inside.

"Just get in here before somebody sees you."

"For a ninja, you're pretty crappy at stealth. Did I hear you bump into a table just now?"

"You want me to go _shinobi-iri _on your ass?"

"That's goosing me from the shadows, right? Ow! Okay, okay, let's see what we have here."

They find their way through to the workroom, which has even more deadbolts and a padlock the size of Yuffie's head. Despite its scale, it's pretty easy to pop open. They enter a world of chiffon and sewing machines that make Esmeralda's workshop look like an uppity cousin. Madame Medusa's world is full of so much _stuff_. Cables trail everywhere. One goes to a machine for stamping metal studs into denim, one for an automatic knitting machine, one for a giant soft-focus lamp so she looks younger whenever she looks into one of the mirrors – of which there are many. Everything is crammed in on top of everything else like a bag-lady's shopping cart, with little regard for health and safety. It's a wonder Madame Medusa hasn't fallen over more and broken her neck in this beautiful, luxurious mess.

"What now?" Yuffie whispers.

"Now we get to work."

"Huh?"

He starts piling clothes in the centre of the room.

"What are you _doing_?"

"What does it look like?"

"Like you're building a shrine to the Goddess of Ruffles." Yuffie picks up something carelessly tossed at her feet. "And Risqué Negligee. Man, I hope she never used herself as a model for this stuff."

"I think you'd look good in that."

She's suddenly glad it's dark, bumping into stuff notwithstanding, because her sudden blush startles her. She has never before blushed about innuendo. _She's_ usually the one cracking the jokes or making suggestions, then watching gleefully as Cloud turns seven shades of red.

Maybe it's the candour of Lea's tone, or the unthinkingly honest way he says it. She has always known her body is the least sexy thing since snot sandwiches, and her adolescent fantasies usually involved just one large facial scar, not two little ones.

Cheeks flaming, she throws the scrap of black gauze onto the pile and starts hefting stuff to hide both it and her face until her capillaries compose themselves and stop acting like they belong to someone else.

"Okay." He stands and looks at the mound of clothes, hands on his hips.

Yuffie stays on her own side, only just keeping him in view. "Now what? We dump paint all over them? Slash them up with some scissors? Graffiti some really uncool sounding aliases on the walls? 'Cause I didn't bring any paint, and we should've left everything separate if we were gonna cut them … hey!"

Lea's face is lit from below by the orange glow from his lighter. His scars don't look like teardrops anymore; nor do they resemble insects. They look more like brands burned into him by someone staking a claim on his soul.

"Lea …" Yuffie says uncertainly.

He grins at her. "How fast can you run?" Then he bends down to trail the lighter along a line of lace, setting fire to the bottom of the pile.

The clothes go up rapidly. Within seconds, large flames lick their way around to her side and up, like expert rock-climbers ascending Mount Medusa. Yuffie watches, transfixed, until something encircles her wrist and almost yanks her off her feet.

"C'mon, before we burn up with it."

They dash through the workroom door, where Lea pauses to reattach the padlock and deadbolts, and out into the alley at full tilt. There Lea turns, regarding the back door for a moment.

"This needs to be locked from the inside."

"Why?"

"Can you get out of that little window like you got in?"

"I guess."

"Yes or no, Yuffie."

"Sheesh, don't get your panties in a bunch. There's a table underneath it I could use to climb up –"

"Good. Do it." He pushes back into the burning building and shuts the door.

Even as incredulity rockets along her nerve endings, she slams the bolts home, conscious of the rising temperature and flickering light under the door of the workroom. Smoke has already worked its way around the door, seeping between it and the frame. It pours through the keyhole like vaporous black vomit. Yuffie keeps low, maintaining a regular breathing pattern, and climbs up to the window with sure movements. A strange sense of calm envelops her senses as she escapes – though underneath her brain patters to and fro like an eight-legged chicken with no head.

She lands lightly. "I'm out!"

Bracing his hands on the wall, Lea kicks the back door twice. The power in those long legs splinters the wood around the hinges. A third kick sends it shattering inwards, as though they've broken in much more clumsily than they actually did.

"What the hell are you _doing_?"

He winks at Yuffie. "Never use your shoulder if it comes down to brute strength. You'll just dislocate it and look like an idiot."

"I ask again, what the hell are you –?"

"This way." He yanks her after him again. Confused, Yuffie follows.

She could dig her heels in; could stop and demand he explain himself – there are other shops on either side of this one, after all, and they don't deserve to burn down just because Madame Medusa is a rampaging bitchface with major issues.

She doesn't. She can't explain _why_ either, except that she's hypnotised by the way Lea runs into the street and starts yelling in a much deeper voice than usual.

"Fire! Fire! The dress shop is on fire!" He doesn't sound like himself at all.

"What are you _doing_?" she hisses.

"Can you use that invisible-in-shadows trick with another person?"

"_Shinobi-iri_? I've never tried it –"

"Try it now." He cups his free hand around his mouth. "Fire! Fire!"

"You're going to get us _caught_, you dingbat!"

"Not if nobody can see us."

Yuffie sets her jaw, but switches his grip on her wrist to entwine her fingers with his. It's not exactly the kind of handholding she anticipated when they left the restaurant, but she focuses, drawing herself into the shadows. She hopes the ripple of power down her arm will transfer itself to Lea.

"Whoa …" Lea's shouts die in his throat. "Intense."

And then it's _her_ pulling _him_ along like a balloon tied to the arm of a child, bouncing in the back-draft and always a hairsbreadth from floating away.

They make it all the way to the end of the street before a light switches on above the bakery, and then in another in a house on the corner. After that it's like stars coming out. Light bulbs flick to life everywhere. People pour into the street; bleary-eyed, curious, and then alarmed at the smoke billowing out the back door of Madame Medusa's. They start shouting, until the baker, used to dealing with the odd fire without losing his head, starts directing people left and right. A water mage from the next street over is fetched. She flip-flops to the rescue on webbed feet Madame Medusa once told her she should cut off to appear more normal. They get in easily through the smashed back door, and she douses the fire, ruining all the stock in the process, but rescuing the building and those around it.

By the time it's all over, however, Lea and Yuffie are far away and still running. They eventually come to a halt, still buzzing with adrenaline, after vaulting some low bollards at the mouth of yet another alleyway. This one is slightly less dingy. They collapse behind some garbage cans, backs against the wall. Neither says a word until their breathing slows and their heartbeats come down from cardiac arrest territory.

Yuffie finally allows them to ripple back into sight. Then she reaches out and slaps Lea across the chops.

"Hey!"

"What were you _thinking_? You almost got us _caught_. And why did you set the place on fire? Talk about half-assed harebrained schemes."

"Like you didn't enjoy the rush."

She doesn't comment, because even though the miniature versions of her friends in her head are yelling at her, it _was_ a rush and she _did_ kind of enjoy it. She has been pranking people since she could walk, getting a giddy little thrill from almost being caught but escaping in the nick of time. This is like a huge version of that, with the added pleasure of finally punishing Madame Medusa.

She's just not used to being the voice of reason at times like this.

She doesn't like it.

"You didn't know that water mage was there."

"Yes I did. I served her a granary loaf just this morning and she gave me her address. Not my type, but now she gets to be a hero. Even better, she looks good because she saved the shop of a woman she doesn't even like and has no reason to help. People will think someone with less finesse than us broke in to discover the fire because of that door – which, already being helpfully broken, meant they could get in quickly without getting hurt. Those cables in the workshop were a fire hazard waiting to happen. And anyway, we were nowhere near the place at the time."

"You're an idiot if you think anyone's going to buy that."

"Why would they suspect? This way, everybody wins." Lea chuckles. "Your _face_ when I set that stuff alight. I thought you were going to have a seizure. Since when did you get to be such a killjoy?"

"Would a killjoy have saved your ass with her wicked cool ninja shadow technique?"

"Now _that_ was a real rush. Now I get why you like doing that so much." He shifts. She realises she's still hanging onto his hand.

And she … doesn't let go.

A gust of wind swirls around the dead-end street. Yuffie hardly notices because her back is still against the unyielding wall, and somehow Lea is kneeling above her. He smiles, teeth flashing, breath sharp.

"You really are something else," he murmurs.

And Yuffie, unable to believe what she's doing, finds her arms reaching up towards him, pulling his own hand towards him as well. He loosens his fingers and slips them from hers, touching her cheek and jaw the way he did the first time he kissed her. She pulls him down into another, although this kiss smells of slightly singed hair and perspiration from running so hard and risking so much. Maybe not romantic, but when have they ever done anything by the book? He kisses her back, which is important, she decides, as his mouth moves from her mouth down her neck, and she gets a faceful of reddish-brown spikes.

"Ftheh! Ptooey! You, good sir, have too much hair."

"Sorry," he murmurs to her collarbone. "And I'm not a good sir."

"You're right. You're an asshole."

"Mmm-hmm."

"And you're dangerous to take on a nice, normal date."

"Normal is overrated."

"And your brother was right."

Lea stops, pulls back and meets her eyes warily.

Yuffie grins wolfishly. "You can always tell where you've been, because it's on fire."

A smile flickers at the corners of his mouth. "Reno's a lecherous idiot, but he's right about a lot of stuff." He doesn't explain what he means. Instead, he silences further insults by pushing his face into hers and crushing her lips with a kiss that leaves her bone marrow wondering when the hell it learned to shiver.

A hand with extremely long fingers creeps under her top, tracing the underside of her bra. This time Yuffie doesn't bat it away.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

_._


	66. Bluebells and Apple Blossom

-

* * *

**65. Bluebells and Apple Blossom**

* * *

"And it burned _down_?"

Aerith shakes her head. "No, but most of the inside was destroyed by fire or water damage. Madame Medusa's distraught. She keeps saying how much money she lost from the fabrics alone. She had silk and velvet in there – satin too."

"Her business probably isn't going to recover from this," Cloud agrees. He tips his cup and nods at the same time, with the net result that tea goes up his nose, making him snort.

Cid whacks him on the back harder than strictly necessary. "Waste of good tea. Say it, don't spray it, kid."

Cloud's reply isn't eloquent. He chokes some more, spluttering and thumping a fist against his chest.

Tifa hands him a cloth she was going to use for cleaning until Aerith arrived to distract her. Cloud turned up not long afterwards with a delivery, though they each brought the same news: last night a mysterious fire broke out at the dress shop, only to be put out again by neighbours and other concerned townsfolk. The town's sense of camaraderie has had a much-needed boost as a result. Borne along on this, despite reputation and rumour, Madame Medusa and Mr. Snoops have had as much help as they can stand gutting her shop to see what's salvageable.

"Not a lot, from what I heard," Aerith says sadly.

Cid is disgusted by her sympathy. "You hate her. Everybody does. Goddamn woman's the bane of everybody's lives."

"Hate's a strong word. I don't _hate_ anyone."

"But you don't like her. So why the long face? You actually feel _sorry _for her?"

"Nobody deserves what happened to her. Imagine how you'd feel if _your_ shop went up in flames."

"Nobody'd set mine alight."

Tifa gives him a sharp look. "You think it was arson?"

Cid shrugs. "I know about as much as you, girl. I got the info from this pair, same as you did."

"There _are_ rumours it wasn't just an electrical fault," Cloud murmurs. "Someone broke down the back door. People think it was when they discovered the fire and raised the alarm, but nobody has come forward to say that was them. Plus …"

"What? Spit it out, kid."

"The baker said the clothes burned faster than if they'd been scattered around, almost like someone rearranged them that way…"

The implication of this sits heavy. Traverse Town is a town of leftovers, and gets along mainly because most people understand that infighting, after what they've already been through, would be counterproductive. Leon and the legend of his gunblade, plus regular patrols by himself and Zack, keep crime and vandalism down, and the idea that the world beyond their little town is a scary, unfriendly place for 'abnormal types' like them ensures harmony for the most part, with only pockets of problems. There has never been a murder in Traverse Town, nor a masked robbery, nor a protection racket. Goods are brought in from other places and merchandise ships out again with minimum fuss. It's all pretty idyllic until you scratch below the surface and discover people like Madame Medusa.

Even so, nothing as suspicious and serious as this has ever happened before. It's unsettling. There _have_ been pranks, generally attributable to Yuffie and the other teens who copied her; but something as malicious as burning down a building? It's ridiculous – or so everyone wants to think. They're willing to believe it was just an electrical fault, despite evidence against this, because thinking otherwise would be to admit their little sanctuary is just as bad as the big wide world they're hiding from. Traverse Town is where they feel safest, but not if they can't trust those around them. A lot of those refusing to move on from their landing spot cling to the idea that Traverse Town is a link to their nice, safe pasts from before the Heartless. They need the reassurance that Traverse Town is best for world-orphans, so they turn a blind eye, leaving only a handful to wonder whether there's more to the incident than just bad luck.

* * *

"I don't get why everybody's panties are in such a bunch."

"I refuse to talk to your feet. Turn right side up."

"But I'm trying to see if all the blood rushing to my head will make me smarter. Blood rushing to your muscles makes them work better, so why not your head?"

"Yuffie."

"Oh, okay, okay, don't get _your_ panties in a bunch too." Yuffie flips out of her handstand and bounces upright, staggering only a little from light-headedness. "But why are people so mad? Nobody even _likes_ Madame Medusa."

"That's not true."

"Name one person who likes her. Not Mr. Snoops! Not even Finster or 'Aunt' Sarah hang with her anymore. She's total poison in a plunging neckline that shows off waaaay too much saggy cleavage."

"That's harsh."

"True, though. Don't tell me her boobs aren't like two deflated balloons, Ponytail."

"All right, but I'll tell you it's disturbing you've spent time staring at her boobs. And people aren't mad on _her_ behalf." Aerith looks back at the saucepan of rice she's stirring. She takes comfort in the simple action, periodically consulting Chicha's recipe before adding dashes of yellow and orange powders from jars on the sideboard. "They're mad because this threatens their security. It's put them on edge."

"Huh?"

"Madame Medusa may not be _popular_, but she's as much a part of this town as the …" She searches for a comparison. "As the cobblestones in the streets. Whoever hurt her has threatened everybody else as well – people _need_ to be able to feel safe here. They need to feel like this is somewhere bad things can be kept _out_, or at least fought off."

"Like Heartless."

"Exactly."

"And this makes them feel not-safe?"

"If the threat comes from within, it changes the rules." Aerith slides her eyes, not quite meeting Yuffie's. "Yuffie, you got home late last night. Did you see anything out of the ordinary on your way home?"

"I already told you, Lea and I went for a walk after dinner. We didn't even go near Madame Medusa's shop, so we couldn't have seen anything."

"This walk … where did it take you?"

"To the ridge."

Aerith stares solidly at the rice. She wants to say, "Your clothes smelled of smoke," but can't bring herself to openly accuse Yuffie of being near the fire. She knows Yuffie, and would trust her with her life. She knows that while Yuffie is a champion of justice according to her own odd definition of it, she's not spiteful or cruel. This is way beyond her capacity for vindictiveness, but maybe she knows something – or is protecting someone who does …

Lea likes fire. A lot. It's a well-documented fact.

Aerith passed the shop today to see if she could help out. Madame Medusa, the woman she has privately loathed for so long, was reduced to tears on the floor, clutching handfuls of soggy silk and taffeta. She looked so pathetic and small. Aerith had built her up to a much grander character in her head. The comparison was shocking. Mr. Snoops was still there behind his wife, rubbing her shoulders and trying to soothe her even as he flinched away from her anguished fists.

"Was it nice? Stargazing? That is what you did out there, right?"

"Very starry. Very gaze-y."

"Was Lea … okay?"

"He was fine. We had a good time. Then this whole thing with Madame Medusa comes along to kill off my happy buzz. Total bummer. Personally, I don't feel bad for her, but that's just me. I think she got her just desserts. Is something wrong, Ponytail? You've been antsy as an ants' nest all day."

_While you've been on top of the world_.

Bliss rolls so thick off Yuffie it's almost glutinous. The grin hasn't left her face since she woke with it this morning. Whatever did or didn't happen last night, she's the happiest Aerith has seen in a long time. Despite her misgivings, Aerith can't bring herself to risk erasing that grin.

"Nothing's wrong, Yuffie. Nothing at all."

* * *

"I don't believe you don't know what happened."

"That's a double negative. You taught me that's totally grammatically incorrect." Yuffie doesn't even look up. "Naughty Leon. No cookie for you."

"Someone broke into that shop and set that fire. Someone who knows how to pick locks."

"I heard someone kicked down the door. Doesn't sound much like lock-picking to me."

"They locked everything up again after setting the fire."

"Do you know just how paranoid you sound? Locking a burning building and _then _kicking in the door? The whole fire was an accident. Everyone says so."

"This was no accident. Someone just made it look that way, and not every well, either."

"Plenty of people can teach themselves how to pick locks. It's surprisingly easy if you have a straightened hairclip and some time."

"Someone set that fire."

"Are you accusing me of something?"

"Not you. At least," Leon said darkly, "not on your own."

She finally raises her eyes, pen poised over the notebook into which she was furiously scribbling. Leon has a key to their apartment. It was a show of trust, giving him a copy. Now she wishes they hadn't bothered. Left alone while Aerith fetches Kairi from school, Yuffie is on a roll with her writing. Being interrupted is a real drag.

"I think I'm feeling a bit stupid today. Would you mind spelling out what you mean? That's what you're good at, right?" she can't resist adding. "Spelling things out for the ignorant little ninja girl?"

Leon, as ever, doesn't get sarcasm. The guy must have been _born_ with a pole up his butt. "I think Lea set that fire and you helped him."

She snorts. It's a pretty good, genuine sounding snort – but not enough to convince Mr. I-Was-Captain-of-The-Royal-Guard-So-No-Wool-Is-Getting-Pulled-Over-My-Eyes. "Yeah, right. Aside from the glaringly _ob-vee-uss_ fact Lea has no beef with Madame Medusa _or _her clothes, he has an alibi."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She tilts her chin. "Me. We weren't anywhere near the place."

"So you say."

Her voice turns steely. "Got any evidence to say we weren't?"

He narrows his eyes at her, obviously noting the change in her tone. "_Did_ you do it?"

"No." A clean lie, no breaks or tears and wrinkles. Well, she _didn't_ do it – Madame Medusa did it to herself. The more Yuffie says this, the more she believes it. "Did _you_?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about it? If you can go around accusing people willy-nilly without a scrap of evidence, so can I. Hey, isn't that a great thing to say? Willy-nilly. Willy-nilly. . Wiiiillllyyy-niiillllyyy. Of course, you could turn it around to say 'nilly-willy' too, but that just makes it sound like you're talking about a nihilistic penis. Nihilism's all about denying the existence of a higher power, right? Does your penis deny you exist, Leon? Does it deny the higher power of your brain, so it can become the new leader itself? Would it overthrow the status quo and declare itself dictator or Traverse Town, since everybody keeps coming to you with their problems anyhow and you're a total dickhead?"

He flinches.

"That shocks you?" She stares at him. "All the things I've ever said, and _that_ shocks you?"

"You've changed since you took up with him."

"That's completely spurious and specious and other intelligent-sounding words beginning with 's' that mean 'you're a big fat liar and your tongue's on fire'!"

"He's making you into something you're not, Yuffie."

"See, that's where you're wrong. Lea's not _making _me into anything. I am who I am. Nobody tells me what to do."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, really." She rolls her eyes. "I think we've had this conversation before, or something very like it. Change the freaking record, Leon. Also? You're blocking my light." She waves her hand dismissively.

"Yuffie –"

"I hear a buzzing. Do you hear an irritating buzzing? Maybe there's a fly trapped in here somewhere." She returns to her notebook, having finally started the writing project she mooted when she began learning to read. Her fictional Ninja Princess is taking shape, working to save her people and her country from an evil so immense she hasn't even thought up a name for it yet (though 'Leonheart' is looking mighty appealing right now). Yuffie is buoyant with energy – overflowing with it! It pours out of her onto the page, where others will be able to share in the awesomeness of her she feels.

No, of how Lea has made her feel.

The way Leon used to make her feel.

"This is dangerous, Yuffie."

She sighs, tapping the end of her pen against the page. "What's another word for 'kick-ass'?"

"Yuffie!"

"If you're going to insult my boyfriend to my face, then I'm not listening to you. It's bad enough you marching in here like you have a right to waltz in whenever and wherever you please, but I don't ave to listen to you being a grumpy old bastard about someone you can't hold a candle to."

He snorts. "You're actually comparing me to him?"

"There _is_ no comparison. He's hot and you're not."

"Of all the childish –"

She smacks her pen down hard, cutting him off. "Stop right there. I've had all I can stomach of you and this 'childishness' crap. It may have escaped your notice, but I? Am _not_ a child – a fact Lea acknowledges. What's your _deal_ with him, anyway? What'd he ever do to _you_ except disagree about my maturity?"

Leon takes a moment to answer, as though too many reasons surged up in his brain at once, or he just doesn't like the first one that springs to mind. "I'm not a murderer the way he is."

Yuffie bites down so hard on her tongue she draws blood. A series of things try to leap into her own mind all at once – Rinoa amongst them, but also her own time trying to prove herself as a ninja to her clan and her father, and a night she still dreams about sometimes, desperate and cornered in a Ragdim backstreet only a few nights after losing everyone and everything that ever mattered to the Heartless. 'At the end of her tether' only just covers how she felt back then. She shakes away the images of blood and frantically grasping hands, as if it were possible to grab back a life already slipping away.

"He _enjoys_ destroying things and pushing them to their limits," Leon goes on. "I've never enjoyed violence the same way he does. He has no respect."

"And his shirt's never tucked in, and he doesn't salute, and he doesn't comb his hair – yadda yadda yadda. You sound worse than Miss Finster. At least Lea's _honest_."

"Not with you, he's not."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"You're like some social experiment to him – he's seeing how far he can push you."

"Well maybe I _want_ to be pushed!" she replies, suddenly angry beyond all reason.

Leon doesn't take the hint. When has he ever? "You're not a girlfriend. Not to him. He's trying to make you into a clone of himself. He's mapping his own personality traits onto you. People like him don't have proper relationships, they just have victims and notches on their bedposts."

"Well then, just call me Lea's notch."

That sounded so, so much better in her head. It does the trick, though. Leon comes to a sudden, shuddering halt, like a train engine stopping only to be crashed into by all the cabooses behind.

"I told you: I'm not a child anymore, Leon."

He stares at her, appalled. She's ashamed to say that his expression can still cut her to the quick, but thankfully he turns and leaves.

_Out of sight, out of mind_, she thinks, going back to her writing.

But it's all spoiled now. Leon has ruined her mood. She spends twenty minutes trying to get back into it before throwing down her pen and marching out of the apartment.

She considers going to Cid's shop, or the doctor's surgery, or even calling by the school – all things that would make her feel better and sweep away the frustration Leon can still cause when she's not even supposed to _care_ about him anymore.

However, she does none of these things. Her destination was set from the moment she flung her wonderful news at Leon like a poison dart.

"Hey, baker's boy. What do you recommend today?"

Lea grins. "How about a nice fresh loaf of My Break's in Fifteen Minutes?"

"Cool. Nice hairnet, by the way."

* * *

When she reaches the church, somehow Aerith isn't surprised to find the door to Rinoa's room open. Neither is she surprised to find a lonely figure inside, staring at the grave. She sets down her basket, but keeps her hands linked in front of her as she advances. Her footsteps are loud, so she doesn't have to announce herself.

Leon half-turns, sees it's her, and turns away again.

"Talking to her?"

The shake of his head is so small she only recognises it by the waft of his hair. It's clear he has come here for peace and reassurance. Leon rarely shows that side of himself. He isn't a man who's comfortable broadcasting his own vulnerabilities. They mostly surface here, along with his ghosts and memories. "Trying to listen to her," he replies.

Aerith comes to stand beside him. The grave has new flowers. Leon never takes more blooms than he feels is absolutely necessary. Each one has been cut cleanly and precisely at the same height.

"What's she saying?"

"I don't know," he says listlessly. "I think my ears aren't sharp enough to hear her."

The flowers are a mix of bluebells and apple blossom. They shouldn't be able to grow at the same time, but here, in this special place, they have.

"Leon –"

"Am I…?" He stops. Aerith waits for him to go on, but he doesn't.

"Are you what?"

"Nothing."

"Leon, you know you can talk to me. I'll listen."

"I keep failing."

"Excuse me?"

He won't meet her eye. "I keep failing to protect people I care about. It's like I'm bad luck. I touch things and they go wrong, or turn dark, or I just mess them up someh–ow!" He holds his arm where she pinched him. "What the hell was that for?"

"You're being self-pitying."

"Did you have to pinch me?"

"Be grateful. If I was Yuffie, you'd probably have a footprint on your backside."

He falls silent again. Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say – or exactly the right thing, because the _most _right things are always the most uncomfortable – and painful – to hear.

"I never meant to … turn her against me," he says at length.

"You pushed her away. She wasn't ever going to react well to that. Yuffie clings to people. She's not nearly as secure in herself as she makes out. She needs people to survive. You pushing her away was more hurtful than anything else you could've done."

"I know. Tifa told me that. At great length. Multiple times. But I never thought …" He frowns, trying to reorder his thoughts, or edit them before they get to his mouth.

Aerith waits, patient as a stone.

"Sometimes," Leon says, so soft it's as though the air makes itself lighter so his words don't fall to the floor before they can be heard, "I feel like I can't breathe here."

Aerith stays silent.

"Part of me hates this town, but I can't leave, because another part of me loves it. This is where Rinoa and I were happiest. In Radiant Garden it was mostly snatches of time just for us, in between duties. Here we were allowed to be _people_ first. Losing her was the worst thing. Afterwards it was like … why bother with anything else? The worst had already happened. Things couldn't _get_ much worse. I fought the Heartless because it was all I seemed good for. Personal connections were dangerous. If you cared for people it just hurt more when they were gone. When the Heartless suddenly stopped appearing I felt like I'd lost my purpose. What else am I good for, if not avenging Rinoa?" He pauses. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Something warm and uplifting. That's what you're good at, right?"

"Am I?"

"I want her back," he snaps suddenly. "I want Rinoa back so much it hurts. She used to be all I thought about – she was there when I shut my eyes at night and the first thing on my mind when I woke up in the morning. After she died, I thought I saw her everywhere. I'd spot something out the corner of my eye, convince myself it was her, and go running off like an idiot trying to catch up with her." He draws his chin in, as though protecting it in a fistfight. "It never was. Obviously." Self-disgust etches the words, making them sharp, like broken bones. "There were days when all I wanted was to be where she was. If she couldn't be here with me, I wanted to be there with her, but I know she would've hated me for doing something stupid like that. Things … those urges … they faded after a while. Merlin and Cid … they helped but … it was time, mostly. Time and then … and then you guys … I still thought of her all the damn time, until you guys arrived and the Heartless vanished.

Aerith listened silently, but her chest felt like it was going to explode.

"Suddenly I had this whole new purpose – and when you welcomed me into your group even after you got to know me and learned I really _am_ as bitter as I seem … I started to think maybe I _could_ be happy again. Maybe it wouldn't be so awful to care about people again. I looked at Cid and Merlin and realised all they'd done for me, and I felt like such an ass for keeping them at arm's length just because I didn't want to get burned again by _caring_.I still wanted Rinoa back with all my heart and soul. I still fell asleep at night and replayed … but the more I started seeing real people around me for what they are, the less I chased phantoms. The less the last time I saw her haunted me." Leon shakes his head angrily. "And then that just made me feel so guilty that I lashed out at the people who I saw as replacing her in my head and my heart."

"Nobody will ever replace her in your heart." _Or you in hers. _The flowers are _bluebells_ and _apple blossom_, and it's _Rinoa's magic_ that's made them grow here. Aerith tries again to tell him their significance. "Leon –"

He doesn't let her finish. It's as if something has been unstoppered inside him here. The words pour out thick and fast, like vomit. "I've messed everything up. I couldn't just leave it alone. I _keep_ destroying what makes me happy. What kind of masochistic fuck-up does that to himself more than once?"

He sounds so broken it makes Aerith abandon her words for a new set. "Yuffie doesn't hate you, Leon."

"Could've fooled me." He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know _what _I'm supposed to do now. Or feel."

"Maybe," Aerith says carefully, "you're not supposed to know what to feel. Maybe you're supposed to just let your feelings happen on their own."

"I let things happen and look where it got me – standing in an abandoned church talking to my dead girlfriend because I'm an idiot who can't bring himself to believe he's not betraying her by thinking about someone else when he shuts his eyes." He turns away from Aerith. "Added to that, I _feel _like a dirty old man."

Aerith can't help it. The comment, after his heart-rending confession, makes her giggle and snort at the same time. She bends at the waist, trying to hide her face. "I'm sorry. I just never expected you to say a line like that unless you were repeating somebody else."

Leon doesn't smile. His face falls into an impassive mask. "They're sleeping together." His voice is so heavy you could easily use it to bash a nail into the lid of a coffin.

Aerith's giggle dies. "Yuffie and Lea?"

"He's twenty-five. And he's dangerous."

She marshals her own thoughts at the news, shelving them to deal with later. For now, her attention belongs to Leon, and the strangeness in his tone that she hasn't heard since he admitted what happened to Rinoa while wrapped in a blanket like a drowning victim in Doctor Sweet's surgery.

"I think you'd be surprised how dangerous he's _not _if you stopped thinking of him as some sort of victor in a competition," she says gently.

"And I think," Leon says, voice slipping back into its usual harshness, "you'd be surprised how much damage he's already done if you weren't so intent on being blinded by her unhealthy happiness."

"Is it unhealthy to be young and in love?"

His entire posture tightens. His face slams shut. This was too close to the bone. "I have to be somewhere." He leaves without apology.

Aerith watches him go. For all his faults, Leon is a good person. He doesn't deserve the inability to understand his own heart, or the hearts of others. He doesn't deserve to be so unbearably miserable he can only find relief here, or fighting an evil he uses to justify his own loneliness, or in pushing other people away so they confirm his fears are right and abandon him. He says he's not self-destructive anymore, but he is. So very much.

"Was he always like this?" Aerith asks the grave. "Did he always torture himself?"

Rinoa, perhaps wisely, doesn't reply, except through bluebells and apple blossom.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_The flowers are bluebells and apple blossom, and it's Rinoa's magic that's made them grow here._

-- Bluebells have long been symbolic of humility and gratitude. They are associated with constancy, gratitude and everlasting love. Apple blossoms signify 'better things to come' and a wish for good fortune.

* * *

-


	67. Absent Friends & Warnings of the Future

-

* * *

**66. Absent Friends and Warnings of the Future**

* * *

Aerith is nuzzled against Cloud's chest when the screaming wakes her. She's too bleary with sleep to do anything but flail and get caught up in the bedclothes. Cloud, closer to the edge of the mattress, slips out of bed. She follows his lead, dragging a sheet after as her bare skin is shocked by the night chill.

She finds Cloud holding a sobbing Kairi. At first Aerith thinks it's a repeat of the night Yuffie went missing, until she notices Yuffie just behind him with an equally worried expression.

"Whassamaddah?" Zack asks from the doorway. He's caught up in the other end of Aerith's sheet. "Who put out the lights?"

"Small Fry just upped and started with the hysterics," Yuffie says. "No warning, no whimpering, no nothing."

"They were coming," Kairi sobs. "Th-they were c-coming…"

Everyone prickles. Most little kids' nightmares are just that, but Kairi has been having the same one on and off for a while now. It always features Heartless and a great, pulsing mass, 'like a giant heart she says. It's as though she's connected with the evil creatures in a way they can't explain – her light to their darkness. It wouldn't be so bad if her dreams didn't terrify her – and, consequently, her family.

"Who was?" Cloud asks, clutching the straw marked 'too much cheese before bedtime'.

"The b-bad shadows."

Aerith's spirit sinks. Heartless. Again.

Later, when Kairi is more settled, she falls asleep in Cloud's lap on the couch. Aerith, Cloud, Zack and Yuffie exchange looks and share in their unease.

"More dreams," Zack says eventually. "More dreams about Heartless. And still Cait hasn't turned up _why,_ or what it all means."

"Be fair," Aerith murmurs, reaching to stroke hair from Kairi's face. It's damp with fear-sweat. "He told us he's not a wizard. He can't help it if his skills with this sort of thing aren't as great as Merlin's. It's like asking you to perform all the parts in an entire ballet when you've only got a book about the basics."

Zack grumbles, but it's impossible to disagree with this.

"Although personally, I wouldn't mind seeing you in a tutu."

He angles his head to stare down at her, squashed between him and the arm of the couch with her feet tucked under her body and her head pillowed against his shoulder. "You're bizarre sometimes. You know that?"

Cloud strokes Kairi's hair. "Two more worlds were destroyed in the last two months. It feels like we should be doing more."

"I hear you," Zack says emphatically. "But what?"

"Kicking asses and taking names!"

"Thank you for that helpful suggestion, Yuffie."

She clicks her heels together and flips a salute. "No problemo, skipper. Always ready and willing with a good idea or twelve." She sprawls forward so her torso is on their side of the couch while her legs and lower body dangle over the back. It's a bit of a squash, but congregating around Kairi's nightmares seems to be the only time they're all together these days.

Yuffie has grown away from Aerith, Zack and Cloud. It's a subtle shift, but noticeable in small ways. She's still personable, still fiercely loyal if they need her. Bodily she's still there, but more and more her mind and heart are elsewhere. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where. Yuffie is smitten, and like millions before her, fails to realise her infatuation is boring after the first three hours of talking non-stop about it – or that it's a bad idea to allow yourself to sacrifice old friends for a new lover.

Despite Leon's warnings, Lea has proven to be a devoted companion, though there's still something about him difficult to truly _like_ unless you're Yuffie. She has become slightly flinty on the topic, too sharp to what she perceives as snubs or insults. Aerith is inclined to believe the real source of everyone's unease is that Lea _likes_ people to be a little afraid of him.

Leon isn't afraid. Then again, Leon has thrown himself into his work so fully they've barely seen him lately. She hasn't since meeting him in the church. Zack has the most extended contact, but even that is work-centric. Leon is doing what he admitted isn't healthy – pushing away those who care about him in favour of his self-imposed 'mission'.

"It's like he's got nothing left except taking care of the town," Zack once commented, scratching his head in disbelief. "And not even taking care of the people _in_ it, just taking care of the town itself."

"Buildings are easier to get along with than people," Aerith said dejectedly, troubled by her own inability to reach Leon. He is apparently determined not to get too close to them anymore. His words at Rinoa's graveside ring through her. She wishes she could _make_ him understand his usual fallback of keeping to himself isn't the best way to deal with his own emotions. Far from it.

Although, given what he said, maybe he already knows. And maybe that's the problem.

How was it possible to be so self-aware and yet so ignorant at the same time?

"Not if those buildings drop on your head," Zack replied peevishly. "I want to punch the guy sometimes to see whether _he's_ made of concrete too."

There's nothing any of them can do. That's the worst part. They're trapped in some sort of waiting game, and they have no idea what the rules are. They're waiting for each other, waiting for a threat that might not ever come, waiting for the future to just hurry up and _happen_ already, instead of hanging about like a reluctant child dipping its toes in a cold swimming pool. They've lived with the threat of Heartless attacking Traverse Town for so long that even they don't really believe it'll happen anymore – at least until nights like this, when the ghosts of skittery fingers run across their skin and yellow eyes seem embedded in the walls, blinking in time with Kairi's sobbing.

"I wish Merlin was here," Zack says suddenly. "Maybe he'd know what to do."

"Who knew he could hold a grudge so freaking long?" Yuffie frowns. "Do you think he really doesn't care what happens to us?"

"Merlin is a good man," Zack replies. "Wherever he is. Man, I hope he's okay. I'm sure the king would let us know if something happened, but we haven't heard from either of them in so long, and people keep asking me stuff when they see me in the street because Leon won't talk to them … augh!" He groans and covers his face with his hands. "It's hard, being the one people look to for guidance when you don't have a clue what you're doing any more than they do. I mean, talk about the blind leading the blind!"

"Aw, poor baby." Yuffie drags a finger down her cheek from the corner of her left eye. "Teardrop."

"You're doing fine," Aerith reassures. "People are happy knowing you and Leon are looking out for them. They've even started calling you two the town heroes."

"Big, strong, burly heroes." Yuffie tries to lighten the mood by bouncing onto the armchair and striking a pose. "Grr! Rar! And grr some more."

"Shh, you'll wake Kairi." Cloud cradles the little girl like she's six months old, instead of nearly six years. "She's calmed down enough to put her back to bed now." He gets stiffly to his feet. Kairi rubs her nose with one small fist and sighs, burying herself in his embrace.

"Eew, she's totally sniffing your armpit, Cloudy. I hope you washed."

"Do you mind if I stay in with her tonight?" Cloud ignores Yuffie, directing the question at Zack and Aerith.

"Fine by me."

"Me, too," Zack yawns. "Yuffie, are you okay with Cloud sharing your room tonight?"

"Fine, fine, but you'd better not think I'm Ponytail or Hero in your sleep, or Lea will get all jealous and I'll have to pry a chakram from your butt."

* * *

Yuffie wriggles as Lea drags his fingers through her hair.

"You're all knotty."

"And you're bad-mannered. It's rude to tell a girl she doesn't look perfect when she's in the middle of her rosy afterglow."

"You never look rosy. You look blotchy."

She smacks the top of his head. It doesn't diminish his grin. "Idiot," she says with too much warmth to mean it. "You're hopeless, taking advantage of a poor maiden and then not even telling her she looks nice after you ravish her."

"Ravish? Is that what I did?"

She smacks him again, flattening his hair, which isn't looking too tidy either. Then again, it never does. Lea's hair runs the gamut from 'stylishly tousled' to 'home for birds' but always looks like he just ran his hands through it while wearing metal gauntlets. Yuffie has tried to fix it on several occasions. Once she actually lost the comb. He had to untangle it when her attempts yanked out too many clumps, and her answer to the problem was scissors. He stated his disagreement with this course of action by climbing out the upstairs window while she was gone and sitting in a tree while she hollered for him to come out of hiding and quit being a baby.

They can hear voices downstairs – one aristocratic screech and one petulant drawl. After a moment the front door slams and the screech is silent. The drawl keeps going as the speaker talks to himself. After a while the back door opens too.

"... cranky old bitch, telling me what to do. Like I'm gonna listen to her? Talking about throwing me out – _me_. Stupid old woman. And she smells like rotting fish, yo. Probably those damn cats – evil little fuckers, clawing my pants, humping my shoes, always looking at me like I'm not worth pissing up. I hate cats. All they're good for is target practise …"

Trash can lids clatter. The back door slams shut again.

"Sounds like Reno's his usual charming self," Yuffie remarks.

"That's what he gets for trying to shirk getting a job."

Aunt Sarah's decision to turn her home into a guest house was surprising when she announced it, but she seems to be doing a brisk trade. Taking in Lea and Reno helped her make the decision and has provided a good income for her in her sunset years. It helps that so many convoys from Mosey City have been through Traverse Town recently, after Leon's pleas for cooperation in safeguarding against the Heartless finally reached Captain Phoebus. The politicians couldn't keep their new captain out of the loop forever. He was so angry when he realised how long they'd been denying Leon, he immediately dispatched a party to Traverse Town. Phoebus himself arrived soon after, when he'd put men he trusted in charge of the city during his absence. He and Leon sat down for a long and serious discussion about the Heartless and the possible threat they posed.

"Nobody ever told me about these creatures. The ruling council in Mosey City never even mentioned you or this place. I had to find out from a dressmaker who mentioned it in passing."

Yuffie, head against the door and earwigging like crazy, knew exactly who that dressmaker was. Penelo's latest letter confirmed it: Captain Phoebus is now a regular visitor at Esmeralda's, and it was she who clued him in.

When Yuffie finally climbed up to the skylight and saw the man himself, however, she was less than impressed. Captain Phoebus is _old, _at least to her eyes. He has thick blond hair, broad shoulders, and a scrappy beard stuck to his chin like the bristles of an aging broom plus chewing gum. He carries himself with a confidence she supposes is attractive, but something about it doesn't appeal. The overall effect is a man Yuffie feels she _should _fancy, but just … doesn't.

It wasn't until she saw Leon sitting opposite she realised what it is. Phoebus has the same pent-up dissatisfaction and inbuilt nobility Leon carries even in full Self-Hating Asshole mode. They're both men of action. The light in their eyes says they've done things they're not proud of, for which they're trying to atone now. Honourable and principled they may be, but Phoebus and Leon don't like themselves much. The only difference is Phoebus is more willing to play nice and treat the rest of the world – and the people in it – like they matter to him.

Thinking about Leon in even a vaguely sympathetic way makes Yuffie uncomfortable. It threatens to break the lock on the box of feelings for him, or at least jiggle it enough to make her feel bad. She loves Lea. She tells herself this sternly, several times a day. Leon was her teenage crush. Now she has Lea and she's _happy_, goddamn it, so that box can just _stay_ locked forever.

"This is technically beyond my jurisdiction," Captain Phoebus said after a lot of boring talk about specialised forces, division of resources and emergency measures. "But since my job is to preserve the peace and maintain justice in Mosey City, I think I can swing it on paper so that this qualifies as a viable use of funds and manpower."

_I believe you so I'm gonna blag this in the records and help you out,_ Yuffie mentally translated.

Thus began a lot of toing-and-froing between Traverse and Mosey – or, as Yuffie put it, a lot for traversing from one and then moseying back to the other. Lea threatened never to sleep with her again for that one. She pouted and conceded. Now she has gotten the hang of not yanking out his hair, gouging too much of his skin, and totally ruining the mood with bad noises, she has found sex quite nice. It's not nearly as scary and mystical as she imagined when stealing Chicha's romance novels to read on moonlit rooftops. Sex is messy and fun and entertaining, which nobody mentioned among all the heaving bosoms and breathless gasping.

Lea has taken great pleasure is teaching her the reality of sex. Some of the things he's into are odd, but he has never pushed her to do anything she's not comfortable with. She gets the feeling this isn't his usual approach, which has actually encouraged her to try out some of the things she might have refused if he'd tried to force the issue. The net result is a lot of stuff happening in a lot of places, not all of which are private.

"Bunnies," Reno declared them after a while – hypocritical after his own behaviour with Traverse Town's female population.

Except for the human wind-chill factor that is Aunt Sarah, of course. She is one of the only – if not _the_ only – women who haven't fallen for Reno's charms, but can actually tell him what to do and be sure he'll do it. Not even he is sure why he follows orders when she gives them. He just shrugs and grumbles when asked.

After the Survivor Centre was rebuilt, Reno abstained form work. Aunt Sarah took it upon herself to 'cure that boy of his shameless lassitude', especially since they'd been placed to live with her 'when they had no other place to go'. She owns the deeds, after all, and felt it her 'moral duty' to convert him from a 'unabashed layabout' into 'something more constructive'. Aunt Sarah often sounds like a flyer for a self-improvement seminar.

Reno didn't know what lassitude was at the time. He had no idea he should've wrapped his belongings in a red-spotted hankie, strung it on a stick and struck out for Saunterville with it on his shoulder. Instead he was roped into working at the guest house by Aunt Sarah's overwhelming force of will, control of his living quarters, and disturbingly sharp-clawed cats.

As if on cue, a shrill yelp sounds, followed by the sound of smashing rockery.

"Shit!"

"He missed again," says Yuffie. "Obviously losing his touch."

"Reno could hit the thin edge of a coin at a hundred paces with his eyes shut. Those cats are just pure evil," Lea replies. "Nothing can kill them, not even Reno when he's on top form."

"Be fair. Not all those cats are evil, just the big two."

"Two too many. I'm surprised he's lasted this long, working where he lives."

"Maybe he's actually happy being here and just grumbles because if he didn't he wouldn't be Reno."

"Or maybe it'd be too much hassle to leave and get a real job."

"Like you, you mean?"

"Don't joke. I love firing up those stonewall ovens. So much more fun than trying to get blood out of a suit." Lea kisses the flat plane of her stomach, making her wriggle again. "And I love knowing exactly where the Great Ninja Yuffie is ticklish."

"Do it and expect imminent death. Lea no – _no_!" She scrabbles, trying to roll out of bed to get away. He pins her down and ignores her protests as he goes straight for all her most ticklish places. Yuffie kicks, screams, squirms, struggles and giggles, but Lea only stops when someone thumps on the door.

"Hey, Bunnies, give it a rest already. I know it's your day off, Lea, but some of us have to work, yo."

"You're just jealous, Mullet Boy!" Yuffie yells back, knowing her favourite nickname irritates him. Baiting Reno could become her new favourite sport, since baiting Leon is such a drag. Reno's reactions are almost as fun as Cid's.

"Of a skinny kid like you? Lea may have lowered his standards, Jailbait, but I still have some pride."

"Is that before or after you put on the frilly pink apron to polish Aunt Sarah's silverware? You're so beautifully domesticated now, Reno. Lea's so proud of his big brother. You'd hardly know you used to strike fear into the seedy underbelly of the criminal world. Now you could just feather-duster them to death."

"Screw you."

"Get your own," Lea calls back.

"Hey," Yuffie objects when Reno has clumped away to vacuum the room across the hall, "you can't say that. When they made me they broke the mould."

Lea replies by pressing a kiss to her lips and pulling the blankets over their heads.

* * *

"Aerith, can we get a kitten?"

"Sorry, Kairi, there's barely enough room for all of us as it is. This apartment couldn't cope with a pet as well."

"But I want a kitten."

"Still no, I'm afraid."

"_Meow."_

Aerith whips around from the chopping board, knife still in one hand, half a red pepper in the other. The sight of the sharp blade stained with red makes Kairi back up. The white bundle in her arms mewls again.

"Kairi …"

"She followed me home," Kairi says stubbornly, burying her face in the kitten's soft fur. It purrs, arching its back and rubbing its face against hers. When it meows, however, it's rather a confused noise, as though it's happy to be here as long as someone explains where 'here' is. "Can I keep her? Please? Pleeeeease?"

"She has a collar. That means she already belongs to someone."

"It's not a collar! It's not! It's a ribbon. See? No collar, no tags, just a pretty pink ribbon. Can't I keep her, Aerith? Pretty please? With strawberry sprinkles on top?"

Two pairs of soulful blue eyes gaze up at Aerith. For a moment she feels herself wavering.

Yuffie bounces through the door, shaking rainwater from her hair like a dog. "Hey, who let that cat in here? Is that one of Aunt Sarah's?"

The moment breaks. Aerith eyes a very embarrassed little girl. "Kairi."

"She did follow me home," Kairi says almost tearfully. "She _did_."

As if understanding, the kitten looks at Yuffie. "Meow! Meeeeow!"

"It _is_ one of Aunt Sarah's. I'd recognise that ribbon anywhere. That's Marie, one of Duchess's triplets. The snooty one."

The kitten mewls indignantly and _hisses_. Yuffie hisses right back.

"Her mom'll be frantic," she goes on smoothly, not missing a beat.

The kitten falls silent. Kairi looks up at Yuffie. "Really?"

"Of course. She loves that little mite the same way Aerith loves you. Would you like it if someone took you home with them because they thought you were cute, and didn't tell Aerith where you were going?"

"I didn't take her home. She followed me. I found her on the doorstep."

"Little creatures often get lost when they go exploring, Kairi," says Aerith. "That doesn't mean they don't already have homes to go back to."

"Duchess is probably tearing her fur out, looking for this one," says Yuffie. "Do you think _Cloud_ would be happy if you got lost and someone who could help you find your way home again kept you instead, where you'd never see him again?"

Kairi instantly shakes her head. "No, of course not."

"So you can see why you need to dump that little scrap of fuzz back where she belongs. I'll do it, if you like." Yuffie reaches to grasp the kitten by the scruff, but Kairi pulls her arms away.

"No, don't you hurt her!"

Yuffie pauses, hand still outstretched. Aerith can see the slight wrinkle between her eyes, barely the start of an expression before she scrunches her face in a smile again. "I wasn't going to, silly."

"She needs to go back to her mother, Kairi," Aerith smoothes with a carefully mellow tone. "Would you like to take her back now?"

"But she's mine! I know she'd like to stay here with me!"

"She'd rather stay with you than with her family?"

Kairi hesitates. "All right." There's an edge of sullenness in her voice, but she understands enough to comply. "Will you take me, Aerith?"

"I can't now, sweetheart, but Yuffie will take you to Aunt Sarah's. Won't you Yuffie?"

"Sure. I've just been there, but I can go back. I'm all free as a bird over here – nothing cluttering my evening except a powerful need to do something while Lea takes the late shift at the bakery. If I hang out there again the baker's gonna bake _my _buns in one of his ovens. Small Fry and I can handle a little feline returnage, right Small Fry?"

"Can't you come, Aerith?" Kairi insists.

"Hey, don't be like that. We'll have fun. I'll take you to the playground afterwards." Yuffie puts a hand on Kairi's shoulder and steers her towards the door. "We'll have a blast, just you and me being girly and junk."

"I guess." Kairi sounds unconvinced.

Aerith notices how Yuffie's brittle grin threatens to climb up the sides of her face into her hairline.

* * *

"Yuffie, do animals have hearts?"

"You'd know better than I would, kid. They have something that pumps blood around their bodies, 'cause otherwise they'd kind of keel over and expire like month-old yoghurt kept under a radiator. But as for having something where all their feelings and emotions are kept like us, which is kind of linked to our souls if you think about it, I couldn't tell you categorically one way or the other."

Kairi blinks up at her. "Huh?"

"Short answer: yes and no."

"Oh." Kairi thinks about this, walking faster and then slower than Yuffie in an effort not to step on any cracks. The rain has stopped. Everything glistens like it has been washed clean. "Don't step on a crack, or you'll fall and break your back," she murmurs, delicately avoiding puddles as well. "Don't step in a puddle, or you'll get in such a muddle. Don't step on a line, or you'll break your mother's spine."

"Cute. No, honesty, that's real adorable in a morbid kind of way."

"Yuffie, was my mommy pretty?"

Graceful leap over a particularly large puddle interrupted, Yuffie stumbles and nearly crashes into a lamppost. "Bwuh?" She checks to make sure nobody was looking and straightens up, thrusting her hands into her pockets and kicking a loose cobblestone like she'd _never_ fall over her own feet, because Great Ninjas don't _do_ that.

"I know she died when I was small," Kairi continues, "and that she loved me a lot, like Marie's mommy loves her. Everybody already told me that, but I wanted to know what she looked like."

"Um…" Yuffie thinks back to Anemone, Kairi's mother, and tries to picture her face. It's hazy. Mostly what she remembers is a frightened woman clutching her child as she ran from Heartless. Depressing, that a whole person can be reduced to one horrible image like that. Yuffie aims for vague in her reply. "She looked a lot like you."

"Really?" Kairi's eyes shine. "Did she have hair like mine? Is my hair pretty, Yuffie?"

"Well she didn't wear it in bunches." Yuffie flicks out a wrist to run her fingers through one of Kairi's spiky pigtails. "But, um, it was the same colour?"

Was it? She can't remember. The answer seems to please Kairi, though, so it doesn't matter whether it's accurate or not. Anemone is gone. There's no way Kairi will ever see her to accuse Yuffie of remembering wrong.

"My hair's red, but not as red as Reno's."

"Nothing could be as red as that hair without being smacked first."

"You say some funny things sometimes, Yuffie." Kairi's smile fades slightly. "I like it better when you're being funny than when you're being weird."

"How am I weird? I'm a model of goodness, and virtuousness, and being-kind-to-your-fellow-man-ness."

"Sometimes you sound mean. You never used to sound mean. You sound like Lea. Even when you made fun of people, you were nicer than when Lea makes fun of people."

"Huh?"

"Like when Madame Medusa went away to Mosey City and told Mr. Snoops not to go with her or follow her, and he was all sad, and you were really mean to him."

Yuffie can't believe what she's hearing. All she did was tell Mr. Snoops to get over himself and count his blessings that the old witch is finally gone. How was she supposed to know he's so passionately in love with her he'd burst into tears in the middle of the street? And what was she supposed to do with a weeping mound of quivering man-flesh in a bad suit – _hug_ him? Tell him it's okay to miss Madame F. Medusa (the F standing for 'freaking' 'fucktard' and 'for the sake of all that is sacred _please _promise this woman will never reproduce'). Nu-uh, no way. So maybe Yuffie pushed him away from her. And maybe he fell on his butt. And maybe he just looked up at her with big mournful eyes, made even bigger by his glasses (she hit a guy in glasses – big scary ninja warrior that she is) that made her feel sorry for doing a _freaking good thing_. Because of her and Lea, Medusa's gone, but Mr. Snoops isn't even grateful for his freedom. She wasn't mean. That was all reflex. Or something.

"Sometimes adults have to be a little mean to each other," she says.

"Why?"

"Well, because some adults are jerks who couldn't take a hint if it went rabid and bit them."

"Huh?"

"They just do, that's all. You'll understand when you're older." Okay, she has hit rock bottom with that one. Total. Freaking. Rock. Bottom. With lots of rocks. And bottom-feeders. Who don't give straight answers when you ask them things.

How many times did she hate that reply when she was a kid?

'_Why can't I train with all the other clan kids?' _

'_You just can't, that's all. You'll understand when you're older.' _

'_Why is a ninja's honour so important?' _

'_It just is. You'll understand when you're older.' _

'_Why did mommy die when I was born?' _

'_She just did, now go away.' _

'_But –'_

"_You'll understand when you're older.'_

Yuffie remembers the frustration of never having her questions answered properly, and her resolve to train alone, forgo honour in favour of getting what she wanted, and find out for herself that her mother died of pre-eclampsia from being poisoned by Yuffie's own placenta.

She also remembers not being there when her clan needed her because she was out training alone. She remembers feeling like something was missing from her life, because getting what you want does get you a proper sense of purpose. And she remembers the shock of realising _she_ killed her own mother with her own greedy demand for life. She wouldn't have had to deal with that alone if someone had just given her a straight answer when she asked the damn questions in the first place.

But she's not mean – not any more than she used to be. She's still who she has always been, the same Great Ninja Yuffie, save for some judicious alterations after Lea dragged her personality up out of her throat and laid it out on the pavement to show her where the flaws are. But that's just self-improvement. That's her making herself _better_, not changing to become like Lea.

"_You're like some social experiment to him – he's seeing how far he can push you. You're not a girlfriend. He's trying to make you into a clone of himself."_

Yuffie scowls. _Go away, Imaginary Leon. You're harshing my mellow._ If only the real Leon was imaginary too. That would make so many things simpler.

Kairi presses her face against Marie's fur and inhales. The sight is so innocent and cute compared to Yuffie's thoughts. It's also so different than how Kairi looks after a nightmare. Yuffie remembers the last one and instantly wraps girl and kitten in a bone-crushing hug. Several squeals and one disgusted yowl later, she releases them.

"What – ?"

"You do know I love you, Small Fry. Don't you?"

"Um …" Kairi fiddles around, rearranging Marie in her arms. "I guess."

"Only I don't, y'know, say it very often."

"I know that. I don't mind. That's just you."

Something in Yuffie clenches. She squares her shoulders. "Well I'm saying it now. Because I do. No matter what happens or what I do, you gotta know I love you, okay? Every kid should hear their family say they love them, so I wanted you to know it from me, too. Okay?"

"Ohhhkay." Kairi exchanges a puzzled look with Marie. "Um, I love you too, Yuffie."

A warm glow blossoms in Yuffie's chest. There's nothing quite like a small child, with nothing to gain from it, telling you you're loved.

She scrubs a hand through Kairi's hair, making her squeal again. "C'mon, let's get Marie back before Aunt Sarah decides she wants barbequed little girl and grilled ninja princess for dinner."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

-


	68. The Calm Before the Storm

-

* * *

**67. The Calm Before the Storm**

* * *

Penelo arrives in Traverse Town without warning. Zack finds her meandering around the edge of town like a late guest at a party, and brings her home when she tells him who she is. The moment she hears, Yuffie flies downstairs to the street and rugby-tackles her into a hug hat sends them both flying into the wall of the chocobo shed.

"Esmeralda gave me some unexpected vacation time," Penelo says breathlessly, trying to pick herself up but unable to since Yuffie is wrapped too firmly around her stomach. "I think she just wanted some privacy. So I thought I'd surprise you. Um, surprise? I did send a pigeon, but I don't think it made it …"

"Not that I'm not all squibbly-wibbly-warm inside to see you, but this is _completely_ the last thing I expected." Yuffie hugs her tighter. "It is me you're here to see, right?"

"And Mr. Strife."

"_Mr_. Strife?" Zack smirks, raising an eyebrow. "Someone's going up in the world. Yuffie, get off her. She can hardly breathe."

"Pish-posh, she's fine. You're fine, aren't you Penny? Tell Hero you're fine. She's fine, Hero, don't be all oppressive and chauvinistic." Yuffie removes herself from Penelo's stomach and gapes at her mode of transport.

Since Yuffie isn't about to, Zack hauls Penelo to her feet with one powerful pull on her arm. Penelo is impressed. Later she'll ask Yuffie whether _all_ the men from her world are pretty and buff, citing Cloud, Zack and Leon as examples, and then wonder what she said wrong.

"What," Yuffie asks now, "is _that_?"

Penelo strokes the beak of the black, white and yellow bird. As big as a chocobo, and with relatively the same shape, especially in its face, this bird has much slenderer limbs and feathers that fluff rather than spike. It croons against Penelo's hand, nuzzling her so gently that Yuffie is reminded of Kairi stroking Duchess's kittens. Except that Marie, Toulouse and Berlioz can't crack your skull open just be tapping it with their noses.

"This is Laverne. She's a chocstrich."

"A _what_?"

"The offspring of the Thief King's favourite ostrich and, um, Cloud's chocobo. Apparently when the Thief King stole the chocobo that first time, he stabled her with his ostrich and they … well … got a bit friendly." Penelo blushes.

Both Zack and Yuffie boggle, then throw back their heads and laugh.

"This is a _scream_!" Yuffie says when she can get her breath. "Cloudy's an uncle. Did you steal her from the Thief King?"

"No!" Penelo says, aghast. "He lent her to me when he heard I wanted to come out here. He also gave me a message for Cloud." She brings out a sealed, slightly grubby envelope. "He made me promise to give it to – hey!"

Yuffie dances away. Zack snags her collar on the way past, drags her backwards, plucks the letter from her hand, and lets her go again. She stumbles and pouts at him.

"Spoilsport."

"Not for you." He wags a finger. "Naughty."

"Oh puh-lease. What am I, five?"

"You sure act like it sometimes."

She sticks out her tongue.

Penelo plough gamely on. "I, um, have other gifts, too. Esmeralda gave me some stuff when she heard about my plans to visit you guys."

"But she already gave us so much," Zack protests. "We have to pay her forrmmmmf." He flails, a common reaction if a ninja lands unexpectedly on your back. Zack isn't used to sneak attacks from behind, since the Buster Sword is usually a pretty good deterrent, but somehow Yuffie has managed to land on his shoulders, between him and it. Simultaneously she hooks her knees over his shoulders and her hands around his mouth.

"Gift horse dentistry is not a good career change, Hero."

"Yfffee, gerroff."

"Hey Penny, did you bring anything good?" Yuffie asks as if she isn't currently mugging an armed man twice her size. The normal way she acts demands an equally normal reaction, despite the abnormality of the rest.

Penelo blinks. "Actually, one of the things I brought is for Mr. Fair."

"Zcchk."

"Uh…"

"Oh, don't worry. He just said his name's Zack."

Zack reaches up and tries to grab Yuffie, but she giggles and avoids him, kicking her heels against his chest. Eventually she tires of her game. She slides free, giving Zack a hearty pat like a faithful steed after a long gallop.

He rubs his chin, working his jaw. "You take way too many liberties," he grumbles.

"You're just jealous. If you tried to balance on my shoulders I'd get squashed, because you're a big heifer and I'm a small and delicate princess."

"I – you – never mind. Just never mind. Penelo, you must be hungry after your long trip. C'mon, we'll find somewhere for your …"

"Chocstrich."

"Your chocstrich to stay and then take you home to see Cloud and the others."

Yuffie's eyes widen. "Ohmygosh! Ponytail is gonna _love_ this!" She runs off, but stops. "Well? Are you two slowpokes coming too? C'mon, chop-chop, get the lead out, time's a-wasting, we're not getting any younger, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera."

Zack leans close to Penelo, speaking out of the side of his mouth. "Exactly _why_ did you want to visit her again?"

-

Of course, Penelo is made welcome, despite the unexpectedness of her visit. She's friendly and sincere, endearing herself immediately with her total lack of airs and graces. Plus, as Zack points out, anyone who can not only take to Yuffie, but like her enough to come cross-country to see her _has_ to be a real friend.

Yuffie offers to take the couch so Penelo can sleep in her bed. Aerith rolls her eyes and declares she wouldn't mind spending more time with Zack and Cloud, and that Chicha offered a while back to take Kairi and some of Pacha's other friends to stay for a sleepover.

"We'll figure out logistics after the first night, if you'd like to stay longer, Penelo."

"I was hoping to stay today and tomorrow, so just the one night. I have to travel back and it takes a while. Laverne's faster than a regular chocobo so it only takes me half the time to get from here to Mosey City."

"That's settled then. You two have the girls' room and I'll sleep in with Zack and Cloud. The bed's big enough for three of us, as long as Zack doesn't try to lie diagonally across the mattress."

"Hey," Zack says with a wry shrug, "I sprawl when I sleep. Some find it adorable."

"Those people have never woken up when you kicked them in the small of their back."

"Or when you stick your foot in their mouth," Cloud adds, not looking up from his letter. "I'm still trying to figure out how you managed that when Aerith was laying between us and I was facing away from you."

Penelo makes a funny little squeak, but says nothing.

Yuffie tries to peer over Cloud's shoulder. "What does your letter say, Cloudy?"

He sighs and holds it out. She snatches it, perches behind Penelo on the back of the armchair, like a gargoyle on a church roof, and squints at the spidery handwriting. "'Next time, try harder'." She flips the paper over. "That's it? Well that's anticlimactic. I never reckoned the Thief King as a man of few words."

"Try harder at what?" Zack asks, but is distracted by Yuffie tossing aside the letter and demanding to know what gifts Penelo brought. Laverne was loaded up with large panniers, much bigger than regular saddlebags. She's dying to know what's inside them.

"If I didn't know better," Penelo says, grubbing about in the first, "I'd think you're only glad to have me here because you get presents."

"Of course not. The biggest one's for me right?"

She squeals when she sees the new leather-and-fishnet gloves, different than her last pair only in the tiny embroidered words on the wrist-guards: 'Great Ninja Yuffie' on the left and 'Wutai Princess' on the right. Yuffie twirls around the room, holding them to her chest and whooping.

"You've made her very happy," Aerith says to Penelo.

"These are so damn COOL!" Yuffie yells. "So! Damn!" She leans close to Cloud's head. "COOL!"

"Yeah," Cloud deadpans, wiggling a finger in his ear. "Thanks for that."

Esmeralda hasn't forgotten anyone, proving the truth of her recent good mood with her generosity.

"And when I say 'good mood' I really mean it," Penelo says as she hands over a yellow and pink rah-rah skirt for Kairi. It's too big, but Kairi loves it and insists on wearing it straight away, exhibiting the curious fashion sense of children when she borrows one of Cloud's belts to hold it up. Seeing a six-year-old parading around the apartment in a green sweater, rah-rah skirt and giant black belt, its buckle as big as her fist, rates as one of the cutest things Penelo has ever seen.

"I'm adorable," Kairi lisps without irony.

"You sure are."

Kairi beams. "You're nice. I like you. You have nice hair. You can do mine like that if you like. Want to crayon with me?"

"You're officially accepted now," Yuffie says, throwing an arm around Penelo's shoulders. "Small Fry has spoken."

Aerith, Cloud and Zack receive a matching set of cloaks. The pink one is obviously for Aerith, but Zack and Cloud fight briefly over the red and navy blue.

"It'd go better with my eyes," Zack protests.

"_I _have blue eyes. Besides, red makes me look pale and scrawny."

"You and your obsession with not looking weak. Fine, I'll have the red one. But you owe me. I look like some kind of wannabe matador in this thing. Not that I'm complaining about the gift itself, Penelo. It's brilliant … uh, Yuffie?"

Cloud also looks at Yuffie, confusion mounting. "What are you laughing about _now_? You look like you're about to blow a gasket."

Yuffie promptly falls off the back of her chair, having taken up her place behind Penelo again. She stays on the floor, legs kicking in the air. "You two," she eventually manages, "are … so … ahahahaaa!"

"Yuffie, breathe." Aerith's forehead creases. "Breathe, or you'll pass out."

"You sound like … like … hahaha … You're arguing over clothes, and which colour matches your complexions! You're … total … tot-t-tal st-stereotypes of … of … campy … oh hell, my sides hurt."

Kairi crouches by Yuffie's side and asks solemnly, "Are you having some kind of fit? Because Spinelli told me that could make your brain explode."

It takes a full ten minutes for Yuffie to stop laughing after that.

When things finally calm down the sun is starting to set, so they decide to keep gifts meant for friends outside the apartment for tomorrow. There's even an item for Cid, which makes Yuffie waggle her eyebrows, and Zack snorts so hard he has to run to the bathroom for a tissue. Aerith rolls her eyes good-naturedly and starts getting out pots and pans, while Cloud dresses Kairi and sets off for Chicha's. Penelo offers to help fix dinner until Yuffie accosts her for all the latest Mosey City gossip.

Penelo's eyes widen, but she doesn't comment when bedtime arrives and the three adults retreat to one room, and she and Yuffie take a large bowl of popcorn, a bag of family-size potato chips and some kind of dip into the remaining bedroom.

"Chicha made it. It's way spicy. Most of her food is. I think all her taste buds must have died when she was a kid."

Penelo avoids the dip, especially when Yuffie piles in popcorn, crushed chips and candied cherries, swirls the concoction around and ladles it into her mouth with gusto.

"Are you doing that to show off, or do you really like eating it all smooshed together like that?"

"A little of Column A, a little of Column B. I'm trying to make it less mouth-bustingly spicy. Y'know, offsetting flavours against each other?"

Penelo watched the rising colour in Yuffie's cheeks with alarm. "And is it successful?"

"Put it this way; please pass that jug of water with all speed, or I may singe off all your hair when I breathe out. Thank you."

It's all very cosy and giggly. Yuffie has a blast talking until the sun rises instead of flitting around town like she usually does at night. Of course, Lea isn't pleased that her nightly visit to his room is cancelled, but Yuffie is too caught up in gossip to care. Foremost on her list is Esmeralda and Captain Phoebus.

"They're really an item?"

"Well," Penelo says, kneading the pillow in her lap, "not officially. We got a new mayor, called Frollo. He decided he doesn't like Phoebus hanging around the dress shop so much while he's on duty. But Phoebus and Esmeralda are as good as official. Everybody knows."

"_Everybody_?" Yuffie asks, thinking of the Thief King. Suddenly his letter makes much more sense, as does Esmeralda's desire for privacy and her encouragement for Penelo to visit Traverse Town.

Penelo sighs. "Yes, everybody. Even the Thief King. Quasi told me he was pretty cut up about it, but what can you do? Phoebus makes Esmeralda happy."

"Quasi? Quasimodo? You know that guy?"

Penelo reddens. "Well, yeah. I live above the workshop, just like Esmeralda lives above the main shop, so it was kind of inevitable we'd meet. He's nice. Very gentle. Always has a kind word for everyone. He'd never hurt a fly. He sometimes helps me when I'm working. All that time making figurines has made his fingers really nimble, so he picked up embroidery really quickly. He can thread the eye of a needle first time, every time. He wants me to teach him crochet next."

Yuffie raises a wicked eyebrow. "Oh yes?"

Penelo flushes a deeper shade. It's not coquettish so much as self-conscious and content at the same time. "Don't!"

"Don't what?"

"We're not … I mean, he hasn't … He's nice to me. We're friends. People judge him so harshly for being ugly, but he's really sweet. The first time I met him in the Court of Miracles, I screamed. I was so embarrassed, but he didn't hold it against me. He even brought me a little figurine of my own to say sorry for scaring me. _I _hurt _his_ feelings and _he_ apologised to _me_. That's the kind of guy Quasi is."

"Sounds like you're pretty fond of him." Yuffie wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. Penelo throws a pillow at her.

"Forget that and tell me about you and this older guy. I've been dying to know more after your letters."

"You'll find out when you meet him."

Yuffie's not sure why she says this, or why she refuses to say more. It's not that she's ashamed or anything, just that … well, Lea's kind of indescribable. She wants to know what Penelo makes of him.

Penelo pouts and tries to wheedle out more information, but Yuffie keeps schtum. Even being whacked with a pillow doesn't lessen her resolve. Rather than give in, she retaliates with another pillow. The situation quickly deteriorates into a giggle-fest of flying feathers and bed-trampolining. Penelo is light on her feet, dodging Yuffie's whacks easily, proving dance is good avoidance training.

Yuffie ands in a heap on the floor. "Hey, no fair, Twinkle Toes!"

"Way fair." Penelo strikes a pose.

The door opens. "You two," Zack mumbles, "are worse than kids."

Penelo's blush returns, but Yuffie tosses her pillow in his face. It hits home and Zack blinks at the pair of them.

"What was that for?"

Yuffie stands and strikes her own pose. "Sorry, Hero. I take my victories where I can. I can't be outdone in my own home, especially by a dancer-slash-seamstress. I'm the Great Ninja Yuffie, remember? That'd be way too embarrassing."

* * *

When she finally does introduce Penelo to Lea, Yuffie's smile is genuine but strained. After the mixed reactions so far, she badly wants someone to just _like_ Lea. She knows he sometimes goes out of his way to make himself unlikeable, but hopes he behaves himself just this once.

Thankfully, she doesn't have to elbow him in the ribs, or grind her heel into his toe to tell him to be nice. Lea is perfectly pleasant. In fact he's almost _painfully _nice; something Penelo picks up on, if her eventual hesitancy is any indication. She can tell he's not being sincere and doesn't know how to react to him. Lea grins and bows, before sweeping Yuffie into a passionate embrace. He nibbles on her ear until she thumps his shoulder.

"Leave off, you big galoot."

"Is that any way to talk to the love of your life?"

"Okay, leave off, you big nincompoop."

"You wound me with your words, fair maiden."

"I have dark hair and there's nothing maidenly about me. Bozo." But Yuffie is smiling as she says it. "Now get going before you're late to work." They caught him just as he was leaving for the bakery, which makes the encounter mercifully short.

"Don't I get a goodbye kiss?"

"You'll get a goodbye kick in the butt if you don't scat."

Lea pouts.

"Wow," Penelo says when he's gone. "He's … something else."

"Not quite as sweet as your Quasimodo, right?"

"He's not _my_ Quasimodo. And don't try to deflect this to my personal life. We're talking about your … boyfriend."

"I'm sensing there was a missing adjective there." Yuffie rocks back on her heels. "Majorly hot? Really tall? Bizarrely-haired? None of the above? I won't get offended, and I promise only to hurl my bluntest throwing stars at you."

"I was going to say 'intimidating', but then I realised it's not quite the word I was going for. I'm just not sure what is." Penelo frowns at herself. "He's … a little full-on."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So what happened to Leon? The last time I spoke to you in person, you were still completely in love with him. Then I got your letter about my jacket. I'll admit, I was shocked the page didn't burst into flames when I opened the envelope. You said you'd sworn off men. So what changed?"

Yuffie's mood threatens to take a long walk off a short pier. She dabs some wax to its arms, sticks feathers into that and warns it not to go too near the sun. "I said I'd sworn off men?"

"In between some other stuff, yeah. I had to hide that letter in case people saw the things you'd written. You can get arrested for using language like that in public."

Yuffie experiences a peculiar mix of pride and shame. Hm, interesting; like mixing milk and orange juice and trying to drink them together without pulling a face. "Lea has a way of getting under your skin," is all she says, unable to condense the convoluted way their relationship began, and unwilling to spend time going into detail. "C'mon, it's time to get Small Fry from Chicha's. You'll like Cheech, she makes great food. Just don't walk behind the llama. He kicks, especially when you yank his tail, and if he's been eating in the garden – which he'll totally deny even with begonias in his mouth – he gets gas that could strip paint and melt all the fillings in your mouth."

* * *

Penelo is absurdly enraptured by the fountain. She dashes up to it. Yuffie saunters behind. She can't see the big deal. She has passed that fountain thousands of times, has even climbed all over it fighting Heartless, or just to get a better view down the street. It's just a hunk of rock to her.

To Penelo, however, it's ritual. She fumbles in her pocket and brings out a coin. "There's a fountain like this in Mosey City," she explains. "If you throw in one coin, you get one wish. If you throw in two, you get good luck. If you throw in three, you can see the face of your true love staring back at you when you look at your reflection in the water."

"Sounds pretty narcissistic to me."

"It's fun, like sticking melon pips to your head and waiting for them to fall off."

"Say what?"

"You name three melon pips, stick them to your forehead with their own juice, and the last one to dry out and fall off is the person you're going to marry."

Yuffie raises an eyebrow. "That's completely pointless."

For a moment Penelo falters. She obviously thought this would be something of interest, and is surprised at Yuffie's reaction. Covering her surprise, she turns and flicks her single coin into the fountain, and closes her eyes. Her lips move slightly as she makes her wish. When she opens her eyes again she seems satisfied. "Your turn."

"I don't have any money."

"No problem." As if by magic, there's another coin in Penelo's hand. "Here."

"Wishes don't come true, you know."

Another flash of surprise. "Well, I think they do, if you believe in them enough."

Yuffie shrugs, but plays the game and flips the coin into the fountain. It twirls through the air, catching the light and momentarily blinding Yuffie. She blinks, hundreds of wishes flitting through her mind. She can't settle on one. She eventually thinks she'll settle for a generic but heartfelt, "I wish for all my friends to be happy," and so is shocked when her brain instead vomits up, "I wish I could forget about being in love with Leon."

_The heck?_

"You're not allowed to tell me what you wished for," Penelo is saying, "or it won't come true."

Yuffie is about to reply when she sees four figures coming towards the fountain. They must not have realised she and Penelo are there, or at least who they are, because when Yuffie turns for them to see her face the footsteps of the one on the far right fall out of synch with the rest.

"Ooh, Ashleys," Yuffie says, rubbing her hands together. "And it's open season. My lucky day!"

"Huh?" Penelo is nonplussed, and well she might be. Yuffie never wrote about Madame Medusa's shop burning down, or the prelude to that. Every time she tried to put it into a letter the paper glared blankly at her, and she wrote about something else instead. She still isn't _ashamed_ (no way!) but there's no way to describe what happened without sounding like a callous B-I-T-C-H, complete with a marching band and fireworks spelling it out above her head. Easier just to say nothing. Or write nothing. Or whatever.

Ashley A, whom Yuffie previously labelled just Blondie, or Head Parasite, comes to a halt with the other three girls in a phalanx around her. They're so much younger than either Yuffie or Penelo, but carry themselves like adults – the kind of arrogant women who routinely stab their friends in the back for the latest juicy piece of gossip, and think nothing of stealing boyfriends, clothes, and self-esteem because they genuinely feel it's their right as big fish in a very little pond.

"Oh great," Ashley A says. "Like, another one."

"What's with the hair, new girl?" Ashley Q snipes. "Did your mommy pick your style for you?"

Penelo touches a pigtail. "Um, it got it my way when it was loose?"

"Don't you know anything? Pigtails are, like, _so_ passé unless you're, like, in pre-school."

"And your _clothes_." Ashley T points at Penelo's bodysuit. It's form-fitting and ends mid-thigh, just long enough to keep her from overheating, without letting the saddle rub the skin off her inner-thighs when riding cross-country in the midday sun. Although, admittedly, the temperature has dropped now, so her legs are covered in goosebumps. "You're barely decent, and your colours clash."

"Look, I don't know you, so why don't we start with introductions instead of random insults?" Penelo extends a hand. "I'm Penelo, from Mosey City."

"You look so weird, though. Not at all glamorous like a big city girl should," Ashley B remarks, tossing her lustrous hair. She must brush it a thousand strokes a night to make it that glossy. These girls are all about image, and probably won't stay in a little pond like Traverse Town when they're old enough to strike out on their own. "I suppose that'd explain why you left to come visit Freaksville."

"And why you're with one of the biggest freaks of all," Ashley A says with a vicious smile. She glances at the other three, who match her smile. "Reckon they're girlfriend and girlfriend?"

"Scandalous!"

Penelo frowns at the unexpected attack. Yuffie keeps her attention on the four Ashleys. The force of her stare is unsettling, because Yuffie doesn't stare. She hops and jumps and babbles, throws things, jabs punches at empty air and generally bounces her way through problems; she doesn't stand without saying a word, half a smirk on her face. The effect is unsettling. After a few moments the Ashleys' giggles die away.

"Like, what are _you _staring at?" Ashley A demands.

"You."

"Freakazoid."

"I was just wondering," Yuffie says, still with that half-smirk – the same expression Lea wore when he kissed Penelo's hand and bowed theatrically – "whether hairspray is really as flammable as people say. Especially when it's already applied."

Ashley A pales. Her expression stays fixed through sheer force of will, though Ashleys Q, T and B quail a little. Ashley A whirls, hair the same colour as Penelo's flaring out behind her in a way Penelo's never would – or could. "Like, let's get out of here and leave the freaky people to their freaky games."

They leave, with many a backwards glance. Yuffie doesn't break from staring until they're out of sight. Then she flops backwards, sitting on the edge of the fountain and kicking her legs like she has cramp from standing still too long.

"Congrats. You just survived your first Ashley Jellyfishing."

"Jellyfishing?" Penelo sits beside her.

"Yup. They try to sting people with their insults while smiling like they're being nice."

"They weren't very nice to you." Penelo looks down the street. "Or me. They don't even _know_ me."

"My fault. Sorry about that. We have a history. It's an equality thing. They hate me and I hate them, and once in a while we tell each other, then we toddle back to our little lives, content in the knowledge that someone out there would happily see our entrails smeared across the pavement by a falling meteor."

"You're kidding, right?"

Yuffie says nothing

"You're not kidding? That's pretty harsh. They're younger than you."

"So?"

Penelo frowns in a way that makes Yuffie uncomfortable. She bounces to her feet. "C'mon, let's go buy a melon or something."

"Huh? I thought we were fetching Kairi."

"Oh yeah. Well we can do that, and then we can get some lunch as well and take it to Old Fart's shop. It should be Teef's lunch break soon, and you can meet her and Old Fart – whom Esmeralda had a crush on, once upon a time."

"What?"

"Yup. You'll see how much she upped her standards since then – although no I come to think about it, Captain Phoebus does fit into the blond-older-man-with-facial-hair template she seems to go for."

"This man actually lets you call him Old Fart?"

"No, but I do it anyway. It's fun. I've been doing it for years and he _still_ reacts. His real name's Cid, but to me he'll always be Old Fart. After the Ashleys, Old Fart and his temper tantrums should be easy for you to handle. He's a crotchety old geezer, but he's not as brutal as a teenage girl with a chip on her shoulder. Just don't say no when he offers you a cup of tea."

* * *

"I don't get it."

"What?"

"You call just call Cloud's chocobo 'the chocobo'."

"Beeeeecause that's what it is?" Yuffie stops trying to get to the top shelf and balances on the ladder, conscious that Cid or Tifa might return at any moment and catch her trying to pilfer things, but intrigued by the note in Penelo's voice.

"I don't call Laverne 'the chocstrich', I call her Laverne. And you told me that chocobo was part of a stable on your world, so it stands to reason it had a name there, otherwise it would've been just too confusing with all the other chocobos around."

"I guess. I call it 'featherbutt' as well. Does that count?"

"What's with the pronoun, too? _He_ is a rooster."

"_It _is a cranky overgrown turkey."

The prompt for their conversation comes back into the room, having tied the chocobo up outside. Cloud claps his gloves together, thick leather to compensate for the rope-burn slide of reins through his hands. He sighs when he sees Yuffie.

"Get down, Yuffie."

"Hiya, Cloudy. I could spit on your head from here. It'd land right in the middle of your scalp."

"Get _down_, Yuffie."

"Aw. You're no fun." She turns, but instead of climbing down the ladder, she flips forward into a no-handed spin and somersaults to the floor. "Ta-dah!"

"Stop showing off, you thieving little fucker. You'll break something, and then I'll break _you_."

Yuffie doesn't even look around at the owner of the voice. "Hi, Old Fart. You know you love me really."

After Cid is done with his diatribe for why he's absolutely _not_ an old fart and he most certainly does _not _love Yuffie – during which Tifa not only returns from stacking boxes, but pours the tea, drinks a cup, pours another, fetches some cookies and eats one of those too – Yuffie nods once and then ignores him. Cid, incensed, falls to grumbling into his cup.

"Cloudy, what's the featherbutt's real name?"

Cloud is startled. "Uh …"

"'Cause Penelo thinks we're infringing on its rights by calling it 'the chocobo' all the time."

"I never said that!" Penelo protests.

Yuffie waves a hand. "Pish-posh, don't sweat the details. So go on, Cloudy, astound us. What's the irritable git really called?"

"Fenrir."

"What the heck kind of name is that?"

"Fenrir was the illegitimate son of the old god of mischief, Loki, and was destined to join with the forces of darkness and kill Odin, the king of the old gods, during Ragnarok, also known as the apocalypse, thus bringing about the end of the world by depriving it of its saviour when it most needed him. He was a wild and savage godling, kept magically bound but ultimately fated change all life through a single act."

Everyone stares at Cid, who shrugs.

"Old legend from my world. Probably different on yours."

"You said all that without cussing once," Yuffie gapes.

"Fuck off, pipsqueak."

"I had no idea where his name came from," admits Cloud. "I've never heard a legend like _that_ before."

"Wild and savage? Destined to be evil? That sounds like that featherbutt – to a teeeee." Yuffie keeps the vowel going as she leans forward and snags three cookies at once, stuffing two into her mouth before Tifa can stop her. Tifa grins wickedly and presses either side of Yuffie's cheeks, causing crumbs to spray out.

"And I thought you had the biggest mouth in the world," Tifa smirks.

"Wase o' goo' cookie."

Penelo giggles and nibbles daintily on her own cookie.

"See?" Tifa gestures to her. "This is what you should be like. Not a bad-mannered greedy guts like you."

Yuffie responds by crumbling her remaining cookie into Tifa's hair. They devolve into play-fighting from there, never using proper combat moves, but grappling and laughing until they're red-faced and their hair is mussed into bizarre peaks and troughs.

Cid settles back, grimly sipping his tea. "Fucking uncultured kids."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_This is Laverne. She's a Chocstrich."_

-- Hugo, Victor and Laverne (voiced by Jason Alexander, Charles Kimbrough, and Mary Wickes) were three gargoyle statues who came to life and were Quasimodo's only friends in the Disney film _Hunchback of Notre Dame_.

_Ashley T points at Penelo's bodysuit. It's form-fitting and ends mid-thigh, just long enough to keep her from overheating, without letting the saddle rub the skin off her inner-thighs when riding cross-country in the midday sun._

-- Images of which you can find at finalfantasy (dot) wikia (dot) com (slash) wiki (slash) Penelo.

"_Congrats. You just survived your first Ashley Jellyfishing."_

"_Jellyfishing?" Penelo sits beside her. _

"_Yup. They try to sting people with their insults while smiling like they're being nice."_

-- Ah, jellyfishing. A term coined by Bridget Jones and practised by vicious mouths all over the planet.

"_Fenrir was the illegitimate son of the old god of mischief, Loki, and was destined to join with the forces of darkness and kill Odin, the king of the old gods, during Ragnarok, also known as the apocalypse, thus bringing about the end of the world by depriving it of its saviour when it most needed him. He was a wild and savage godling, kept magically bound but ultimately fated change all life through a single act."_

-- It was also the name of Cloud's bike in _Final Fantasy: Advent Children_ and subsequent components of the FFVII Compendium.

* * *

-


	69. Tooth and Claw

.

* * *

**68. Tooth and Claw**

* * *

"You will come back again, won't you Penelo? You can come back for my birthday. I'd like that. It won't be for a while, but then I'll be seven and old enough to do proper pirouettes, just like you. Would you like to come to my birthday party? You can bring me a present, like you did this time, only better, because it'll be my birthday and it's the rules that you get the bestest presents on your birthday!"

"Kairi! Manners!"

"It's okay. Sure I'll come back." Penelo crouches to ruffle Kairi's hair. "And I promise, when it's your birthday, I'll bring you something extra special."

Kairi's smile is so bright it could power all the streetlights in Traverse Town. It goes beyond merely cute. It's the kind of adorable that makes you forgive any childish selfishness, like demands for gifts. Penelo's own expression says she has been completely taken in. Once again Kairi's charm has cast its spell and ensnared another heart with. Unlike other children who know how to use their cuteness for their own gain, however, Kairi isn't insufferable. She sees the world in bright colours, focussing almost entirely on the good in people, so they want to indulge her. Looking into Kairi's eyes is an exercise in self-respect: you almost think you can see your own merits staring back at you, but magnified the way Kairi sees them, so you can't help but start to appreciate yourself and forget your hang-ups about your faults and flaws. If you could bottle Kairi, she'd be one-hundred-percent proof self-esteem.

"Next time I'll bring some music and show you how to dance like me, too," says Penelo.

Kairi beams. "Really? Promise?"

"I promise."

"Cross your heart?"

Penelo draws two diagonal lines across her chest with her finger. "And hope to die."

"Stick a needle in your eye!" Kairi finishes. "Spinelli told me if you _really_ stuck a needle in your eye, your eyeball would pop. Or explode. I'm not sure which one she said. Is there a difference?"

Penelo's grimace makes Aerith smile. She likes this honest, friendly girl and has enjoyed having her stay. Penelo reminds her of Tifa, only with more awkwardness. At seventeen, Penelo still suffers from teenage clumsiness – except when she dances.

No, Penelo looks totally comfortable in her own skin when she dances, as she did this afternoon. Yuffie insisted when they all gathered at Cid's shop. Penelo didn't fight much, content to let Cid tune the workshop radio and let the scratchy music take her where it wanted. Among the polished metal, ugly tools and ever-creeping detritus Tifa fights daily, Penelo looked like a graceful spirit. Her feet never seemed to touch the floor from when she started to when she finished. She ducked and twirled, jumped and stretched, curved her body around the notes and extended it against the changing tempo. Her body was a living interpretation of the music. Everybody was captivated. Kairi immediately decided she wants to be a dancer when she grows up instead of a cat breeder, and Penelo blushed happily under their praise.

She is still slightly pink now, delighted at her new friends' invitations to come back whenever she wants. "Thank you. That really means a lot to me." Being a former street-kid, homes and friends who have them are precious

They go with her to the edge of town to wave her off. They're such a mismatching bunch, Aerith reflects, glancing left and right. Zack and Cloud, whom she loves so much they feel part of her; Kairi, who seems to embody more than just their hopes for the future; Tifa, so strong and constant in her own way; Yuffie, who worries everyone while also making them laugh; grumpy Cid; maternal Chicha; and even Lea in his own, off-kilter way. Only Dr. Sweet, Leon and Reno are missing, otherwise they'd be a full set. Aerith's heart glows whenever she pictures any of these people. They're all the reason she has made it this far, and how she's able to keep going into an uncertain future. As long as they're together, they can face anything.

Aerith is wrenched from her thoughts by Penelo's scream and Laverne's agonised screech.

"Penelo!" Kairi tries to run forward until Chicha pulls her back.

Penelo yanks back on the reins, trying to jerk Laverne away from the giant cats that have appeared as if from nowhere. Several leap at her, while others cut off her retreat. Laverne screeches again, claws raking at her wings and legs. She kicks out. What looks like a mountain lion flies back, a deep indent in its side, its ribcage crushed. Another takes its place practically before it has come to a stop.

A blur of motion passes Aerith as some of the most dangerous warriors in the world surge forward like runners off the starting blocks. Zack is in front, the magic of the Buster Sword making him fastest, but Tifa isn't far beyond. An unlit chakram whirls over them, slicing into the first wildcat and knocking it away from Penelo and Laverne in a spray of blood. Several cats keep attacking, though a couple turn to face the oncoming humans. They snarl, the light of madness in their eyes.

The battle is brief but bloody. The wildcats, instead of running away, attack so fiercely it really is kill or be killed. They're a strange disharmony – leopard, mountain lion, lynx, at least one caracal, plus others Aerith doesn't recognise. Most are solitary creatures, or supposed to be, and don't live in this region. They have obviously travelled far to be here. Faced with prey right under their noses, the hungry creatures weren't able to resist. That's understandable. What _isn't _understandable is their behaviour when the potential meal proves more trouble than it's worth. They don't break and run, refusing to go back the way they've come. It's as though they've run away from that direction and not even death on the end of a sword will make them turn back.

Afterwards the humans walk the short distance back to town slowly. Aerith meets them halfway, having told Chicha not to let Kairi see the aftermath.

_It's a good thing Kuzco isn't here_, she thinks, reaching to take a shaky Penelo from Yuffie. _He'd probably faint_. Only her history of dealing with injuries, and seeing monsters killed in front of her, gives Aerith the strength not to balk. These deaths were needless. It wasn't anything to do with survival of the fittest.

Laverne limps, favouring one leg, and her left wing hangs crooked. Penelo has a set of heavily bleeding claw and teeth marks on her calf where the leopard tried to drag her from the saddle. Aerith heals both girl and chocstrich and suggests everyone return to their apartment or further triage. Not even Cetra magic is as good at dealing with plain old shock as a hot drink and a sit down.

Zack decides to scout to see if there are any other cats prowling around. The whole incident is so abnormal, they can't predict whether there would be more, or whether they'd come into town itself. The dead cats were hungry. More than that, they were afraid of something that made dying preferable than going back to face it. Fear makes even animals desperate. Zack's sense of protectiveness makes him go even though he doesn't know what he'll find. Cloud refuses to let him go alone, of course, for which Aerith is grateful.

"Be careful," she says, pressing kisses on both of them.

"Aren't we always?" Zack replies.

"No. That's what worries me."

"You worry way too much."

"Wrong. I worry just enough. I have to pick up the slack for you, since you don't worry nearly as much as you should."

"You keep the balance, I'll keep the peace."

Cloud coughs. "_We'll_ keep the peace."

Aerith watches them go, then returns to the others to mull over what happened.

"I ain't never seen nothing like that before." Cid hovers around Aerith until he can't help himself, and shoulders her out of the way to make a pot of tea. His hands need something to do. She can understand that, and so stands back, letting him have free reign in her kitchen. "Never been any reports of animals like that around these parts before, let alone them all arriving together. They were starving. No other way they'd attack a human so close to a settlement."

"Why do you think they'd so something like that?"

"Search me. I ain't no animal expert. It's screwy, though, I can tell you that much."

When everyone is settled with cups of hot sweet tea, Tifa gives voice to the unpleasant idea circling the room.

"It was like something drove them here, and so fast they didn't have time to in-fight on the way. All those varieties travelling together? It's unheard of. They were _terrified_."

"But what could inspire that? One leopard alone is enough to take on most other predators. That's why they're the topmost predator in their region. Not even wolf packs live in their patch." Chicha, whose world had plenty of leopards, and whose schooldays included lessons on how to avoid being eaten by them, shakes her head. "That was not normal behaviour today. It was just … _unnatural_."

Nobody can disagree, but having a word to describe the situation doesn't make it any easier to understand – or stomach.

Penelo is shaky but mostly all right. She runs her hands up and down her thighs in a nervous habit until Cid presses a mug into her hands. Her fingers snake over each other and through the handle without her ever taking a sip. There aren't enough delicate teacups to go around, but that's okay. She needs something more substantial to hold on to. The tension in her fingers would probably crush a teacup.

"That," she says suddenly, "was the scariest thing that has ever happened to me. And I lived on the streets of Mosey City."

Lea has been hanging back, a part of things but slightly distant. Now, however, he steps away from the door and pats Penelo on the head. It's an awkward gesture, like he's not used to being tender. Odd, considering how much he obviously cares for Yuffie, but Aerith realises with a jolt that though she has been told many times how much he cares, she has never actually seen him be tender with her. His loving looks are fleeting and tinged with guilt, as though falling in love is so alien that he likes the idea but can't figure out whether he's doing it right, or whether he even wants to do it at all. Penelo is less resilient than Yuffie, but something about her motivates him to makes an effort anyway. Maybe it's because she's Yuffie's friend. The action still hangs strangely on him, like ill-fitting clothes.

"If you can survive the jungle of the big city, kid," he says, "you can survive a couple of flea-bitten cats. Are, uh, you okay?"

Penelo lets go of a rattling sigh. "I'm fine. A little shook up, but Aerith healed my leg, so I'm fine."

"Uh, good."

Yuffie throws Lea an approving look. He retreats back to his post by the door, one leg raised, arms folded, watching everyone trough half-lidded eyes. He clearly feels outnumbered, but not outweighed. He doesn't move when Zack and Cloud return, reporting no more animals that shouldn't be there.

"I can't explain it," Zack frowns. "Since when do big cats _do_ that?"

"Since never," Chicha says firmly, holding Kairi on her lap with her arms around the little girl's middle. "Some of them don't even live in the same area. Cougars are mountainous, but caracals are from the desert –"

Kairi twists back to face her. "All their hearts went quiet and cold," she interrupts.

Chicha breaks off. They all do. Kairi's voice is soft, but everybody heard her.

"Are all the cats dead?"

Nobody wants to answer.

"Dead as doornails," Lea says into the silence.

"Oh. I guess animals dohave hearts after all." Kairi fiddles with her cup of juice. "That's not how Grandmother Willow felt when she died. She just went away. Her heart didn't go cold, or quiet." Without another a sound, Kairi starts to cry. It's not the deep sobbing that strikes after her nightmares about the darkness. Her breathing doesn't change, but tears slips down her face so fast the collar of her dress is soon soaked. "Dead hearts feel horrible. Not dark or light, just … cold."

"It was us or them, kid," Lea says. He's too far away for Yuffie to kick, though the look on her face says she wants to bury her foot somewhere painful

As Kairi continues to cry, Aerith feels like kicking him herself. His awkward stab at tenderness was short-lived. He is much more confident being callous.

Lea shrugs. "What? It was."

"Way to be sensitive, bozo." Yuffie crouches next to Kairi and playfully tweaks her nose. "Hey, Small Fry, cheer up. Don't cry. We're all okay."

"But their hearts are so _cold_." Kairi's head jerks up. She cranes past Yuffie to look at Tifa. "Did they go to the crystal?"

"What?" Tifa looks bewildered.

"Chicha said those cats are from the mountains. You told me about Vincent and Lucrecia and the crystal in the mountains. Did the dead cats go to the mountains like Lucrecia when she waited for Vincent? Is that why their hearts are so cold – because they're sleeping in the crystal like her?"

Understanding dawns "Um…" Tifa looks desperately at Aerith, and then Cloud. Her eyes have a clear message in them: _Help! What do I say to that?_

Yuffie takes the decision out of her hands. "Sure they did," she says cheerfully. "They're all up there having a party. A feline fête. A cat carnival. There's music, and balloons, and lots of cake. They're having a whale of a time – lots of fun playing pranks on each other and eating until they throw up, because a party's only a party if you've thrown up at least once." Yuffie squeezes Kairi's shoulder. "I'd go up there and tell them to let you know they're okay, but they probably wouldn't hear me over all that party ruckus."

Kairi looks dubious, but what she felt is enough to make her nod and accept Yuffie's explanation. Aerith's own heart goes out to her for trying to be strong. Were all six-year-olds like this, or was Kairi special? She wonders whether Kairi's gift really is a curse. She can sense the goodness in people and make them love themselves by basking in her light, but she can also feel their pain more than anyone without the ability to listen to hearts' innermost whispers.

Aerith remembers feeling Angeal die when she was fifteen – a popping and sliding sensation in the back of her mind, like a pricked egg being blown until the yolk and white slither out through the tiny hole, leaving the shell intact but empty. She has never been able to explain why she felt him die when she was so far away. In the years since then she has been with others as they die, held their hands as they slipped away while she could do nothing, because even Cetra magic can't heal some things. Angeal wasn't Cetra. She never felt that popping-sliding sensation again. She can only assume that because she was so close to Angeal, and viewed him as a sort-of father figure, it was enough for her to connect with him in his final moments. If that is the case, she hopes she never feels it again. If she does, it will be because someone precious to her has died.

If Kairi sensed anything like what Aerith felt, the desire to protect her is a physical ache in Aerith. Nobody should have to feel others die, much less a _child_ – one whose dreams are already plagued by shadows, and whose concept of death is slowly crystallising into something dark and terrible. She was fifteen and she barely coped.

She moves to take Kairi from Chicha, but Cloud beats her to it. He sweeps Kairi into his arms, in every way a concerned father except one. If Kairi is in pain, so is Cloud. It's as simple as that. It's so much like Zack and Angeal, and comes hot on the heels of Aerith's memories, that she can't help her eyes straying to Zack.

Zack is drawn and tense. He doesn't wear a troubled expression well. It waits for his usual smile to slip through and replace it, but no dice. He stares at the floor, hands loosely clasped in front of his face with the backs of both thumbs against his lips. It's something Angeal used to do when he was worried. Zack has probably done it a million times before, but suddenly Aerith _remembers_ and wonders _why_ she's never noticed all the tiny habits he adopted from his uncle. There's so much of Angeal in Zack, but never has it been more noticeable than right now, sitting on this couch, surrounded by people he cares for and ignoring them all.

Three times in as many minutes. Three reminders of Angeal when she has barely thought about him in so long. Is this a sign?

Aerith shivers. The last time in her life scary predators were frightened away by an even scarier predator was when they went into the mountains after Tifa's mother died. But that was a long time ago, in another world, and anyway, it'd be impossible now. Sephiroth is dead. Genesis killed him after his Sephiroth murdered Angeal, and then died of the mortal wounds Sephiroth had already inflicted – three friends, separated for years but still united in death. Angeal gave his life to make sure Sephiroth was no longer a threat. Even so, her uneasiness remains. Something either summoned or drove those wildcats here.

Zack looks at Penelo for a second, then at Aerith. His eyebrows rise. Was it something about Penelo that brought those cats? Was their behaviour a push reaction, or a pull one – driven to Traverse Town or drawn here?

"You should stay another night, Penelo." Aerith only realises she has spoken when everyone looks at her. "It'd be silly for you to try travelling the long distance back to Mosey City when there could be other cats around, or worse."

"I agree," says Zack. "We don't know why they came here or if there are more on the way. In the morning we can think about you going home, but only with an escort. For now, you'd better stay with us. Esmeralda won't miss you for one more day."

"But –" Penelo starts, obviously worried Esmeralda _will_.

"I'll send a pigeon to explain things," says Cloud, ignoring the snort Lea always gives when they talk about carrier pigeons. "Tomorrow I'll go with you on my chocobo. I mean, on Fenrir. Zack's right, you need an escort. But not tonight," He cups the back of Kairi's head with one hand. "Not tonight," he murmurs again, more to Kairi than Penelo, or anyone else. It's a promise to stay by her side and keep the darkness of her dreams at bay – because there _will_ be bad dreams after this, and Cloud won't let Kairi face them alone.

They talk a little longer, but the happy atmosphere of earlier is ruined. It's only mid-afternoon, but Aerith feels like going to bed. She's unexpectedly bone-weary, and it's an effort to play hostess until Lea and Chicha go home. Lea draws Yuffie to one side before he leaves. They exchange slightly heated words, but Chicha comes over to Aerith, distracting her from their conversation.

"Are you all right?"

Aerith blinks at Chicha. "_Me_? I'm fine. I wasn't the one who got mauled today."

"Maybe not, but you've looked very strange since Kairi started crying."

Kairi is currently curled in Cloud's lap, one of his arms slung protectively over her, the other propping his head up on the arm of his chair.

"You're doing a good job, you know. All of you. I've raised kids. I know how difficult it is, and Kairi's … well …" Chicha hesitates.

"Special?" Aerith could grow to hate that word.

She nods. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself for not always being ahead of the game when you don't even have a rulebook."

Aerith nearly laughs. Is that what Chicha thinks she's worried about? Aerith has already accepted that while she loves Kairi, she can't begin to understand all of her. The part that's just Kairi, just a normal little girl who likes playing make-believe and crayoning and seeing her friends, that part Aerith can handle. The rest – the magic, the suspicions, the threats to her safety and the uncertain future – sometimes make her go cold with fear. Is this how her own mom felt when her healing magic first emerged? "It's not that."

"You think Penelo might be what attracted those cats." Chicha wags a finger. "Don't look so surprised. I wondered the same thing myself, but I can't see how they'd be so frightened if that's the case. Everything I know about big cats makes me more certain those poor creatures weren't _attracted_ here at all. We just happened to be in their path as they were running away from something else."

"But _what_?" Aerith banishes thoughts of silver hair, a single wing and the dangerous monster-playground of Barren Region being devoid of monsters.

"I want to find out." Zack's low voice startles them. He stands with arms folded, a stubborn set to his shoulders. "Something smells wrong about this whole thing. I want to backtrack along the path those cats took and find out what could scare them so much."

"You can't go alone," Aerith starts, but Zack shakes his head.

"I don't want to leave Traverse Town undefended, so I'll take Reno with me. Lea, Yuffie, Cloud, Leon and Tifa will still be here."

Both Aerith and Chicha stare at him. "Reno?" Chicha says after a moment. "You want to take _Reno_ with you?"

"Is he supposed to be your way of reassuring us?" Aerith adds.

Zack's eyes are still half-distant. He doesn't answer. Aerith touches his shoulder to remind him they're still there, bringing him back to himself with a jolt. He blinks at her, and then unfolds his arms with a heavy sigh. "I've got a bad feeling about this. I don't want us to risk being surprised if something _is _out there. Not all threats have to be the Heartless. I can take care of myself, and Reno's pretty good with that EMR of his. Plus he says he has experience in tracking. Two heads are better than one."

"All right," Aerith says, like she has any power to stop him.

Which, actually, she does. It's an empowering and unsettling thought.

She wants everybody to be safe too, but not at the expense of Zack – or Reno. Crude and offensive as Reno may be, she has a soft spot that has nothing to do with his past, and everything to do with the way he once defended Lea and Yuffie to Aunt Sarah so fiercely that he walked out and spent the night in a shop doorway because he knew he'd do something he'd regret if he went back before he'd calmed down. Yet Zack is right: not all threats have to be connected to the Heartless to be dangerous.

Aerith raises herself onto her toes to press a kiss to his temple. "_Please_ be careful."

"Didn't we already cover this part?" Zack's smile finally leaks through, as it always must. It's watery and doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it's still there. "You worry too much, babe."

"You're right; we did already cover this part, so you know I worry exactly the right amount." She pulls out a strand of hair from just above his ear, making him yelp. "And don't call me babe."

* * *

"I thought you said you were good at tracking."

"Tracking _people_, and through _cities_. Nobody told me squat about lions and tigers and the 'great'," Reno makes speech marks with his fingers, "outdoors. These fucking mosquitoes are eating me alive, yo."

"They aren't mosquitoes. Mosquitoes live near water, and the only major source around here is back at the town."

"Horseflies then. Or midges. Or fucking miniature fucking vampire fucking bats – ow!" He slaps the side of his neck. When he lifts his hand it's smeared with twitching, dying insect and blood the colour of his hair. "Little fuckers. Why are we out here again?"

"Because we're trying to find out what spooked those animals into heading for an inhabited area they wouldn't usually go near and make them act crazy."

"And because I'm such a fucking altruist – ow! Fuck _off_ you little bloodsuckers! – you knew I wouldn't say no when you asked me to come along."

"Actually, I thought you'd be so sick of doing chores for Aunt Sarah you'd jump at the chance to get out of town for a while."

"A-fucking-men to that, yo." They go a few more steps before Reno breaks the silence again. Honestly, Zack thinks, he's worse than Yuffie. Yuffie just fills silence to overflowing like stuffing an empty bag full of foam peanuts. Reno attacks it with his voice box. "Hey, how come _you're_ not being bitten to pieces?"

"Insect repellent. Chicha made it from the royal jelly in her beehives."

"A regular saint." Reno grumbles.

Zack holds out an arm as if in a slow clothesline tackle. Reno bumps against it, looking at him quizzically.

"What?"

"The paw-prints."

They've been following the Idiots' Guide to Tracking and just walking alongside the seething mass of marks in the dirt. Zack recalls his training with Angeal, about monsters and their habits, and deduces that the cats' journey was both headlong and frantic. They found the body of a trampled caracal a while back, head thrown back in one last silent scream. There hasn't even been any scavenger interest in the body.

"What about them?" Reno demands.

"They diverge here."

He looks around. "We're heading into mountain country."

They're already in the lowlands. It took just a couple of hours to get here. Not once have they spotted any wildlife. Even the birds are silent. It's unusual and creepy, and Zack doesn't like it at all. It feels like the land is holding its breath so the seeker in a cosmic game of hide and seek doesn't find its hiding place.

"Chicha did say a lot of the bigger cats would be from this area." Zack muses on this. There were twelve bodies. He counted them as he, Tifa and Yuffie buried the remains. Three were leopards, all of which had snowy white fur mottled with black spots. The other nine were smaller cats that had been caught up in the rush, or joined it for the protection of larger predators (or were they prey by then?) than themselves. "I wonder…"

"You're thinking something, yo."

"You should try it sometime."

Reno opens his mouth to make another smartass comment, but Zack has already breezed on ahead, leaving him to utter a much less impressive, "Hey, wise guy, I was talking to you!"

"I know."

"Geez Louise, and I thought Lea and Jailbait were annoying."

"I wish you wouldn't call her that."

"What, Jailbait? Don't be such a fucking prude, man. It's just a nickname. You'd rather I call her 'Lea's bitch'."

"Shush."

"Don't you shush m-"

"_Shush_."

Reno catches the urgency in Zack's voice. Then walk on in silence – and it _is_ total silence, the kind that makes your ears thrum. Zack glances around, conscious of Reno's breathing, their footsteps and the gentle hum of the Buster Sword in his mind. The sword knows something is wrong here, too. Its magic entwines with his nerve endings to make him hyper-aware of the smallest sound.

They stop at a small copse of trees at the base of the mountains. The Buster Sword suddenly flares, a green-gold burst behind Zack's eyes. All the hair along his arms stands up. He slowly reaches around and unsheathes the sword. Behind him Reno unfolds the EMR dangling from a strap on his wrist. He doesn't electrify it, waiting instead for Zack's signal.

"What's up?" he asks after a few minutes of absolutely nothing. "I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go, yo."

"Can't you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"Something dark was here."

Several beats passes before Reno answers. "Do you understand just how _fucking ridiculous_ you sound? You're like some New Age believer who sees omens for the apocalypse in cigarette smoke and finds potato chips shaped like the devil. 'Something dark was here'? What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?"

Zack is beginning to regret bringing Reno along. He'd feel more comfortable with Cloud, or even Leon, but he couldn't ask Cloud to leave Kairi and had no idea where Leon was. Plus he wanted to give Reno a break to win some brownie points. Curse him and his generous nature. "It means something was here that could be connected to the darkness – the darkness being the source of all external evil in the universe."

"External evil? What the hell are you talking about, man? Stop sounding like a fucking dictionary."

For a moment Zack is back in Merlin's study, listening to him explain complicated magical theory and only picking up half of it. "Internal evil is the darkness in every heart. Everybody has it. External evil is the stuff that works its influence on people from the outside, like fate or bad luck. Some people think it has its own central consciousness, like bees or ants – that if you trace back all the minor incidents to their source you'll find something that's alive and can think, and has been working against the light for millennia. Long before _we_ ever appeared on our worlds. The darkness has its own agenda, its own champions, and its own plans for the universe if it ever wins over the light, and it doesn't care who or what it destroys if it means achieving that."

"So … long story short: the darkness is bad?"

"Very bad."

"And something from it came here?"

"Maybe. An emissary, perhaps. Something with close ties."

Reno looks around. "Doesn't look like it's here now."

"No." Zack closes his eyes and lets the Buster Sword caress his thoughts like fingertips rubbing his temples. "But it _was_ here. The sword can feel it."

"Okay, now you _are_ shitting me."

"Shush."

"I could get really sick of you treating me like some kid you can order around."

Zack takes a leaf out of Leon's book and doesn't reply. Instead he advances a few steps and drops to his knees before opening his eyes. There are several faint sheens on the ground here, unnoticeable unless you get close. They look something like oil slicks, but instead of shifting colours, different shades of black swirl across their surfaces. When he reaches out to touch one with a gloved finger it evaporates – but not before a shiver goes up Zack's arm. He is briefly possessed of an urge to run away. Fear, sharp and cold, pierces his heart. It fades, but leaves a residue that makes him nauseous. He stands up quickly.

"You okay?" Reno asks in a voice that doesn't sound he cares one way or the other. When Zack doesn't answer he strides forward to stare up into his face. "You look like someone just stole your wallet and found out you'd been skimming the petty cash."

"Something _was_ here, and it used darkness to get here." He says it with such certainty that Reno looks at the empty patch on the ground.

"You can tell that from touching dirt?" He crouches and pokes one of the other slicks with his EMR. Dark strands swirl up the tip, as though trying to take the weapon with him. Without thinking, Reno reaches down to bat them away. His eyes bulge and he falls backwards. "Whoa. That's _cold_. Fuck. I mean … _fuck_! That went right through me. I barely touched it and it damn near froze my fucking hand off." He shakes out his wrist, clenching and unclenching his fist.

With this disturbance the last of the slick evaporates. Zack watches Reno, who is now even paler than normal. Reno eventually gets to his feet, brushing himself off with feigned indifference. He's spooked but not about to show it.

"This world sucks in so many ways. Back home all I had to worry about was getting laid, getting drunk, getting the job done and not getting killed. There was never any 'living darkness' crap to deal with, or weird-ass shit sending my arm to sleep and making me feel like my heart just got ripped out of my fucking chest and put back in again." He waves his arm as if trying to get rid of pins and needles. His hand is bare where Zack's is gloved. "I mean … _shit_, yo. Was your world like this crazy place?"

"My world had monsters that breathed fire and stole children out of their beds at night, and magic strong enough to rewrite reality and change everybody's memories so they couldn't remember what the place used to be like or who they used to be."

Reno stares at him. "_Fuck_, yo. No wonder you're all so messed up."

Zack resists the urge to smile. Okay, so maybe he isn't _totally_ regretting having Reno around.

His good humour fades as they continue their journey, but once past the copse the world comes alive again. Sounds of nature return. By the time they reach the mountains birdsong fills the air and a rabbit hops across their path. They retrace their steps to the copse to find the same strange silence.

"This is weird, yo."

A sparrow hops onto a branch and gives a wary trill. Nothing happens for a moment. Then, as if buoyed by this little scout, more birds appear. It is as if the departure of the dark oil slicks is the signal it's safe to return to normal at last.

"I don't like this," says Zack.

"Really? I never would've guessed."

He and Reno comb the area and finding nothing else unusual – no more swirling residue, no more feelings that the darkness has somehow invaded and then gone away again. Zack is both relieved and unnerved. The danger seems to be over, but he's no closer to understanding what it actually was.

_I __**really**__ wish Merlin was here_._ Maybe he'd have some clue what's going on. Whatever scared those cats and sent all the prey into hiding, it landed here and isn't around anymore. But we don't have any idea where it went, or even what it __**is**__. Not Heartless, at least, which is something to be grateful for, I guess._

"We should head back, yo. It's dark and I don't want to get eaten by a bear or anything."

"There aren't any bears. No wolves either. That's how the cats were able to thrive. They're the top predators in this region."

"Not anymore. Sounds like something bigger and nastier just moved in."

The bald statement gives Zack pause. "I hope not," Zack says after a moment. "I _really _hope not."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

_-_


	70. A Little Light Burglary

**A/N: **Hey guys! Happy Easter. Just taking a moment for a reminder that I've extended the Scrib!Fic Fanart Contest 2010 deadline to May 1st because of work commitments and lack on entries. Details are available on my LiveJournal, and all entrants are EXTREMELY WELCOME!

* * *

**69. A Little Light Burglary**

* * *

On a ridge halfway up the mountain, reality tears open. Two figures step through, framed against the stone by blue and black swirls that seem to absorb the dying sunlight. Yet if the portal absorbs the light, their upturned hoods swallow and spit it back out like chewed up muscle, bone and gristle.

"Is that it?" one asks with something between boredom and incredulity, as though his voice is acting things for which he has no motivation. "This world is pathetic. It's all open country and insignificant little towns."

"We haven't yet finished investigating." His companion's voice is honestly bored; not even the pretence of irritation. "There is more to this world than just this."

"As if. And was it really necessary for you to scare off the first interesting things we met?"

The second figure pauses before answering. "Instinct … is not emotion," he says slowly, as if tasting the words to measure the truth of them. "My fight or flight response is still … very active. I haven't yet become used to its … needlessness."

"Yeah, because who the hell would run _towards_ us, huh?" When he doesn't respond, the first figure plants his hands on his hips and tilts scornfully towards him. "How the hell did I get stuck with a newbie like _you_?"

"They're tenacious."

"Huh?"

"Those men. Warriors. The ones who tracked the course of the predator creatures here. Their type – I remember …"

"We all remember stuff, dude." This time the pause is a pregnant one. "That's the worst part."

"No." Though his face is hidden, the second figure's gaze is clearly rooted on the two armed men.

The feline creatures from earlier realised the challenge he posed was greater than their puny little minds could handle and ran. Their fight or flight reflex was also very active, though his fades a little more each day, making way for logic and an intellectual examination of every situation rather than a gut reaction. He would like being able to reason, were he capable of liking anything, but the price of logic is a high one. The felines were wise to run from him. Those men came towards the danger. Very … unwise. Would he have been able to make that distinction before?

"That isn't the worst part," he says. "Remembering is … acceptable. Recollection allows one to measure the difference between now and then, and draw distinctions between the pros and cons of how we were compared to how we are now." He adds in a murmur, "How _I_ am now."

"You speak like you actually _know_ what you're talking about."

"Do I?"

"It won't get you any extra credit with the big guy, y'know."

"I never said it would. I am simply … theorising." The word is like silk and honey on his tongue – someday he will hate what he is, but for now the newness of living without being governed by uncontrollable passions is delicious. He can _think,_ and think _clearly. _It's wonderful and worth the price. "I would theorise that this world is more than it first appears. It is, after all, where so many survivors of previously eradicated worlds have been siphoned."

"Shit, you use a lot of big words for someone who used to growl more than talk." His companion snorts. "I'll hold you to what you just said when we go back empty-handed."

"He wouldn't have sent us here unless there's the possibility of us retrieving something he wants."

"Which is?"

"I don't know. Knowledge, perhaps? This is reconnaissance, after all."

Another snort, but this one is more controlled, with thoughts undermining it like a sturdy roof-beam riddled with woodworm on the inside. "Personally, I think he was just sending me to walk his new pet for some exercise. The boss-man doesn't only study new worlds, you know."

He should be angry at that. He should want to tear this man's throat out. But he … doesn't. It's refreshing to be in possession of himself. The old version would have leapt on him without a second thought – without a first thought, even. Instinct over thought before; thought over instinct now.

Delicious.

"You're the first of us he didn't know to begin with. You're his _pet_ project," his companion goes on, needling in hopes of a reaction – or perhaps hoping not to get one, to verify the contents of his own mind and chest.

"We have work to do."

Satisfied at the response, the first figure gestures outwards. "What about those guys?"

"They aren't a threat."

"They had weapons."

"They were also fools. As I said –" He meaningfully raises his hand to slash through the air and let it bleed darkness. "- They aren't a threat."

They step through the fresh tear in reality and disappear, off to investigate another part of this world. The portal closes behind them, leaving an almost unnoticeable sheen, like a puddle of ghostly water on the ledge.

* * *

Yuffie loves Lea. She does. But right now she could cheerfully drag him along the street by his hair. And then dump him in the sewerage works. And then hold his head under. For a long time. Maybe even until he stopped kicking.

"_What_?"

"You _know_ what."

"You heard Zack. He wishes this Merlin guy you all talk about was still here so he could explain what's going on."

"Yeah, I heard him. What I _didn't_ hear is 'Lea, go and break into Merlin's house for me'."

"There might be stuff in there that could help. I've seen the size of those Gummi Ships at Cid's. No way could he pack up an entire house into one of those babies."

"Merlin probably could." Yuffie remembers a very special bag Merlin enchanted not long before he left. It had been an experiment with something else that splashed onto the carpet bag and ensorcelled it to be much bigger inside than out. He never did finish testing its limits. It's possible everything he owned _did _fit into it, leaving his house and workshop as nothing but an empty shell, locked and warded against intruders.

Ordinarily the thought of breaking in somewhere would thrill her. She loves a challenge, and it wouldn't be the first time she has gone where she's not supposed to simply _because_ she's not supposed to. However, Merlin's house is different. She has tried breaking in before, and every time has met with some new magical rebuff. The first couple of times it was fun – phantom dogs to outrun, plumes of choking smoke that turned her hair purple or made it stand on end, even a semi-invisibility spell that magicked her clothes invisible but not the rest of her, forcing her to use _shinobi-iri _all the way home. Everything has been designed to discourage thieves without killing until they realise it's useless and go away. Yuffie, however, isn't easily discouraged. A quitter she is _not_, thankyouveryfreakingmuch. However, after she came home with tentacles that didn't change back into her own wonderful arms for three days, making it difficult to eat, sleep or do anything else because of the suckers (going to the bathroom was a _nightmare_), she decided not to bother anymore. She wasn't _discouraged, _or _giving up_, because great ninjas never just gave up, but she decided to take a break, regroup and plan a new strategy for a while. Whatever meagre things Merlin left behind, they aren't worth the hassle of full frontal attacks.

Lea, however, has never had tentacles for arms or been chased by phantom dogs. He has never had his entire body turn indigo and blow up like a balloon, his toenails have never suddenly grown and burst out of his shoes, and his sense of taste has never been removed for the exact twenty-four hours Aerith bakes almost non-stop for Kairi's school cake sale and makes extras of all his favourites that he _cannot freaking taste_. So Lea is gung-ho to try breaking and entering while Yuffie, shockingly, is not.

Merlin's front door is unpretentious: wood with a lock and a handle and a hinge of heavy black metal. It's a very door-like door. Yuffie glares at it. You'd never know the handle can unwind and give you a Chinese-Burn if you try to turn it. She half-considers letting Lea find that out for himself when he reaches for it, but instead snaps her hand out to grab his wrist.

"Don't."

"Still hung up on the dishonesty of a little B n' E?" He waggles his eyebrows at her.

She rolls her eyes. "No, but trust me, the direct approach? _So_ doesn't work."

"Okay, then we'll try a sneaky approach."

"That doesn't work either."

He looks sceptically at her. "It's not like you to be so defeatist."

"I'm not defeatist! I'm _experienced. _And I can say from experience that Merlin is a cunning old git who missed his calling as a torturer. I have spent _so_ many nights trying to break into this place."

"How many?"

"_Lots_."

"That's accurate."

"Accuracy schmaccuracy. It never went right."

"Hmm, so the Great Ninja Yuffie isn't so great?" Lea's eyes don't just dance, they salsa, tango, foxtrot and rumba with mocking laughter.

"The Great Ninja Yuffie can still kick _your_ ass. She's just not stupid enough to keep trying the same old –"

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?"

"Uh-oh." Lea grimaces. "Busted."

"Look out, here comes the biggest killjoy since … ever."

They turn to face the underground lake they just crossed. Yuffie is pretty convinced it leads to the sewers where Leon and the others sometimes train. Lea is still damp from slipping and falling into the lake, whereupon Yuffie discovered he is almost cat-like in his hatred of getting wet. She expects to se Leon, and is surprised when it's not him.

Tifa is not quite incandescent with rage, but she's definitely luminous. Her steps are stiff-legged, knees nearly locked. Yuffie can see her hands are bunched into fists at her sides. Behind her, Penelo hop-skips to keep up, wearing a hangdog expression that says exactly how Tifa knew where to find them.

"Hiya, Teef."

"Don't you 'hiya Teef' me. What in the world are you two thinking, coming down here? Don't you know how dangerous it is?"

"Actually, I'm one-thousand-million-squillion percent aware of how icky this place is, but Mr. Know-It-All thought he knew best, and I don't fancy the kind of effort it'd take to train another boyfriend to his level of obedience, so I followed to save him from himself. I'm just awesomely awesome and philanthropic that way – plus intelligent enough to not only know words like 'philanthropic', but be able to use them in a sentence. Hey, Penny. You came along for the ride?"

"I'm sorry, Yuffie. I didn't mean to tell."

"No problemo. Maybe Teef can beat some sense into Lea's thick skull." Teef. Penny. Ponytail. Hero. Cloudy. Old Fart. Cheech. Beardy. Mullet Boy. And yet … Lea has no nickname that has stuck. The implications of this are weighty and threaten to sink Yuffie, so she turns her thoughts elsewhere. Especially when part of her brain insists she examines the lack of nicknames for Leon, too. Squall doesn't count since, y'know, not even a nickname so, by definition, _lame_.

It's a good thing she does pay attention, because Tifa is talking again and hates to repeat herself.

"Zack said for everyone to either patrol with him and Leon or stay inside."

"Looks like you didn't stick to that one either," Lea observes.

"What were you planning to do? As if I couldn't guess." Tifa folds her arms. "It's written all over your faces."

"Uh-huh, and the fact Penny spilled the beans probably helped, too."

Tifa's glare could strip chrome from steel. "The last thing we need right now is people doing their own thing, running off half-cocked."

"Uh-huh, because running off full-coc–" Yuffie claps a hand over Lea's mouth.

"Finish that sentence and die, big mouth. Didn't you ever learn stuff like inappropriate comments and when not to make them because they'll just needlessly piss people off?" She stands on tiptoe, wobbling like a drunken ballerina. "See, Teef, I'm the _responsible _one here. See me being responsible?"

Tifa shakes her head and lets her forehead fall into her open palm. "I never thought the day would come when I'd hear you say that. Or that I'd have to admit you're right. You hate this place."

Oh yeah. Tifa was the one who fed her buttered toast when she had tentacles, and didn't laugh like Zack or Cloud.

"Which begs the question, why didn't you tell Lea about the booby-traps?"

"Um, hello? I _did_. You think I _want_ a boyfriend with toenails like katana?"

Penelo takes a step backwards. "That could happen?"

"Only if you try to get inside."

"Correction – only if you try to get in without a key." Lea shakes Yuffie off and examines the door with a practised eye. "Every trap has a trigger, but it also has to have a way to be released without hitting the person who set it. No point in being offed by your own security system. The trick is figuring out how to do it."

Yuffie rolls her eyes. She _knows_ all this – _ninjaninjaninjaninja_! It's not like she just walked up and tried the handle fifty-billion times to see what happened. There's no finesse in that. Then again, there's no finesse in being caught in Merlin's vindictive booby-traps again and again, either. "Magic isn't that simple. Believe me, I've tried getting around it, but this place is locked and loaded."

"Did you try the obvious?"

"Huh?"

Lea brings out his trusty lighter. "There's a flame symbol on the door." From somewhere else he produces a hipflask and takes a mouthful.

Yuffie realises what he's going to do a half-second before Tifa does. "Duck and cover! Dive, dive, dive!" she yelps, tackling Penelo and sending them both to the ground. The very hard, very sharp ground, which digs into her knees and makes her yelp again. Tifa smacks into the dirt next to them.

Lea is dead. He is _so_ dead. Possibly from being barbequed by his own stupid trick.

Yuffie feels the blast of heat as he blows brandy through the flame, igniting the spray into a ball of fire that rolls up the door. A thin noise, like the ghost of a shriek, echoes through the cave. Then she hears a dull click, like a lock.

"Told you so."

Yuffie is on her feet so fast she's a blur. Lea hits the deck under her weight a second later, his shirt bunched in her fists. She is about to mouth off with a stream of cussing when strong hands slide under her arms and lift her off him. There aren't many people who can lift her above their heads like she weighs less than a feather. Startled, she lets go of his shirt, allows herself to be put down and stands back to watch.

Pissing Tifa off is like learning to put on the most spectacular firework display ever when all you've handled previously is a sparkler: formidable, blistering, impressive, probably going to get you hurt, and will cause property damage unless you learn how to do it _just_ right and have a bucket of cold water handy.

Tifa grabs Lea's shirt and jerks him towards her so their noses almost touch. Her voice is deceptively sweet. "If you ever," she croons, "do anything like that again, especially without warning people, I will personally put your chakrams in a place that makes it impossible for you to walk. Do not smile at me. Do not make any humorous comments. I am not kidding. I am deadly serious. Are we clear?"

Lea looks like he really wants to smirk, but his survival instinct isn't that inactive. He nods.

"Good." Tifa releases him. He flops back to the floor. She starts to walk away.

"It was pretty fucking awesome thou- _WHOOF_!"

Yuffie, having landed sharply on his stomach, jabs a finger into his face so the back of his skull presses against the floor. "What she said."

He _does_ smirk then, pulling her down for a kiss. She bats against him, but as ever his kisses make her go boneless. She has to tweak his nipple to make him let go.

"_Yowch_!"

"Don't think smoochies are gonna make me forgive you any faster. You singed my favourite scarf."

"Fuck, that hurt!"

"Baby."

"I've told you before, that scarf's a disgusting rag. You shouldn't wear it."

Yuffie touches it, remembering when Zack and Aerith got it for her so many years ago, at her first Hollow Bastion market. It was a test, at the time, to see if they were as attached to her as they seemed. It was also the first thing anyone ever bought her just for the sake of it – something not just functional or useful for the future; something bought just for her, not because of who her dad was.

That day feels so far away now it's almost like it was a dream; as if that was a different Yuffie than the one now living in Traverse Town, keeping a lover and being much more mature than she ever _wanted _back then. That's kind of true, she supposes, since everyone's different when they grow up a little. Yet some days she wants to be closer to the person she was. Those days she wears the threadbare, raggedy scarf even though it's falling apart.

"Uh, guys?" says Penelo. "The door's open."

And it is. After all this time, all that effort, and all those freaking booby-traps, Lea broke into Merlin's house on his first try.

Life is sometimes so unfair it actually makes Yuffie's hair hurt.

She cries out when he gets to his feet, somehow managing to manoeuvre her under his arm like a piece of luggage, and heads inside like there might _not_ be more magic ready to hit them as soon as they step over the threshold. This is the second time he has carried her this way. It isn't any more comfortable. She still dangles like a piece of meat, and her face is still perilously close to his – ick! – armpit.

"Put me down, bozo! Help! I'm being kidnapped! No, I'm being ninja-napped!"

No more magic hits them. Not even a lousy change-your-hair-colour-to-lime-green spell. Evidently Merlin thought the booby-traps would be enough. Lea's smug grin gets even smugger. The smugness drips onto Yuffie so she can feel it land on the back of her neck, run onto her face and into her eyes. It stings like the juice of very sour grapes. She folds her arms and harrumphs loudly until Lea looks down.

"You're getting your icky smugness all over me. I'm being infected by Smug Lea germs."

"I have a right to be smug. I did what you couldn't."

"You can also pee standing up. You want a round of applause for that, too?"

"You're just jealous."

"Actually, I reserve my jealousy for Teef's cleavage. I'm pretty much taken up with being pissed off right now. Put me down – and if you drop me you can count on a cold bed for the next month."

Lea sets her feet on the floor. "You just can't give a guy a break, can you?"

"Sure I can. I could break his arm, his shin, his collarbone, his toes –"

"If you two lovebirds are finished," Tifa says from the doorway, "we need to leave."

"Why?" Lea innocently asks. "We've already broken, we might as well enter. And it wasn't even proper breaking; the door was unlocked under all that magic. It was an open invitation for those who knew how to read it."

"Hardly."

"But we could find something here to help with the whole 'what-scared-all-the-kitties?' mystery."

"This is _Merlin's _house," Tifa says in her best if-you-don't-get-this-then-I-may-have-to-do-something-drastic-to-alter-your-ethical-compass voice. Funnily enough, that voice is only ever used on Lea and Reno.

Lea's compass is obviously broken. His survival instinct has also left for lunch. "So?"

Yuffie swears she hears Tifa's teeth grind. Tifa is Honest and Upstanding. She has a strong moral code that she sticks to no matter what – hence making herself miserable by not telling Cloud she fell in love with him when he was already in a relationship. Self-sacrifice, thy name is Tifa, which is kind of cool because it's great to have convictions that don't involve prison time, or a very short rope hanging from a very tall tree. She doesn't exactly _forgive _Yuffie's own less than lawful antics, but Yuffie has never done anything worthy of a proper beat-down in Tifa's eyes. Her minor exploits seem to go under the radar after all the good things she has also done.

Lea doesn't have that advantage. Sure, Tifa likes him in a you're-my-ally-and-my-friend's-boyfriend-so-I'm-going-to-like-you-no-matter-what kind of way, but that cuts about as much ice as a soap hacksaw when it comes to _Lea_'s criminal activities. Especially when they're committed against another of Tifa's friends. Merlin may be absent and sulking in some other dimension without so much as a trans-dimensional-super-pigeon-that-probably-doesn't-exist-but-what-the-hell to let them know he's all right, but that doesn't mean Tifa is going to let Lea swipe his stuff.

It's Penelo who breaks the tension. She steps gingerly inside, glancing around as though she expects the walls to start dripping blood. "So this is what a wizard's house looks like? It's kind of … ordinary. After the lake and the fire I was expecting something more impressive."

"Nah, Beardy's all fur coat and no knickers."

"Yuffie!" Tifa cries. "Where did you hear _that_ phrase?"

Lea raises his hands. "Not me. Maybe Reno?"

"Actually, I heard Esmeralda say it the last time I went to Mosey City."

Penelo's jaw drops. She seems more shocked by this than by the display outside. Yuffie feels a twinge of guilt for running off after Lea and his harebrained scheme without bringing her friend along. "She _didn't_!"

"Is this the part where I say 'oh yes she did' and you say 'oh no she didn't' and we carry on until we pass out or someone stops us?"

"Uh…" Penelo obviously can't think what to say apart from, "You can be so strange sometimes."

"And don't we know it," Tifa mutters.

"Hey! I heard that!"

"So who _was_ this Merlin guy?" Penelo touches the wall, running her hand along it. If houses could feel, this one would probably purr from the way her fingers hook into the slats and trace patterns in the panelling.

Tifa gives a brief potted history of Merlin, leaving out some of the more complicated parts but filling her on the basics – enough, at least, for Penelo to understand the huge blow they'd suffered when he left.

Reno and Zack's expedition didn't dispel their worries like they'd hoped. Instead, the pair brought disturbing news that set everyone on edge. With magic, knowledge is power. Not knowing what's going on is like jamming your sword blade-up in the ground and then finding a big rock to trip over.

"Oh," Penelo says when Tifa is done. "I see. Well … maybe Lea's right. Maybe there _is_ something here that could help – a book or a scroll or something."

"Merlin probably took all his books with him." Tifa suddenly glances around, head snapping from side to side like it's on a piece of elastic. "Where's Lea?"

Yuffie was thoroughly absorbed in checking the panels for hidden passages (because wizards' houses in stories _always _have secret passages and hidden rooms). She spins around and curses her own short attention span. "Damn it. Where the heck did that big galoot go _now_?"

"Not far." Lea emerges from a revolving door built into the wall.

"How did you –?"

"Leaned on the wrong section. Gave way under me, only you guys were too busy gossiping to notice. Hi, by the way. I'm fine, thanks for asking – and noticing I'd vanished into the damn _wall_."

"You're welcome. What's that in your arms?"

Lea clutches an assortment of vials, bottles and pots with handwritten labels. He shrugs, causing them to clink together. "Found them in a room downstairs. Too dark to see shit down there, so I brought them up for a better look. There's all sorts down there, but no working light bulb. No books, either."

Yuffie peers at the nearest vial's label. "Truth serum? I _said_ Merlin missed his calling as a torturer. Didn't I say he missed his calling as a torturer?"

Lea unloads his cargo onto an empty bureau and begins sorting through them. "Energiser potion. Depletion salve. Face-changer tonic?" He shakes the triangular bottle of dark blue glass, watching the liquid inside slosh around. To the naked eye it looks like plain water. "This Merlin guy made some weird shit. Reckon it works?"

"It doesn't matter," Tifa says firmly, crossing the room to take the bottle. "This has gone far enough. We're leaving. Now."

"Killjoy."

Someone clears his throat in the doorway.

Lea sighs. "Scratch that. _Here's _the killjoy."

"What," Leon says, his voice perfectly even, "are you all doing in here?" He glares at Penelo, who retreats guiltily out of the door.

"We're just leaving," Tifa says without missing a beat. "Aren't we?" She puts down the face-changer tonic and to steer Lea through the door past Leon.

Lea, however, avoids her grasp and puts the bureau between them. "We're being concerned citizens."

"By stealing." Still a monotone, Leon's voice matches the flat expression on his face. It's dim in Merlin's house. Yuffie can't see him especially well, but when he turns his head and the light outside catches his outline she sees a muscle jump in his cheek. His jaw looks strong and chiselled. She can't help noticing the curve of his throat before she stops and gives herself the mental equivalent of a slap across the chops.

_Wishing wells, _she thinks savagely, _do not work._

"Think of it as Merlin donating by proxy to the cause of keeping the town in one piece." Lea gives a crooked smile, snagging one of the pots from the pile. "By using … Anti-Aging Powder? Okay, bad example. But there's bound to be something in this place we can use. He left a lot of stuff downstairs."

"You went into his workshop?"

"Is that what that is? I thought it smelled a little funky. I thought the old guy might've been smoking more than cigarettes, if you know what I'm saying. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge."

"Give me that." Tifa, apparently compelled by Leon's disapproving presence, grabs for the pot.

Lea holds it above his head like a little kid playing keep-away. He has a good few inches height on Tifa, plus those long arms. Her face darkens with irritation and embarrassment at being shown up. Tifa may be level-headed, but she's still human.

"Hand it over." She lunges.

Lea tries to show off by avoiding her again, but catches his foot on the leg of the bureau. "Whoa!"

It doesn't happen in slow motion or anything like that. Yuffie sees everything in real-time, she just can't move fast enough to _do_ anything. She sees Lea fall, sees the pot leave his hands when he throws them out to brace himself, watches it smash on the floor at Leon's feet, and sees the resultant cloud of pale brown powder fill the room like _Merlin's Patented Sandstorm in a Can_. Next thing she knows, she's coughing up what feels like a lung and trying to scrape the evil-smelling stuff off her tongue and out of her nose.

Everybody stumbles out of the house, retching, eyes streaming. Tifa even wheezes, one hand pressed against the wall. Leon, closest to the explosion, copped the most powder. He looks like he's be about to throw up – that is if he did the whole showing-weakness-by-throwing-up-in-front-of-other-people thing. Which, apparently, he doesn't.

Or … wait, yes he does.

Yuffie grimaces. _Now that is really unattractive. Hold on to that image. Use it whenever you start to feel all soft or gooshy about the guy._

"What's going on?" Zack's voice rings out clear and concerned. As if transported by magic he's among them, slightly breathless as if from exercise. He probably followed Leon, who came down to play the moralistic Captain of the Royal Guard when he got home and realised what they were up to as soon as he saw they weren't at the apartment.

Yuffie's stomach is also performing acrobatics. She turns away from everyone, walks a few paces, bends at the waist, performs the most spectacular Rainbow Yawn ever, wipes her mouth, removes the sheen of gritty sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, and returns to the group with the same nonchalant swagger. Her bright smile confuses Zack, who just watched her empty her insides and probably expects her to be groaning like Lea and Tifa.

"I'm dying," Lea complains. "What the fuck _was_ that stuff?"

"Anti-Aging Powder, apparently." Leon's forehead is shiny. He's also pale, but he keeps up his air of disapproval and barely contained anger – not bad when Yuffie knows he has to be feeling as rough as sandpaper. That stuff was _nasty_!

Zack looks around, as if expecting more people to stumble out of the house. The realisation they were _inside_ dawns on him a moment later. "How the heck did you get –?"

"Lea," Tifa says hoarsely.

"I regret nothing," Lea says before throwing up again.

_This is the guy I fell in love with?_ Great. Super. Now whenever she summons the image of Leon she's also going to picture Lea the same way. There's no way she will let herself be kissed by that mouth for a while. A _long_ while. At least the length of two toothpaste tubes'.

"Just tryin' t'help," she mumbles, leaning against the wall with her head between her knees. "Thought … could … oh man, I'm glad I never went to that damn wizard for help before. M'gonna …" She retches.

Eventually Zack learns what they were up to. While he commends their intention, it's clear he is also ticked that they broke in to achieve them. "It's a breach of privacy," he says tightly. He's always so defensive of Merlin; still wracked with guilt and regret over how they parted ways. "Besides, if you'd just _asked_ I would've told you there was no way he'd have left any of his books behind. They'd be the first things he packed, before a toothbrush or a change of underwear."

"Beardy wears underwear? And there was I thinking that robe was for freedom of movement."

"Yuffie."

"The answer my friend, is blowing in the wind –"

"_Yuffie_."

"That's your Not Amused voice, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Would it help to point out we've all been soundly punished already?"

"My ribs hurt."

"Shut up, Lea. This is all your fault in the first place."

Lea pouts. "Altruism sucks. Big time. From now on, it's Number One all the way."

"I thought that was who you looked out for anyway," Leon remarks.

Lea frowns, despite his flippant comment. "Man, you've really got to get this whole jealousy thing under control, Leonfart."

Leon doesn't blush. No, really, Leon _doesn't_ _blush_ – not just now, but ever. He doesn't do it. He may even be incapable. Yuffie has never seen him so much as turn pink unless he has been sparring, or training, or running after Heartless and wannabe criminals who should _know_ better than to try anything in Traverse Town. He can colour up or go deathly pale when angry, but blushing like an embarrassed schoolgirl? Very much not his style.

So Yuffie characterises the sudden rush of blood into his cheeks as anger. Leon never wanted her, after all. Leon never wanted her. Lea wants her. She wants Lea. End of story. Leon is probably insulted at the insinuation he'd be jealous of their relationship – unless he _is_ actually jealous, but of the fact they _have_ a relationship when he doesn't. As ever, Rinoa looms over Yuffie with wings spread wide. She stamps on the flicker of hurt in boots studded with _Broken-Hearted Bastard_ nails.

Zack looks contemplatively at Merlin's house. "I know it's morally wrong, but … since you guys already went in and everything …"

"Hero, do my delicate shell-pink little ears deceive me? Are you suggesting we case Merlin's place for useful goodies?"

Leon gives Zack an arch look.

"You weren't there, man," Zack says softly. "You didn't feel that stuff. Ask Reno. He's not a sensitive guy and he still felt it. Something's going on, and I don't like it. They're right; we _do_ need every advantage if we need to fight."

"If we _can_ fight whatever you think is out there," Leon replies.

"Bad stuff has a habit of needing to be fought," Yuffie points out. She catches Tifa's eye. "Okay, shutting up now and letting the macho men talk and make all the decisions for us poor brainless womenfolk."

Tifa sighs, shakes her head, and winces. "Ugh. Where is Aerith and her magic when you need her?"

* * *

Zack is right. Merlin left no books. Nothing they find in his house looks likely to help them identify what Zack and Reno found, or explain what could have spurred those wildcats to act as they did. Aside from the idea of predators giving way to a larger predator, which makes everyone tense, they have as much idea now as before: i.e. none.

Later, Leon puts them on alert and sets up a rotation for watching the border to keep an eye out for more strange occurrences. None come. When Cait Sith is asked his opinion he shrugs and says he's just a fortune-teller with a bag of tricks gleaned from a life at court with proper magicians. The high magical arts elude him, and he has always liked it that way.

"Less stressful to interpret the messages o' higher powers than have to interpret yer ain meanin' for others."

"Which means you can't help us," Zack surmises.

Aerith heals Lea, Leon, Tifa and Yuffie of their nausea, clucking her tongue and asking questions about exactly what they managed to inhale to make them feel so bad. She frowns when Penelo, the only one who didn't get blasted with the stuff, tells her.

"Magic powder?"

"Didn't seem too magic to me," says Yuffie. "Seemed pretty yucky and sucky and mucky, but not too magicky."

"We've suffered no side-effects," Tifa elaborates. "Zack said Merlin often experimented making powders and potions that didn't work out, but he kept everything anyway, even the failed ones, so he'd know what not to do next time."

"A shame this one didn't work," Lea adds. "I know some old ladies who'd sell their souls to stop the aging process – even more to reverse it. There was a huge industry for that sort of thing back on my world. Women would pay through the nose to look a few years younger, even when they _knew_ most of the products were bogus. It was all a big scam of placebos and empty promises. A lot like life, actually."

"You're so cynical," Aerith says with a sigh.

"One of my better qualities, babe."

Yuffie waits for the frisson of jealousy at him calling another woman 'babe', even if it is only Aerith.

And then waits some more.

She pokes her emotions with a stick until her jealousy sluggishly uncurls, but it's pretty half-hearted.

She spends the next few minutes watching Lea until she realises he's also watching her with a lopsided grin that makes her stomach do flip-flops. Reassured, she starts babbling about how hungry she is.

"You were dry-heaving all the way home," Tifa says in amazement. "You said you felt awful."

"Yeah, but now I feel better, and there's nothing in my tummy. My tummy needs something yummy, and possible something scrummy." She slings an arm around Penelo. Feeling sorry for neglecting her friend, Yuffie has been at her side ever since they set out for home and plunked down next to her on the couch when they both collapsed onto it. "How about you, Penny?"

Startled from her thoughts, Penelo looks blankly at her. "Hmm? What?"

"Are you hungry?"

"Oh. Oh! I could cook something if you like…" Her eyes skitter away. Her mind is clearly still somewhere else. "I should go home," she says softly. "If something bad really is coming, I want to be with … I should get home."

"Not tonight." Aerith is firm. "Cloud will go with you tomorrow, but for tonight you should stay here. Until we know what this new threat is, we don't want to risk losing you, or anyone else."

Penelo fiddles with a stray thread from the arm of the couch. "You're all so kind."

"Nah." Yuffie squeezes her. "This is all part of a cunning ploy to make you give us another dancing show. Evenings in Traverse Town are _soooo_ boring. All we ever do is sit and have staring contests, or pick bugs out of each other's hair like monkeys. You're a novelty. We might just lock you in a cage and keep you for ever and ever and ever. Ponytail, do we have anything to eat that's not soy?"

"What's soy?"

"Trust me, Penny, after Gringoire's beef pasties, you do _not_ wanna know."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

-


	71. Confessions of Killers

-

* * *

**70. Confessions of Killers**

* * *

"Yoo-hoo!"

Leon doesn't turn around. Lea didn't really expect him to. Leon rarely acknowledges his presence, except to shoot him some of that patented, Royal Guard, laser-eyed disapproval his way. Really, the guy has a complete complex about being _the_ authority figure. Leon wants to protect everything and everyone from whatever he perceives as a threat, and he decided Lea was a threat from the moment he laid eyes on him. Or from the moment Lea laid eyes on Yuffie. Whichever. They both work for Lea.

"Hey, Leonfart! I'm talking to you."

Leon stares resolutely at the road out of town. It becomes a dirt track and then not even that the further you go – pretty standard even for a good-sized town like Traverse. One thing Lea has learned about this world is that it's not densely populated. There are a lot of middling to small towns, and a handful of cities, but it's mostly villages and single farmsteads eking a living from the land. They have little contact with anyone else, and there's miles of wild, open country between everyone. He is used to big city life in Junon, self-titled King of Cities. In his old world the press of people came from all sides, and there was a constant sense of claustrophobia from the thousands of frantically alive people trying to make the best of things.

Maybe that's why he adjusted so well to this world. Sure, he misses stuff from his old life, but he didn't exactly part ways with it on good terms. People existed in Junon; here they _live_. Still frantically, but with a zest you just didn't find back home. Even with all the world orphans who have lost everything, Lea has never come across the dead-eyed placidity of Junonites. People and creatures here want to make the most of their second chances. Even the daily grind is brighter, and full of so many personality quirks as to be a social scientist's dream.

Proof positive: Squall Leonheart. Lea knows all about his lost love. He even feels sorry for the guy and that whole 'encased in ice for two decades' thing. He had it rough. Twenty years is a long time to be out of commission, and then waking up only to kill your girlfriend? Talk about rough. Added to that, Leon has an overactive guilt complex, which leaves him feeling responsible for the Heartless making mincemeat out of so many worlds while he was playing beddy-byes with his girlfriend and that wizard amidst the icicles. Lea is a profiler at heart, and he knows Leon's story, personality, the works. Lea can respect what Leon has been through.

However, he also knows Leon is a complete emotional fuck-up. Lea could probably respect that too, if he tried, but it's more fun to disrespect it and see what happens. Interacting with Leon is like lighting a keg of gunpowder without checking how full it is. You might get just a puff of smoke, or you could take out an entire block. Either way, the thrill of anticipation is worth a few singed hairs.

"Ignoring me, are we?" he singsonged.

Leon remained silent.

"I'm not going away."

"I know."

"It speaks!"

"What do you want?" Brusque and to the point. Lea expected no less. Leon's so predictable it's like writing a soap opera script; you can change names and locations, but the recycled plots are always the same.

Not that soap operas are one of the things Lea misses from his world. Not even the ones with the big-titted actresses. He and Reno used to turn off the sound and invent their own dialogue ("Oh, Anthony, I'm having your crack-addict-half-brother's baby, and I'm leaving you for the gun-toting-secret-agent milkman to do it!" "No, Sondra, I'm afraid _I'm_ leaving _you_ first so you can pay all my gambling debts, which I ran up while indulging my secret life as a transvestite called Miriam!" "You bastard!" "You whore!" "Want one last shag to say goodbye?" "Okay!") but life without television was a bit of a drag until he and Yuffie came up with other ways to fill their evenings.

An image of Yuffie leaps into his mind. He pictures her dishevelled and smiling, leaning back against his pillows and exposing her throat in a primal act of trust. You don't show a predator your windpipe or your jugular. Doing so implies faith of a kind Lea isn't used to – not unless it's from Reno. He and Reno are blood. Their bond is even stronger than Turk-loyalty. They've proved it time and again, but Yuffie is the first person to show the same level of trust in Lea. It's a thrill. She'd trust him with her life, and he …

Would he trust her with his?

"What do you want, Lea?" Leon asks again.

Lea saunters up, chakrams dangling from his hands. He has been patrolling the other side of town, watching out for Evil Baddies or whatever other weird shit this world can throw at them. He has stopped suspending his disbelief, instead letting it sink into his core and vanish in his stomach acid so he can fully accept a place where magic is not only possible, but probable, and the closest anybody gets to a firearm is actually more of a sword.

He gives a mocking salute. "All quiet on the Western Front Cap'n."

Leon finally slides a glance at him then. It's a shame cultural references don't transfer between worlds as easily as bodies.

"No sign of anything," Lea translates. "I left Reno keeping an eye out."

"Good."

Duty taken care of, Lea segues into the real reason he's even approaching Leon. "I know something you don't know."

Leon rolls his eyes. "Go away unless you have something significant to say."

"Actually, I do. Or maybe I don't."

"I don't have time for your kind of clowning around."

"Are you trying to make the land give up its secrets through the force of your eagle-eyed stare?" Lea quips.

"I said –"

"You're in love with her. Or, I should say, you're _still _in love with her."

Leon goes quiet. "I don't know what you intend by bringing that up, but my relationship with Rinoa is none of your busin–"

"Not her." Lea waves a hand. Maybe he should've played this differently, come across all jealous and defensive. He could have punched the palm of his hand or done some other clichéd macho bullshit. He already has the green-eyed bit covered. Except that baiting Leon is entertaining. Provoking him could be a spectator sport. Lea drops his voice, keeps his pose relaxed and affable. "Yuffie."

Okay, forget that quiet from before. _Now _Leon goes silent. Even his blood-flow hushes. If Lea couldn't see the vein in his forehead pulsing he'd check whether the guy is breathing.

"It's true isn't it?" he presses. "You are."

"No."

"Fuck, no wonder you were just a soldier-type. No sense of subterfuge. You're one of the _worst_ liars I've ever seen."

"Lea." Leon's tone is a total contrast. "Go away. Now."

"Ooh, I touched a nerve. You forget, Leonfart, I was a Turk. That may not mean much to you, but part of a Turk's job is interrogation and surveillance. Skills of observation, personality profiling, recording patterns of behaviour and all that shit. Means I can spot a liar at one-hundred paces and put a bullet in him at two."

"I haven't forgotten what you are."

"So why bother to deny what _you_ are? You love this girl, and I make you sick because she _was_ totally gaa-gaa over you, and now she's not. Because now she's with me instead, and I'm all she needs. You missed the boat, and no matter how much you try to tell yourself in your biggest, baddest, sternest inner voice that you don't care, it's killing you that she's happier without you than she ever was trailing after you like some adoring little puppy with big puppy-dog eyes."

Leon swallows convulsively. His gaze remains on the horizon, but Lea knows he's not fully concentrating. His eyes haven't ticked left or right in a while, and his pupils are dilated from the strain of staring so hard at a single point. Yup, a strong and honourable guy, perfectly suited to protection and guarding things. Lea has learned enough to know Leon's a pretty good strategist, but cross-examination isn't his forte. Leon is as forthcoming as a brick wall, but there were no Turks in Radiant Garden.

"You also," Lea nocks a tiny bow with a metaphorical needle and fires it into an important artery, "think I'm not good enough for her. But is that because you genuinely think I'm going to do her wrong, or because, if you can't have her, nobody should? Pretty ridiculous, since _you_ said no before she even got a chance to proposition you. Then again, you _are _the original emotional fuck-up. I wonder," he says thoughtfully, "whether _she_ realises you're still warm for her form; or whether she even knows you were warm for her in the first place. Aha!" He leaps backwards, predicting the punch.

Leon is breathing harder than five minutes ago. "What do you _want_?"

"Me? Nothing much. Good food, good roof over my head, good times to enjoy, and a good woman to share it all with. You know, all the typical stuff."

"You're not typical."

"You noticed. I'm flattered." Lea tightens his grip on his chakrams and points it at Leon. It could be a challenge, or could be an order to back off. Leon's hold on his gunblade has shifted from benign to 'gonna shoot you in the head'. Someone without Lea's background might not have noticed the subtle differences. "Some of those are dead now. Actually, come to think of it, all of them are, but that was the Heartless. If they weren't, the ones still alive would give me a great reference."

"What's your game?"

Lea grins. "Why am I telling you this, you mean?"

Leon continues to glare at him. Talk about easy to read.

Lea sighs. "You need to back off."

"What?"

"Seriously. Forget about Yuffie. She doesn't want you anymore." Or maybe she does – Lea's good at noticing things, after all, and he's especially good at noticing things about Yuffie Kisaragi. He had her figured out within a few weeks, and threw it all in her face one misjudged evening when he found her crying on the tavern roof and couldn't keep his own predatory instincts in check.

Misjudging things? Him? Worse still, _regretting_ something? Strange but true.

But life is too short for regrets. That's the mantra he and Reno have always lived by. When you could wake any day with a bad case of being dead, it was the only way to be.

And yet Lea _does_ regret showing Yuffie her own flaws the way he did. He regrets splitting her open like a patient on the operating table, forgoing anaesthetic and showing her the exact shape of her stomach, lungs and particularly her heart by holding them in front of her face. She seems to have forgiven him, perhaps a little blinded by love into ignoring his behaviour, the way she tries to ignore the three people she has killed. Lea still remembers, though. He remembers every secret she ever told him. He remembers every time she bared her throat. He remembers and he _regrets_ things.

She confessed, once, the two people she killed while trying to prove herself to her father. Both were minor bounties; simple hits that relied on stealth and subterfuge. One was a drug dealer who reneged on a deal with another, bigger dealer. The other was a pimp who knocked about his girls. The girls pooled their meagre takings and used them to buy his life and their revenge. Yuffie wasn't alone on either mission. Her father's most trusted ninjas trailed her, because he knew far more about her movements than he let on. He probably knew she was out of their encampment the night the Heartless destroyed the Wutai Clan, too, and was glad his little girl wasn't there when his people started dying around him. Yuffie beats herself up a lot about that, but never enough to leave bruises on her soul for others to see.

The third person she killed was in self-defence, after the Heartless slaughtered her clan and she set off cross-country, searching for something even she didn't understand. Lea knows she ran into some nasty shit back then. He also knows she handled herself pretty well for a kid – let alone a kid mired in shock and grief. Nothing keeps Yuffie down for long. She internalises and pretends she's hunky dory until she actually is. It's an elaborate form of self-deception that has let her cope with too much bad shit too young. Lea can understand that. With his shady past? _Boy_ can he understand that.

That night in Ragdim, Yuffie found herself on the receiving end of some dickwad with the idea she was shell-shocked enough for him to take advantage. She never went into details, just skipped from 'crazy ass idiot came at me when I was cornered in an alley' to 'and then he was dead on the floor'. Lea isn't stupid. He knew she wasn't a virgin when he slept with her, but the truth was pretty horrendous, even for someone with his memories. In one incident, she changed from a cocky kid who wanted to prove herself to Daddy, into the Great Ninja Yuffie Kisaragi, who cracked jokes about sex and everything else, never let anything hook too deep under her skin, or exposed her throat to _anyone_.

Until she did. And it didn't go so well the first time.

Lea has never been in love before. It's a mystifying thing; wanting to make yourself vulnerable, just to prove the person you love won't betray you. Who exactly are you trying to prove it to – the world? Them? Yourself? Love is a complicated exercise in tests and trials, forever proving yourself and _wanting _to, which is the most bizarre part.

If things don't come easy, they shouldn't be worth it. Lea has always thought the only tough thing in life should be your job. The rest is just unnecessary bother if you have to put yourself at a disadvantage to get it.

Fall in love, though, and it's a whole other ballgame. Lea is an extroverted guy with an introverted nature; good at showing himself off and simultaneously keeping silent. When he's with Yuffie, however, he finds himself wanting to pull up bits of his personality that have rickets from being hidden so long. He _wants_ her to know his weaknesses. Only his brain stops his heart from doing it.

Yuffie exposed her throat to her friends, turning them into her family. They walk around with their heads thrown back all the time, as if inviting every predator in the neighbourhood to a free-for-all buffet. Yuffie copied them, absorbing their habits and beliefs and calling them her own. As a result she exposed her throat to Leon the same way. He tore it out. Lea bound the wound until, finally, she started to lift her chin higher again.

Leon looks like he wants to tear Lea's throat out right now, too, but in a much more literal way.

Lea keeps the chakram between them. His arm is starting to ache, just a little. Not enough to show in his face, but enough that he's bored with this conversation. "Yuffie doesn't want you. It's time to accept that and move on."

"You presumptuous –"

"Don't act indignant when we both know I'm right. Look, I don't know which of your many boring reasons you chose for rejecting her, and frankly? I don't much care. What I _do_ care about is that you're poised to really fuck things up for her all over again if you don't get over yourself and move the fuck _on_ from whatever self-tortured garbage you're wallowing in. You regret not taking the other path? Too bad. Yuffie's not yours anymore, she's mine."

Leon's eyes narrow. "So this is just your paranoia talking."

Lea laughs at that. "It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you. But seriously? No. This is about her residual feelings for you, and the fact that dense as you are, Leonfart, I'm pretty sure you'd figure that out eventually. You might even, in some sudden flash of realisation that one plus one makes two, try to stop her feelings from shrivelling up in favour of the ones she has for me. Piece of free advice? Don't. Even. Think. About. It. Yuffie isn't a free agent anymore. She's happy now. Happy _without _you. Don't fuck that up for her. If you really _do_ love her, even a little bit, leave her alone and don't confuse her even more than you already have. It took her this long to come to terms with how you treated her. You have no right to screw up her happiness again."

Leon is wearing his gloves as usual, but his grip is so tight he _has _to have a nice set of white knuckles under them. Yup, Lea has hit the nail right on the head. Lea leans backwards. He wishes he could do that thing he saw Zack do, leaping backwards impossibly high and far. It was augmented by the Buster Sword's magic, and Lea has never been a fan of swords, but damn if it didn't look really cool. Perfect for making a dramatic exit.

Then Leon he does something Lea isn't expecting. "Are you in love with her?" he asks.

"Well _duh_."

"Say it."

"What?"

"Say the words. Tell me you love her – that you're _in_ love with her."

"Why the fuck should I do that? I'm not your trained seal, ready to clap on command."

"Have you ever said it to her?"

"Have _you_?" Lea shoots back. Hang on, this is wrong. He's suddenly on the defensive. Time to pull back, cut this short, and get out of here while he still has the advantage. It helps that Leon winces. _Ha!_ Lea thinks. _Point to me._

"In real love, you want the other person's good. In romantic love, you want the other person. Which is it for you?"

"What kind of pansy-ass question is that?" Lea asks. There's a difference?Leon has been in love before, while Lea has not. This is a learning curve for him, while Leon is already at the top of the slope, watching and criticising his climbing technique.

"Do you just want her, or do you want what's best for her?" Leon insists.

"This is the part where I answer and you reply with how _I'm _bad for her, so no, I'm not answering your stupid question."

"You just did."

Yuffie's right; Leon _is_ annoying asshole. What did she ever see in him? Lea scowls. "So which was it for you, smartass?"

Leon's gaze doesn't drop, but his jaw twitches like he wants to draw his chin into his chest. "I'm bad for her," he says evenly, offering Lea an unexpectedly open insight into the way his mind works. It's so unpredicted that Lea is silenced. Point to Leon.

"Well then," Lea says, finally dropping his chakram and turning away, "I'm glad we could have this little chat, Leonfart."

"My name isn't Leonfart."

"Oh yeah." Lea reverts to his favourite wicked grin. "That's right. It's Squall, isn't it?"

Leon's hands tighten so much his knuckles practically creak. Lea leaves with a chuckle, knowing the power has swung back his way and figuring that's a good place to leave the conversation – Leon wrong-footed and the ball very firmly in Lea's court.

Yuffie is on the roof when he arrives. He told her to meet him at her place, since she clearly wants to look after Penelo while she's still in town. Penelo's a nice kid, sweet enough in her own way, but she can't hold a candle to his Yuffie.

_His _Yuffie.

Hell, that feels weird even to think. Especially with the implication that he's _her_ Lea.

"Yo." Yuffie flips a lazy salute and replaces her hands behind her head, leaning back on the tiles even though that has to be cold. There's a nip in the air that speaks of frost tonight, though the banking clouds say otherwise. "Where'd you go?"

"Patrolled over by the sewerage works until Reno took over."

"Bet he loved that."

"You betcha." Inane conversation – not much more than filling in the silence, really, but he enjoys the sight of her stretched out like that. He lies down next to her, keeping both chakram pinned by his side with one hand to prevent them sliding off the roof and impaling whoever might be walking past. "Nothing bad to report."

"I guessed that from the lack of running and screaming and dying."

"Is Penelo okay?"

"Bummed about still not going home, but pretty much okay. She's having a shower. I'm due to take over from Leon in about an hour, but I told her to go to bed if she's gonna travel home in the morning. Long trip." She shrugs. "Why do you look so pleased? You look like the cat that got the canary."

"I look like I'm about to hawk up a mouthful of damp feathers?"

"Idiot. I hope you're not still all smug about getting into Merlin's house. I totally would've figured out about the flame symbol in the end. Totally. Completely. Absolutely."

He grins and pulls her towards him. He loves Yuffie. He _does_. He loves kissing her, which is another surprise. Kissing was always a prelude to more before, but kissing Yuffie is pretty nice on its own. She was so inexperienced at first, and scared in her own way. He discovered he kind of liked teaching her stuff – like how sex doesn't have to be violent or about one person dominating the other. She's a quick learner, and the great thing is he gets as much out of their lessons as she does. Even her mistakes are enjoyable.

"Mmm," she murmurs appreciatively into his mouth.

"You taste salty."

"Pretzels. You like?"

"I prefer it when you taste sweet."

"Feh. I'm sweet enough already." She brings an arm up and wraps it around his neck, pulling him forward as much as he pulls her. He'd let her roll him on top of him, but for his already tenuous hold on his chakrams.

"Yuffie," he says instead, lips brushing against hers as he speaks, "I gotta ask you sumthin'."

"Less talky, more smoochies."

"Yuffie," he says again, a little more forcefully.

She looks up, blowing hair from her face with an irritated huff. "What?"

She's just a skinny girl, barely past being a kid really. Lea has watched her sleep before. Kind of a creepy thing to do, but also something he has never done before. Yuffie intrigues him as much now as she did when he first saw her, hanging upside down from the skylight in the Survivor Centre. "Do you love me?"

Yuffie frowns, confused. "Aw, is baby Lea feeling all insecure?"

"Just answer the question."

"Of course I do, you big galoot."

He nods. "This whole darkness thing … just made me want to hear the words." Darkness and Leonfart, but he isn't going to admit that.

"Okay. I love you. Does that make you feel better?" She says it teasingly, still trying to pull him in for a kiss.

"Much." He covers her mouth with his.

They spend a pleasurable few minutes making out like a pair of teenagers, until Yuffie accidentally bites down on his tongue and he pulls back with a yelp.

"Big baby." She props her head on one arm and turns onto her side, staring at him and trailing her fingers down the curve of his ribcage to his hip. "Hey, Lea?"

"Yeth?"

The touching becomes a poke in the ribs. "Don't ham it up. I didn't bite you that hard."

"Who's hamming it up? You damn well nearly bit it off!"

"Be thankful it was just you tongue."

He harrumphs, but finds himself caught by her next question.

"Do you … y'know?"

"What?"

She twirls her wrist. She's even worse than him. "Do you –" twirl-twirl-twirl "-me?"

Understanding dawns. Lea smiles, more affectionately than before, like a chakram with its points ground and blunted. Mushy stuff. He hates mushy stuff. How did he sink so low?

Except that he answers his own question when he looks at her and sees the brash self-confidence overlaying uncertainty. "Yup."

"Yup what?"

"You really need me to say it out loud?"

Another poke in the ribs. "You can be a real asshole sometimes."

"I can be a real asshole _all_ the time, but I choose not to be." He hooks the chakrams under his foot and twists onto his side so he and Yuffie are nose to nose, even though her feet only reach as far as his shins. Playing footsie has never been an option unless they're both sitting down, and then it always turns into a covert kicking match under the table. Not many people can say the bruises on their shins are signs of loving relationship. "All right. I love you." He kisses her nose. She accepts him initiating the contact without so much as a murmur. "Got that memorised?"

She grins. "Nope. I have a terrible memory. You'll have to keep telling me until I get it."

"Brat."

"Idiot."

They lay there, enjoying each other without removing a single piece of clothing – yet more strangeness for Lea – until the last of the sun's rays fade and Yuffie has to leave. Lea watches her go, ogling her tight little butt with a wolf-whistle when she lands on the next rooftop. She cartwheels and takes a bow, showing off for him. He doesn't mind. He is suffused with a sleepy contentment bordering on complete happiness, even if Reno would call him a pussy-whipped sissy.

He should have guessed then that everything would turn to shit. Happiness never lasts.

Later, this is the moment he'll think about most – sitting in a high place, watching his precious someone leave him. He'll look back. He'll wonder whether he could have changed things if he'd gotten out right then. He'll wonder whether he should have said something different to Leonfart, or just said 'fuck it' to everything, grabbed Reno and left Traverse Town without a backwards glance.

It's debateable whether anything would be different. Even so, he'll keep thinking about it until, finally, one day, he watches another precious person leave him, and _does_ make a different choice.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

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	72. The Beginning of the End

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* * *

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**71. The Beginning of the End**

* * *

Everybody's plans are wrecked by a very simple but crucial detail, which they discover the next morning.

"Aerith! Zack! Cloud!" Kairi bursts into the bedroom and flings herself on top of them. "Look outside! Look outside! Look outside!"

It's far earlier than they'd like, especially since Zack only got into bed an hour ago. He relieved Yuffie of her watch at midnight until Leon came to relieve him in turn at three. He sits up, bleary-eyed, barely registering Kairi's words. "Fwuh?"

"Look outside! Look outside! Look outside!"

"Slow down. Urgh, my head."

"!"

"I think she wants us to look outside."

"Thank you, Cloud. You're so helpful."

"Eeeeeee!" Kairi bounces up and down, unable to contain herself. "It's _snowing_!"

That wakes them up. "It is?"

"Itisitisitisitis! All outside. Come and see, come and see!" She grabs his hand and Cloud's and tries to pull them out of bed – extra difficult since she's sitting on their legs.

Eventually they stumble to the window and observe that, yes, it is snowing. Plump flakes fall thick and fast onto an already whitened ground. The sky is a resolute grey, though there's no breeze, giving the impression they're all sitting directly under a giant sieve of icing sugar.

"How am I supposed to get home _now_?" Penelo is already awake from Kairi bouncing out of her bed and onto the two girls in the double. Zack hears her through the open bedroom door. Kairi isn't brilliant at shutting doors after herself, which makes it a good thing that she never goes near the chocobos shed without an adult. "Laverne can't travel through _that_. She'll freeze to death before we're halfway. Even if she doesn't, how am I supposed to navigate when all the landmarks are covered in snow? They'll all look the same!" She is distraught.

"Don't worry. Seriously, Penny." Yuffie's voice floats through the air, buoyed by her own childish glee at the snow. "It's fine. No sweat. Get it? It's so cold, no way will anybody be sweating!"

Zack leaves the bedroom to see Penelo looking glum and unconvinced in the middle of the kitchen. Yuffie has her face pressed against the window. Her breath has made little foggy circles on the glass.

Zack puts a friendly arm around Penelo and guides her out to the breakfast table. Food is always a good leveller, he reasons. "Don't worry. We'll think of something." Even as he says it, however, he's thinking about what the snow actually means. _Well, at least we'll be able to see any animal tracks in it_. Find silver linings is, after all, what he's supposed to be best at.

"Hey, Hero, how about we go make snow angels?"

"Priorities, Yuffie."

"Yeah, and? Would you rather make a snow demon? Just make an angel and then draw in a tail and horns."

"You're missing the point."

"Pish-posh. It's _snow_! When did you get all grown-up and boring?"

Penelo looks down at the table. The tiny movement has the desired effect that Zack did not. Yuffie immediately looks contrite. She sidles over and takes the chair next to her friend. "Hey, Penny?"

"Yeah?"

Yuffie's hand whips out. "Got your nose."

Penelo stares. "That is … so unbelievably inappropriate."

"Made you smile though, didn't it?"

The corner of her mouth twitches. "No."

"Liar."

"Okay. Maybe a little. A _very _little."

"You want some bacon and eggs?"

"I thought you didn't have real meat around here."

"Oh yeah. Dangit. Cloudy!"

He emerges from the bedroom. "What?"

"Can we eat that featherbutt yet?"

"No."

"What if we get snowed in?"

"I said no, Yuffie. Just like I said no the last thousand times you asked."

"Double dangit."

"It's odd," Aerith says, sliding into the breakfast rituals. She busies herself making something for Penelo first, without anyone needing to say she's most in need of comfort. As ever, Aerith is the one trying to provide that comfort – and nothing is more comforting in her world than a stack of hot pancakes with warm syrup. "It wasn't especially cold yesterday. Not warm, but I never expected snow, and especially not this much."

"It's snooowing! It's snooowing! It's snooowing!" Kairi dances around. "Hey, Penelo, isn't it cool? It's snooowing! It's snooowing! It's snooowing!" She stops. "Why do you look so sad? Don't you like the snow?"

Penelo smiles sadly. "I was just … yeah, I like it, Kairi."

Kairi frowns. Then she clambers onto Penelo's lap. "Braid my hair? Please?"

The kettle whistles. Steam clouds the kitchen window, obscuring the outside world. Aerith pours several mugs, which Cloud collects from the sideboard and dispenses around, also without being asked.

Zack accepts his gratefully, blowing on it and taking a sip while it's still boiling. He has never been able to understand why people wait until a drink is practically cold before touching it. "It was pretty frosty when Leon took over my patrol this morning." He all but spits back into his mug. "Leon! He was wearing a short sleeved jacket and tee-shirt. He'll be frozen solid out there!"

Aerith sighs. "And he won't have abandoned his post to go and put on something warm, you can bet on that."

Zack hurriedly pulls on some clothes and makes tracks with his spare coat and a pair of gloves for Leon. Yuffie surprises everyone by asking if she can tag along.

"Not to see Leonfart, of course. Lea took over patrol from Tifa in the small hours and I wanted to take a jacket for _him_ as well."

"Fine, fine," Zack mumbles, not looking forward to going out into the cold, but knowing there's no chance he'll get to go back to bed if he stays. Besides which, he wants to know if anything new developed during the few hours he was asleep. "Just hurry up, and make sure _you_ wear something warm."

"Why Hero, anyone listening would think I have a defective fashion sense."

"You _are_ the one who thought two hankies and string made a good sunbathing outfit."

"Yeah, well, how was I supposed to know the most crucial hankie would blow away when I was halfway through a jump between roofs?"

"Who jumps between roofs while wearing a handmade bikini?"

"Here," Penelo says unexpectedly. "Wear this. I brought a couple of changes of clothes. I never used to be that bad, but since coming to work for Esmeralda I never know what to wear because I have too much choice. This was my first trip outside Mosey since I joined the Thief King's court so I … went a bit mad and brought too much. Y'know, in case of every eventuality."

"That'd explain the second pannier," Yuffie grins. "One for our gifts and one aaaaaall for you."

"I was forward-planning!"

"Sure, sure."

Penelo thrusts a pair of pale mauve trousers and matching jacket at her. They're lightweight but durable, obviously designed to fold up small and be tucked in the bottom of a bag. They crinkle when she moves. Yuffie couples them with thick knee-socks, plus her usual hardwearing kick-'em-in-the-shins-and-break-their-bones boots. The jacket has its own hood, which she drags over her head, pulling the strings tight so her face peers out at the world like a kitten stuck in a drainpipe.

Penelo helps her tie them. "Warm enough?"

"Toasty. You sure you don't want to come?"

"I said I'd try to teach Kairi the basics of _adagio_ until it's okay to go out."

"She gonna show me _ballet_," Kairi says proudly, taking Penelo's hand and swinging it back and forth. Half her hair is a mass of small braids.

Yuffie takes on an expression of exasperated indulgence. "Yeah, and when I get back _I'm_ gonna teach you how to throw a haymaker punch."

"You are _not_." Aerith loops a scarf around Yuffie from behind, ignoring her theatrics and choking noises. "Here. This will keep you extra warm."

"Need … air …"

"And here's one for Lea."

Yuffie stares at it. "This is yours, Ponytail."

"Will you look at that: you can talk normally again. It's a miracle."

"Ha ha. My sides just split. It's _yours_."

"And? Is my scarf not good enough for him?"

"It's not that, it's just kind of … tassely. It has tassels. And bobbles. And a knitted snowman on it. And…"

"It's pink." Zack steps in.

"It's warm," Aerith replies. Zack's about to point out the obvious when he sees the twinkle in her eyes and realises she already knows. "I think Lea will look cute in it. Don't you agree, Yuffie?"

"Uh?" Yuffie takes an extra few seconds to click. When she does, her smile reaches almost to the back of her neck. "Oh yes," she says, nodding so vigorously Zack wonders whether she'll dislocate something. "Very fetching. I'll _make sure_ he wears it."

"Good girl." Aerith spins her around and tugs her hood down to push a few stray locks of hair behind her ears. Yuffie wriggles, but allows it. "You'll do."

"You're doing that whole motherly thing again."

"Shush. Let me mother you a little if I want to. And on that note, I wish you'd tie this back or get it cut." She pushes again at a lock of black hair.

Yuffie compromises by wearing a headband to keep her bangs from her eyes. It has the added advantage of keeping her head warm. When they finally leave Zack is also wearing one and feeling pretty good about it. His ears may be squashed, and he may look like a dork, but he's warm. There comes a point when that's all that matters.

They've hit that point by the time they find Leon. Zack approaches him first. Yuffie hangs back with incoherent grumbling, only one word in three audible – coincidentally the swear words.

"Hey," Zack says. His footsteps crunch, reminding him of Winters in Hollow Bastion. This is just the right kind of snow for a brilliant snowball war. "Brought you something. Thought you might be a Leon-shaped snow cone by now."

Leon accepts the coat gratefully. He won't admit it, but Zack knows him well enough to spot his appreciation of the gesture. When he's all wrapped up and Zack has also passed him the bread roll slathered in jam that Aerith packed, Leon looks over Zack's shoulder and assumes a pensive expression.

"Is that Yuffie in that get-up?"

"Yes."

"She looks like something that wandered out of Icicle Village," Leon says, referring to the small settlement far north of Hollow Bastion. The whole place was basically one big iceberg with buildings in the middle, huddled together like eggs in a nest. Chunks of ice regularly fell off into the ocean, making it one of the most dangerous and inhospitable places to live in the whole of their world. It was populated by the hardiest, most frostbitten and least imaginative people ever to wrestle, kill and eat a polar bear. In Icicle Town you didn't play with the snow, the snow played with you.

Zack grins. "Only less cute."

"Hey," Yuffie cries indignantly. "I'm standing right here, y'know."

"We know."

"Where did you get that strange outfit?" Leon asks.

Yuffie checks behind her. Zack doesn't blame her – Leon rarely speaks directly to her, and then only if he absolutely has to. This isn't imperative communication or a warning of danger. It sounds like regular conversation.

"Um, Penny lent them to me, to keep me warm while Hero and I came to chip you and Lea free from your ice statues."

Leon doesn't sag, but Zack notices the slight droop of his shoulders at Lea's name. "Very generous of her."

"Uh, yeah, I guess. Hey, Hero, are we done here?" Yuffie bounces from foot to foot.

Zack turns back to Leon. "Did anything else turn up that we should know about?"

Leon shakes his head. "Nothing."

They exchange a few more words and then part ways, but not before Zack has seen Leon's eyes flick to Yuffie several more times. Evidently Yuffie notices as well. A few streets away she breaks her unusual silence.

"Well, that was weirdly weird."

"What was?"

"Leonfart."

"You shouldn't call him that." Zack expects her to argue. She doesn't.

"He was _civil_."

"He's always civil." Painfully so, sometimes.

"Not to me. And usually just mentioning Lea's name is enough to set him off on some 'grr he's a bad influence and irresponsible and reckless and immature and his brother's even worse and they both smell of feet' rants."

"'Smell of feet'?"

"My wee button nosey only sniffs rosies when it's near my dear darling Lea," she simpers. "But sometimes he does smell a bit like feet. He wears socks three days in a row if you don't stop him, and Reno's even worse – his underwear would walk to the washer on its own if it could –"

"Yuffie, that's really too much information this early in the morning. And how do you even _know_ about Reno's underwear?"

"It's one of Aunt Sarah's favourite rant topics. Everybody in her neighbourhood knows about Reno's underwear when he finally puts it to be washed. I think he's trying to invent ways of killing those Siamese cats and making it look like an accident, and he's working on a special stink bomb formula."

She details the exact extent of Reno's hatred for the cats, and the cats' antipathy for him. It takes the whole trip across town. Zack nods at people they see, acknowledging the mutual insanity that has driven them out into the cold, cold world. The baker emerges from his shop to ask whether Lea will be in today, and Zack contemplates the bizarreness of a trained killer-for-hire like Lea working in a small town bakery – and being not only good at it, but _popular_ with customers. The baker just nods when Zack explains Lea will be on patrol until mid-morning.

"Good to have a responsible feller like him looking out for us. I feel safer knowing all you guys are ready to take on whatever threatens Traverse Town after yesterday."

"You know about yesterday?"

"Everybody knows about those wild beasties running amuck. You can't keep a secret like that under wraps. Everyone's of the same opinion: as long as you guys are on the job, we got nothing to worry about. Now, would you two be interested in some fresh-baked baguettes? On the house, of course. And I got me some fine breakfast baps as well, with fresh-patterned soy sausage and bacon, since I know you folks don't eat meat –"

They end up carrying two bags of freebies, a lot still warm from the ovens. Yuffie munches happily on a seeded roll, even though she had her breakfast less than an hour ago.

"Nice to know _someone_ appreciates all the hard work we put in," she says through a mouthful. "And it gives Lea, Reno and I equal footing with the rest of you."

"Nobody ever thought you weren't a valuable part of the group," Zack says, wondering whether he, too, could manage something to eat while they walk. A breakfast bap in his bag is calling him like a siren summoning sailors onto the rocks.

"Leon reckons I'm useless."

"No he doesn't."

"Excuse me, Hero, but I must respond with a resounding _duh_. He _so_ does."

"Did he say that?"

"As good as."

"When?"

She goes quiet.

"Yuffie." When she still doesn't answer, Zack takes a guess. "It was that night you went missing, wasn't it? Yuffie, that was _months_ ago. Things have changed since then. _You've_ changed."

"I have?" she says eagerly.

"Well …" Zack backtracks, thinking about her behaviour and her preoccupation with seeming more mature after that horrible night. While Yuffie has now fallen back into a lot of her old ways, she now has a harshness to her that could be mistaken for maturity if you squint. Her relationship with Lea also seemed like a wild stab at being grown up when it first started – what better way to prove you aren't a little kid anymore than by sleeping with an older guy with a shady reputation? Yuffie wouldn't be the first girl to think that way, nor the last. It took a while for even Zack to accept their relationship as more than a kneejerk reaction to something else.

"Yo, Hero. Focus." Yuffie clicks her fingers in front of his face.

"Sorry. You're definitely not a little kid anymore."

That seems to satisfy her. She takes a vigorous bite of bread, spraying crumbs everywhere. She has poppy seeds all over the rim of her hood by the time they finally reach Lea. He watches their approach, shivering and with arms wrapped around himself, but smiling.

"I don't know which I'm happier to see, you or breakfast. Hi, Zack," he adds almost as an afterthought. "Aw, you shouldn't have," he says when Yuffie gives him Cloud's spare coat. It's too wide across the shoulders and too short to go much further than mid-torso on Lea, but he zips it up and sighs in abject happiness. "I'm a fucking liar. You _should_ have. Thanks, babe."

She tries to kick him in the chin, but he avoids her foot. "Don't call me babe."

"Sure thing, baby."

"Can't you think of a better nickname than that?"

"You made me stop calling you Jailbait on pain of death."

"That still stands. A very painful and deadly death, with lots of sharp things and lemon juice."

"Ouch. Vindictive little bitch."

"You don't even know the meaning of the word." With that, she wraps Aerith's scarf around his neck.

Lea holds up the end to inspect the upside-down snowman, the tassels, the bobble and the … "Is this glitter?"

"Yup."

"You shouldn't have. And I mean it this time."

Lea accepts the breakfast bap from Zack and reels off a report that matches Leon's in everything except tone. While Leon sounded frustrated at the lack of activity, and thus the lack of answers, Lea just sounds bored.

He insists on kissing Yuffie before she leaves Zack feels uncomfortable at the possessive curl of his hand on her hip. They're clearly in love, and he'd never judge them considering how he hates his own relationship being judged, but the intimacy of the gesture is something private. Zack turns his face to the surrounding buildings, and turns his mind to other things. He also tries to turn his nose away from the smell of the sewerage works, but that fails miserably.

"Man, Lea. What made you so clingy this morning?" Yuffie giggles.

"Maybe I missed you."

"Don't kid a kidder. Are you okay?"

"No, I'm freezing my ass off in all this fucking snow. I could use some warming up – ow! The hell was that for?"

"You were squashing my baps."

Lea erupts into snorts. "Fuck it all, I love you."

"And so you should. I'm very loveable. But you really were squashing them. See? All the filling came out the sides. I'd have saggy baps if I hadn't stopped you, and there's nothing worse than saggy, unfilled baps."

"C'mere.

There follows the distinctive sound of kissing, which Zack resolutely Does Not Listen To. Except that it goes on so long his feet start to go numb. He has to call over his shoulder, "Have you two finished melting the snow yet? I'm cold and I want to go home."

"Sure thing, Hero. Hey - _hey_! Lea, you idiot, put me down!"

Zack looks back to see Lea hoist Yuffie into a crushing hug, her feet off the ground, his chakram and her bag of baked goodies at his feet. The bag topples over, spilling bread and pastries into the snow. Yuffie kicks against him.

"Leggo, my cinnamon buns are getting soggy!" When he doesn't, and doesn't even react to the word 'buns', her struggles cease. "Lea?"

"Just taking a minute."

"Uh, okay. Ohhhhkay. Okaaaay. Okay. Okey dokey. Okily dokily. Seriously, you can put me down now. Getting really creepy, Lea. Creepier and cree- ah, there you go." He finally sets her down. She frowns up at him. "You're acting really weird."

"Just had time to think about a few things, out here in the cold all night with nothing to do but cuss out whoever invented Winter." In a sly sort of tone, Lea adds, "I'm pretty sure Leonfart's the same."

Yuffie's frown deepens. She shakes it off. Zack can almost see her pushing the thoughts away. She scrabbles together her bag and its contents with extra exuberance. "Weirdo." She punches Lea in the chest with no real force.

On the way back to the apartment Zack can't help but compare his own relationship to Yuffie's. He wonders whether Lea's in it for the long haul. His thoughts inevitably stray back to Leon and his equally strange behaviour. All they need now is for Tifa's feelings for Cloud to erupt again, and Pacha to declare his undying love for Kairi, and they'll have a full complement of emotional riptides.

_At least_ _all this time to focus on relationships means there isn't any bigger crisis for us to deal with. That's something. Aerith does always say it's good to just stop and smell the roses sometimes._

Which is why, when they get back, without warning or preamble he dumps his bag on the kitchen table and proceeds to kiss the breath out of both Aerith and Cloud.

"What was _that_ for?" Cloud asks.

"Can't it just be because I missed you?"

"You were gone an hour."

"I was being affectionate."

"Affectionate is a peck on the cheek. That wasn't just affectionate."

"Not that we're complaining," Aerith puts in, elbowing Cloud in the ribs.

"I wasn't complaining! I was just puzzled."

Zack isn't offended. He shrugs. "If yesterday taught me anything, it's that I want to make the most of any crisis-free time we get for as long as it lasts."

Cloud thinks about this for a moment. "Good plan."

"Very good," Aerith adds, hooking her arms through both of theirs and pulling them in close.

"Uh, hel-lo? Still very much in the roo-oom," Yuffie chirrups. She rolls her eyes when they don't break apart. "Twitterpated."

"Look who's talking," says Zack.

"I'm gonna go find Penny and Small Fry. If you 'make the most of your time' some more, just remember that we share a wall, okay?"

"Not everything is about sex, Yuffie," Aerith replies.

"Who said anything about sex? Honestly, Ponytail, I never knew you had such a feeeelthy leeetle miiind." Yuffie smirks and escapes to her room.

* * *

The snow doesn't let up. Not only doesn't it let up, it gets worse. By lunchtime the air is white and the street virtually invisible.

"You need something to distract you," Yuffie declares of Penelo's dejected expression. "C'mon, I know the perfect thing."

"You're actually suggesting we go outside?" Penelo says incredulously when Yuffie rams a bobble hat from the pannier on her head. "The whole reason I'm bummed is because I can't go out there."

"Nobody said you couldn't go outside, they just said it'd be a bad idea for you to try navigating your way back to Mosey City. You're so eager to get away from me, Penny." Yuffie gives a melodramatic sniff and pretends to wipe away a tear. "I'm hurt. A girl could get a complex from that kind of rejection. But you can totally make it up to me by getting your fortune told."

"Excuse me?"

"Fortune. Told. You. Now."

"No. Way. Hokum. Bunch of."

"Tied up. Carried over shoulder. You. Don't make me."

Eventually Yuffie manages to drag her out into the winter wonderland on her own two feet. The cold slap of air soon has both of them hating the cute nickname. There's nothing wonderful about numb fingers and slipping on your butt in the middle of the street, though it does give Penelo something to smile about when she stays upright and Yuffie, the premier ninja, falls over and can't right herself.

"I was just doing that to make you feel better," she says, clinging to a lamppost.

"Sure you were."

What _is_ wonderful is the warmth of Cait Sith's tent. Yuffie introduced them yesterday during her tour of Traverse Town, but it's still a jolt for Penelo to have her hand shaken by a small anthropomorphic cat in a paper crown. She wonders whether she should crouch down or stay standing. The point becomes moot when Yuffie grabs him and puts him on her shoulders like a giant stuffed toy.

"Penny needs cheering up. Can you give her a good fortune about this guy she fell for?"

"You know the rules, lassie – I dinna make the fortunes, only tell 'em," Cait laughs.

"Well can you tell a good one?"

"Put me doon an' I'll have a go. What's this fellah's name?"

"Quasimodo."

Penelo chokes. "Yuffie!"

"What? _What_?"

* * *

Cait watches the two girls go with a warm smile. Not warm enough to keep the tent flap open long, though. He draws it shut and shivers, even though this weather isn't as harsh as Midwinter in the Highlands when he served in King Reeve's court. Now _that_ was cold. Polar bears asked for hot water bottles when faced with a proper Highland blizzard.

At least the snow has stopped falling. Yuffie and Penelo's footprints lead away in a wiggly line. As Cait returns to tidy away his tarot cards and smirk at the suppressed interest Yuffie's little friend showed in her fortune. Maybe he'll get himself invited over for tea again one of these days. Aerith wouldn't turn him away, and he fancies a spot of company after eating so many meals alone.

Of course, getting himself invited over would mean having something to tell them about Kairi's nightmares – not because they wouldn't let him in otherwise, but because his own conscience would demand he bring them something in exchange. Cait isn't proud of it, but he gave up scrying after the first few tries and just told them he couldn't see anything. Too many splitting headaches make him reluctant to exercise his underused skills, but his crystal ball glares accusingly when he thinks about Aerith's baking and pleasant dinner conversation that always fills that cosy apartment.

He sighs. He couldn't, in good conscience, sit across from Kairi and know he could have done something to allay her night-terrors but didn't bother. He pulls himself into his seat and props his chin on one fist.

"Feckin' thing."

A crystal ball is, when all is said and done, just a ball of glass – but this one is a _defiant_ ball of glass.

"I never used you before because you'll likely gimme the biggest headache o' them all."

_So?_ it seems to say. _Wouldn't it be worth it for some of Aerith's rumbledethumps and stovies?_

Cait has missed the food of his own world so much since plopping unceremoniously into this one. When he describes what he used to eat there, people look at him like he's cracked, and he has never been much of a cook. He once confessed this to Aerith. She encouraged him to tell her about a few of the simpler dishes. Despite living at court, where sophisticated cuisine reigned the dining table, Cait has always had a soft spot for simple things his mother used to make. Aerith took the recipe for rumbledethumps and ran with it. Not even King Reeve's own chef could compare with what she produced out of Cait's vague description. His stomach growls at the thought.

"Dang blast it. I ken I'll regret this when my head's a lump o' hurt."

Scrying sounds less difficult than it is. It's mainly a question of focusing your mind on what you want to see, and focussing your concentration in a curious balance of inner and outer. Inward focus means calling on your sense of self, pulling it up and sending part of it somewhere else, while anchoring the rest to your body. Those who can't keep anchored become wandering souls, cut off from their bodies and cursed to roam the spirit paths forever. Outward focus means locating a place to send your inner-eye, using a thought, an image or a memory of what you want for direction.

Cait dislikes scrying. Receiving visions is so much easier than going looking for them. He gets a headache either way. At least with tarot the worst you risk is a paper cut.

He stares deep into the crystal ball, feeling himself sink and float at the same time. His mind starts to distribute itself, refracting off the tiny contours of a billion crushed grains of sand packed so tightly together they look transparent. He feels his anchor point take hold and locks down on it, simultaneously sending out his inner-eye and, for want of a better phrase, having a cosmic rummage for what he wants.

Heartless. That's what Kairi's dreams contain. Heartless. The darkness. Dark things. Squiggly little buggers. Blue-black, matte on shine on matte on shine, right from their jelly-like skin to their greedy, grasping, unrelentingly cold cores. Cait summons all his memories of them. He settles on an image of one standing on King Reeve's lap, its hands in his chest like a child sorting through a Yule stocking. It turned to look when Cait shouted. Bright yellow eyes met his for an instant, and Cait felt its cold suffuse him with just that contact. The creature had no remorse, no shame, just an aching greed that could never be satisfied.

_Heartless._

_King Reeve._

_Traverse Town._

_Kairi._

The connections fire in Cait's brain, leading him from one thought to another.

_Heartless._

_King Reeve._

_Traverse Town._

_Kairi._

His anchor wraps around the memory of landing here and marvelling at not only still being alive, but finding people so kind and good on the other side of evil. Not the opposite side, as in a war, just the other side, like a wall. A barrier. A shield.

_A gummi shield. _

_With a hole in it. _

_Heartless._

_King Reeve._

_Traverse Town. _

_Kairi._

_Gummi shield. _

_Heartless._

_King Reeve._

_Traverse Town. _

_Kairi._

_Gummi shield. _

_Heartless._

_King Reeve._

_Traverse Town. _

_Kairi._

_Gummi shield. _

_With a hole._

_A hole in the shield._

_A hole._

_A gap._

_A …_

_Heartless._

_Heartless …_

_**Heartless!**_

Yellow whirlpools puncture the velvet shadow around Cait's inner-eye. Some other world, perhaps, or the space between here and there. They're drawn by his thoughts and the things his memories reveal. Their outlines flicker, not blue-black, but red and pulsing, as if the universe is bleeding.

At once he realises he isn't just seeing Heartless from the outside. His scrying has let him see their inner selves as clearly as they see his inner-self floating on the astral plane.

They're empty.

They're nothing more than silhouettes composed of a void like a moat halfway up a beach, the kind that, no matter how much water is dumped into it, it'll always drain away and the moat will always be ready for more. All they flicker with is hunger and a desire for the hot points deep in living chests of lovehatefearangerjoypain_heartsheartshearts_!

Cait yowls as the crystal ball erupts. Writhing creatures spill out like cockroaches from an open container of rotten meat. They fall to the table and then the floor. Dozens of tiny bodies thrash and scramble, caught in each other's limbs. He yowls again as more geyser out of the crystal ball. They swarm over him faster than he can even _think_ to get away.

He fights, toppling from his seat and crawling on all fours like any dumb cat, but his is the only heart there. The question isn't whether or not they'll take it, but who will win the fight to rip it out of him. He summons what little magic he has, but he has never been a fighter and doesn't have any offensive spells.

"No!" he shrieks. "No! **No**!"

The Heartless have broken through, into this world, and he let them in. It's his fault. He'd feel worse about it, if he weren't so terrified he can barely think at all. He sees the tent flap open, and a brief flash of the white world outside, as his chest flares hot and then cold. Then everything goes black and he falls into nothingness.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_She looks like something that wandered out of Icicle Village."_

-- Icicle was originally a small village in FFVII – coincidentally where Aerith was born while her mother and father were on the run from Shinra.

_Wouldn't it be worth it for some of Aerith's rumbledethumps and stovies? _

-- Traditional Scottish Rumbledethumps consist of cabbage, cheese and potato. The dish is sometimes referred to as the Scottish version of bubble and squeak. Stovies, on the other hand, are potato and meat stewpots made from left over Sunday roast. When I visited Scotland a few years ago you'd find stovies served in pubs during darts matches, or before and after the rugby or football. It's made more in winter to warm you up, and (at least in Rumbling Bridge where I went) there was usually at least a bucket of salt in the recipe. Why? So whoever ordered it would drink more at the bar, of course.

-


	73. Let Battle Commence

**.**

**

* * *

**

**72. Let Battle Commence**

* * *

Yuffie and Penelo aren't far away when they hear Cait screech. They've stopped to have a half-hearted snowball fight, based mainly on Yuffie's jibes of Penelo and Quasimodo sitting in trees and pushing baby carriages. They both freeze more than the snow at the sound.

"That's Cait!" Yuffie is off like a shot, running back the way they came.

Penelo isn't far behind. Yuffie wonders what a trainee dressmaker can possibly do if something _is_ attacking Cait. The terrified noise suggests that's what's going down. Perhaps Penelo knows first aid? That would be useful against leopard claw slashes, or whatever other wildlife wandered into town for a snackeroo.

The tent looks just as they left it, but as they approach the sides billow in and out like it's full of people. Yuffie fumbles for the edge of the flap. Frustrated, yanks it aside so roughly it tears halfway across its seam. She barely registers the damage.

"Oh my …"

It's not people or wildlife. It's not even life, though the swarming black bodies _are_ wild, especially at the sight of her framed in the doorway. They tumble toward her, climbing over each other in their haste. She catches sight of a tiny body evaporating in the middle of them. A familiar crown falling to the floor knocks her out of her stupor.

"Heartless!" Yuffie yells, immediately reaching for the giant shuriken on her back. She never found a name she liked enough, though she did procure a harness. The _ch-clunk_ of the small but powerful magnet between her shoulder-blades reverberates through her ribcage, a reassuring reminder she's holding a large chunk of deadly metal – and knows how to use it. She faces off against the Heartless like she hasn't had a massive chunk of downtime from their company.

_Just try it. I've been waiting for another crack at you._

Ooh, very macho. Very _'grr'_. Very _'who am I kidding?'_ She's scared; but she's also really good at ignoring it.

Not so Penelo, who has never seen a real Heartless before. She stiffens beside Yuffie, and Yuffie knows it's from a combination of surprise and fear. Heartless bring out the kind of dizzying fear that comes when you peer into the void and the void not only stares back, but beckons you in. Yuffie knows because she felt it too, at the beginning. She'd still feel it if she wasn't so busy telling herself she's awesome.

_Shit. Having a civilian in the line of fire: __**so**__ not a good idea!_

Yuffie moves in front and considers the advantages of punting her foot backwards to tell Penelo that moving? Would be a Good Idea, and running would be an Even Better One.

"Get going, Penny. Scram. Vamoose. Beat it!"

"But -"

No time for more chit-chat. Yuffie hurls herself forward into the tent. She uses her shuriken like a scythe, cutting through the first line of Heartless. They don't try to fight back. They even seem surprised to be attacked first. She presses her advantage, hacking and slicing, landing kicks and reaching for kunai to throw. She realises they're on her belt – _inside_ her jacket. She doesn't even have time to groan.

"Yuffie!" There's panic in Penelo's voice.

"Go!" Yuffie snaps. "Get help. Fetch the others. They're coming too fast – some back-up would be peachy keen right now."

Where are all the Heartless _coming_ from? They're multiplying so fast, filling the tent and scrabbling at the walls. Forget people moving around, from outside it must look like a balloon bulging with maggots.

"Penny, _go_!"

"But you can't –"

"For crap's sake, getout of here or they'll kill you!"

That does the trick. Penelo turns and bolts. Yuffie allows herself a quick glance and then turns back to the seething mass. Containment is the first order of business – if she can keep them all in the tent before the others get here, they'll be easier to take care of than if they're spread all over the neighbourhood like toilet paper on Halloween.

_What the –_

Something new rises up. It looks like a giant beach ball, trailing three thin fronds that taper from deep purple to the limp pink of severed limbs. It flexes these as a cat might flick its tail, but doesn't use them to pull itself along. Instead, it floats. It nudges the roof pf the tent, trying to lift it like a kid playing ghosts with a sheet and a pair of scissors. When it finds resistance it opens a mouth that's all teeth, like a steel trap, and releases a wail that chills Yuffie to the bone.

_Dad _…

Her mind flashes back to the night she lost her clan. For a second she honestly doesn't know where she is. She remembers that noise. She remembers this creature, or something like it floating away from the devastated encampment. She thought it was her imagination, that there were only the little graspy ones, but now …

"Yuffie, duck!"

The shout bullwhips through her. Yuffie ducks as a wooden pole whistles over her head. The arc takes out three Heartless that were about to pounce on her. They explode into dust that sprays her back and hair.

Yuffie takes the opportunity to rip open her jacket and grab a handful of throwing stars. These produce several satisfying explosions, but it's not enough – not _nearly_ enough. Heartless surge towards her, an unstoppable wave. Containment is no longer the issue. Now it's a case of Get the Hell Out of The Damn Tent or Die You Idiot.

Yuffie doesn't want to die, and despite what others may think, she's not an idiot. She gets the hell out of the damn tent.

Penelo covers her retreat, still whirling the broken tent pole. She whips it around like a bo-staff, slicing through Heartless necks and arms and stomachs. She's doing a pretty good job of killing them, considering she laid her eyes on her first one only a few minutes ago. She catches Yuffie's gawp and shoots her a strained but fierce smile that is in no way happy.

"You thought the Thief King was going to let somebody totally helpless into his court?"

Yuffie replies by backing up and firing off another round of throwing stars. "They got Cait." _Don't' think about that now. Just get on with beating the things back, then you'll have time to take stock and feel sorry and grieve if you have to._

If you have to? She couldn't even fool herself on that score: she hadn't seen the moment they took his heart, but she'd seen him disappear afterwards.

The tent lifts, straining its guy ropes and stakes. It really does look like a kid in a sheet who forgot the scissors, which makes Yuffie want to laugh. What's with that? The middle of a freaking battle and she wants to _laugh_?

_Ah, well, still better than bawling or going to pieces like a wimp. C'mon, Yuffie – up and at 'em!_

The Heartless pouring out of the flap make no noise, not even crunching the snow. They seem to flow over the top, leaving only wispy marks to show where they've been. In comparison Yuffie and Penelo leave great galumphing footprints in their wake. Yuffie takes up another ready position and tries to get in front of Penelo again, to shield her, but Penelo stays firmly at her side.

"Don't be stupid," Yuffie says. "We need help."

"_You_ need help."

"There are some who'd say they've been telling me that for years. Whoa – incoming!"

They are both forced backwards, quickly gong from offensive to defensive under the onslaught. Heartless split off from the main pack and leap towards the houses on either side.

_No, no, no!_ Yuffie flings her shuriken, destroying them before they can get too far. _Just focus on us, you bastard things. You're only getting your mitts on us today!_

Except that this is _wrong_. Penelo shouldn't be here fighting like this. She's just a dressmaker – admittedly a dressmaker who has some wicked mad skills with a bo, but still, she's not a ninja, or a hero, or a Captain of the Royal Guard, or a student of Master Zangan, or a Turk. She's just a girl from Mosey City who couldn't hack it as a thief and took up needlepoint instead. She's a _dancer_ for pity's sake. Her refusal to leave Yuffie is going to get her _killed_, and that's something Yuffie can't allow.

Penelo's face is tight with fear she can't quite hide. Her movements are jerky, betraying how long it has been since she picked up a bo. She may have learned how to fight in the Court of Miracles, but her skills are rusty, which is almost worse than if she had none at all. Unskilled, she could just run away, but Yuffie knows she won't. She can see it in the determined set of her jaw and the reckless way she just keeps swinging, stumbling, and swinging again.

"This snow's a bitch," Yuffie says jovially, as if she hasn't just lamped a couple of heart-stealing shadow monsters. "Snow is for snow-angels and snowball fights, and sometimes catching snowflakes on your tongue, but _so_ not for fighting in."

Penelo says nothing. Her cheeks puff out with exertion.

People appear in their windows. Most duck back when they see the Heartless. Yuffie can hear doors opening and closing. Thanks to Leon, his militaristic attitude and the amount of respect he commands, everyone in Traverse Town is drilled in what to do in a Heartless attack – i.e. get as far away as possible and let the real warriors take care of it. Leon spent hours trekking from house to house, quizzing people to ensure that nobody ever dies on his watch again.

Yuffie thinks of Cait. _Yeah, great job there, Leonfart._ But her dig is half-hearted. Nobody could have predicted an attack, and it feels wrong to blame Leon for what has happened. She doesn't even get any spiteful satisfaction from it this time.

Everyone is headed for the centre of town. They don't flee blindly, instead running like this is just another drill. Yuffie knows she should be pleased nobody is going to be trampled to death this time, but she can't help wanting to fling a few kunai into their backsides to make them move faster.

"Get." Throw a kunai. "The." Whirl of her giant shuriken. "Lead." Bicycle kick. "Out." Catch the shuriken again. "You morons!"

This is like being back in Hollow Bastion, chased through the street with baby Kairi sobbing and Anemone dying and Aerith falling over her own feet trying to save both mother and child without taking her eyes off Yuffie as she battles Heartless behind them. Except this time there may not be a Cloud-shaped _deus ex machina_ to ride in on a chocobo, or a Tifa-shaped one to come out of the tavern swinging a … pole.

Heh.

Okay, so it's a tent pole, not a window opener, but the effect is the same. If she doesn't count the blonde hair and lack of boobs, Yuffie could almost imagine this _is_ Hollow Bastion and it _is_ Tifa beside her, kicking asses and not bothering with names.

Then there's a noise like a distant explosion, and it becomes very apparent this is a whole different situation.

The floating beach-ball creature is suddenly behind them. It appears out of nowhere, like it teleported, and glares down at Penelo as the weaker of the two fighters.

"Penny!"

It swoops. Penelo turns, a fraction too slow. Yuffie hurls herself at the creature with shuriken in one hand, a sai in the other, ready to meet it head-on and to hell with the regular Heartless coming at them from all other sides.

"_You're so uncontrolled, Yuffie. You're too reckless in battle,"_ she remembers Leon saying in one of their many conversations when things were still good between them. He didn't mean it as an insult back then. Hard is it is to believe these days, he was actually trying to help her in his awkward, soldierly way. She thought it cute at the time, especially when he pursed his lips and muttered,_ "You have to be more circumspect or it'll get you killed."_

"_Aw, would you miss me, Squall?"_

"_It's Leon, and you shouldn't ask such stupid questions. Just concentrate on not taking inattentive risks the enemy can exploit."_

"_Your soul has no poetry in it, Squall, and did you have a sense-of-humour-ectomy, or were you just deprived of jokes as a child and never developed one in the first place?"_

"_Yuffie."_

"_What?"_

"_Just watch your back and stay alive."_

At the time she didn't know the meaning of circumspect (careful; cautious; to do something in a well-considered way that takes account of consequences of one's actions – take _that_ dictionary!) but his words come back to her now, as her feet leave the ground and she realises she has stupidly left her back exposed.

The ball-creature impales itself on one of her shuriken's long spikes, proving it doesn't have many brains. It doesn't have any breath, either, which is bizarre. She is so close to its mouth she can see the saliva running down its teeth, but she can't feel the expected hot blast. Then the whole thing bursts, blowing her backwards in a shower of wet globules and dust – straight into the oncoming Heartless. Yuffie twists in mid-air, looking for a piece of bare ground she can use to vault out, but they're everywhere and she's too fast in her descent to avoid them –

Something hard catches her around her middle. She immediately rockets in the other direction. She hits the ground in a rush of stars and a banged right hip. She turns it into a fabulously elegant roll and comes up with weapons bared.

And pauses.

"Leon?"

He's grimmer than grim, but he's here, and he just saved her from a fate worse than … actually, he just saved her from a fate of death. _The_ fate of death. He must have crashed into her with the same reckless abandon he always told her was ridiculous in the middle of battle.

It worked though. Despite everything, that brings a victorious smile to her lips. "Howdy, cap'n."

Leon grunts, "Are you all right?"

"Peachy."

Penelo screams.

"But she's not." Yuffie is back in the fray in an instant, stabbing the Heartless on Penelo's back and yanking on her arm to pull her away. Leon matches her and uses his gunblade to cut down Heartless like tearing through tissue paper.

They form a hard line of defence, she and Leon as key players with Penelo backing them up. She seems content to let Leon take her place at Yuffie's side now he's here, but still refuses to leave.

"Don't be so selfish," Leon snaps. "This needs more than just three of us. Fetch the others. Get Zack and Cloud, then go to Cid's and get –" His words are cut off as another beach-ball creature literally appears out of the thin, icy air, closely followed by another. "Damn it!"

"Penny, much as I appreciate your loyalty, and much as I hate agreeing with Leon, he's right," Yuffie says.

Penelo hesitates only a moment longer, before tucking her pole into a better grip, pelting the other way up the street and using it to vault over the escaping people. "I'll be back soon!"

"I hope not," Yuffie mutters.

Leon looks at her strangely.

"She's good, but not good enough." Weird, finally having a conversation _now_, in between hacking and slashing and killing the not-dead-but-not-alive things. "I don't want her to get hurt. They got Cait, Leon. He's gone."

Leon doesn't hesitate for a second, but he does nod forbiddingly. He takes a flying leap and cleaves one of the ball-creatures in two like it, personally, stole Cait's heart. Yuffie covers his charge, clearing a path for him to land and pressing their advantage with a series of quick thrusts, stabs, punches and kicks.

She is fighting to defend Traverse Town, but somewhere inside she is also fighting for her clan, her father, the dark days that followed and everything the Heartless have ever taken from her and those she cares about – Cait, Kairi's mother, their home, Radiant Garden's identity, Hollow Bastion's history, countless worlds, Rinoa …

Yes, even Rinoa, the dead girl who beat her out for Leon's heart before she was even born. Who cares anymore if Leon doesn't love Yuffie back? She can still fight by his side. She can still care enough about him to hold out her weapon and slot into the deadly dance of combat. It feels _good_ to do this, too, even knowing what she knows and feeling what she feels – for him and for Lea. In the middle of this battle, against this enemy, her bitterness melts away, leaving her with a sense of peace despite the fact she shouldn't, actually, feel at all peaceful right now.

Not peace, then, but … acceptance.

Heh. Epiphany while killing things. Very ninja.

Yuffie thinks, unexpectedly, that maybe her father would finally be proud of her now – upholding her honour, avenging him and her family and friends, using her hard-won skills for something important. Not just trying to be kick-ass, but meaningful the way he never thought her capable of when he made his decision to stop her training. She can picture his face, one of his short gruff nods, approving in a disapproving way: _"You have no clan, you don't follow the traditional ninja code, you go out on no missions. But you have honour, and you are still Wutai blood. You're a disappointment, and I'm proud of you for it."_

It's hard to think it's all in her imagination. The image is so _real_, right down to the dirt under his fingernails and the scratchy, slightly methane smell of his rare and brief embrace.

"Yuffie, incoming!"

She trades blows with a particularly avaricious Heartless, thumping it in the head with a fisted sai because her shuriken is busy making mincemeat of its buddies.

"_You call that a punch?"_ Imaginary-Godo demands. _"I take it back. You'll never be a ninja."_

Yuffie grins. "Thanks, Dad, for that backhanded compliment from beyond the grave."

She suddenly feels very grown up in a way she never has before.

Her shuriken glitters as it flies through the air. Yuffie realises she has at last thought of a good enough name. Fitting that it should happen in battle. She catches and flings it out again, revelling in the adrenaline she couldn't allow herself to enjoy with Penelo around and in danger. She doesn't have to worry about Leon that way. Leon can take care of himself. He's actually pretty good at it, so long as it's in battle.

"Say hello to Glory of Wutai, you bastards! Yaaaaah!"

* * *

Aerith's head jerks up when the door crashes open. It jerks up so quickly, in fact, that she completely forgets she left the upper drawer in the filing cabinet open while she delved into the bottom one. It takes a minute for her to unsqueeze her eyes and stop biting her bottom lip against the pain enough to focus on who just came in. She keeps a hand pressed to the top of her poor, aching head.

It's the boy with the big mouth, what's his name … Brad something-or-other. Boastful, she remembers. Refers to himself in the third person when he's feeling especially arrogant. Current heartthrob of the Ashleys plus any other teenage girl within a four mile radius, and loving every second of it.

Except this one, it seems. This second is made for wide, terrified eyes and a trembling finger, which he points out the door behind him.

"H-Heartless…" he stammers.

The effect on Aerith is electric. "Where?"

"Outside. The people … they're not running, they're just _walking_ away from … oh God, we're all gonna die. We're all gonna die just like Long and his pep squad and all those other guys, and we're gonna die nasty, I mean really, really badly, all hurting and screaming and Idon'twannadiepleaseyougottahelpmehidemedosomethingpleeeeeeeeease!"

"You're not going to die," Aerith says briskly, knowing she should be more sympathetic but faintly irritated by his panic. His reaction is perfectly understandable – people can be drilled and drilled, but fear in a crisis is unpredictable at best – but Brad seems to exude a special aura that makes people constantly irritated by him, no matter the otherwise infinite limits of their patience. "Follow the others. Do like you've been taught."

"B-but," Brad protests, "you're one of them. You're part of the defence force, or whatever it's called, right? You can protect me, extra special, more than anyone else – personal bodyguard service, yeah. Is it money? Is that what you want? I can pay you … somehow."

"I'm not a fighter," Aerith replies, coming out from behind the front desk and hustling him out of the door. "You're better off just doing what you've been taught and not panicking. Keep your head and you'll be fine."

Would that she could believe her own words.

They always knew the Heartless could return at any moment, but somehow their long absence made everyone complacent. Leon has kept them drilled, always conscious they need to be prepared, and Kairi's dreams and Cait Sith's visions provided spikes of worry, but for the most part the Heartless have faded to a latent threat, like being hit by freakishly large hailstones, or falling down an abandoned mineshaft in the middle of your sitting room you never knew was there until the floorboards went rotten and you fell in. The odds were always in their favour.

Thank goodness for Leon's forethought and safeguards. No wonder he was promoted to Captain of a special unit at twenty, when most other soldiers were still doing grunt work and peeling potatoes for sneaking out late to be with their girlfriends, getting drunk on Fridays nights and cheeking their superior officers.

Brad turns puppy-dog eyes on Aerith, but she's used to dealing with Zack, whose puppy-dog eyes can whimper, roll over and fetch the morning paper.

"Go on," she says, motioning Brad to follow the other people streaming towards the designated collection points – not everybody in the same place in case the Heartless find them, to keep losses to a minimum. Sometimes Leon can't help being harsh to be helpful.

"Like, there's Brad. Braaad!" shrieks a voice.

The in Brad is instantaneous. He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and turns to the four girls rushing towards him. "Hey, babes. What's the haps?"

"Braddikins," Ashley A simpers. "When they evacuated the school and you, like, weren't there, we totally got all worried."

"You have no idea," Ashley Q chips in. "Half the student body was, like, looking for you to lead them to safety."

"The Bradster's always happy to help lovely ladies like yourselves." He winks and points a finger at them, thumb raised as if to press the invisible 'swoon now' button hovering above their heads.

Aerith resists the urge to roll her eyes. She wonders what the four girls would say if they'd heard Brad a minute ago; a hairsbreadth from tears, trying to bribe her to abandon them and protect him alone. "Come on now, all of you should be with the other kids going to your designated collection points." Calm voice. Don't panic anyone. So it's the Heartless – so what? So it's the kind of mind-numbing terror given physical form that's been plaguing practically the entire town's nightmares for years. No biggie. Just act natural.

Ashley A shoots Aerith a look of pure disgust. Bottle it and you could use it to corrode metal. Clearly, she still hasn't forgiven her for her differences with Madame Medusa, though the woman is long gone from Traverse Town and hasn't made contact with any of her 'apprentices' since.

"C'mon, Brad." Ashley T tugs at his arm. "You can, like, totally protect us, like you protected that Jake Long kid from the Dark Dragon."

"Or like when you defeated the Huntsman in single-combat."

"Or like how you told us you totally wiped the floor with your headmaster when he became a Heartless in front of your class."

"Gosh, could you imagine Miss Finster becoming a Heartless during morning assembly?"

"How would you tell the difference?"

_Here it comes…_

"Scandalous!"

Aerith shakes her head. Put them in the middle of a life-or-death situation and those girls still have time to ridicule other people. Brad doesn't resist when they drag him away, though he does shoot Aerith a resentful look. So much for the fearless hero of all those tall tales.

People are being calm on the whole, but alarm gnaws at Aerith. Her thoughts waver between deep-seated panic at the thought of Heartless, the destroyers of so many worlds, here in Traverse Town, and concern for her loved ones. Where are they right now? Are they safe?

Miss Finster will make sure Kairi gets safely away from any fighting. Despite their differences, Aerith trusts the woman to defend every child in her care until her last breath. Muriel Finster is a cranky old battleaxe, but she is also devoted to her students in ways they'll never understand until they're old enough to have kids of their own.

Aerith is about to turn back to call for Dr. Sweet and spots Cloud running towards the surgery. Her heart eases to see him safe.

"Heartless," he pants, breath like smoke in the frosty air. "People say Yuffie and Leon are fighting them on the other side of town. It doesn't look like they're anywhere else, but are you –"

"I'm fine."

"Aerith –"

"Go to them." She squeezes his hand. "Hurry."

Cloud looks caught between staying here with her and the knowledge he can't. She pushes his arm, forcing him to take a step backwards, but isn't surprised when he comes forward again and presses an earnest kiss to her lips. It says everything he can't.

"Dr. Sweet!" she calls, forcing herself not to dwell on what Cloud is running towards, or where her other loved ones are. "We've got to evacuate the building!"

* * *

Zack marshals everyone along, simply by virtue of the fact he happened to be in the right place at the wrong time. He wants to be fighting the Heartless, but by the time people from the fringes of town enter the central square they're starting to fall prey to their fears. People are getting jittery. There's an increased potential for panic. Seeing Zack buoys them, and he is obligated to stay when all he really wants is to cross the town and put the Buster Sword to better use.

"_Sometimes being a hero is more than just fighting_," Angeal says through the years. Not for the first time Zack understands what he meant. That doesn't mean he has to like it.

He sees Kairi. She's anxious and pale, but it's as though confirmation of her worst fears has robbed her of her tears. She walks calmly, and says reassuring things to the other school-kids. Zack watches as she takes hold of Pacha's hand and leads him along.

_Even though if the Heartless get this far into town, she'll be the first thing they aim for_.

No. Stop it. He can't allow himself to think like that. The others will be fine; they won't let the Heartless break through their ranks. He has made damn sure each one can defend him or herself, and Leon's an expert in team dynamics. If he is already out there, coordinating their defences, they'll all be fine. They _will_. Never mind that the Heartless have consumed so many _worlds_ already, and they're just one itty bitty _town_…

_Thanks, brain. No, really, you're a big help._

Zack does, however, draw close enough to put his hand on Kairi's shoulder as she passes. She looks up, unsurprised to see him, or to see that he has the Buster Sword unsheathed.

"They're here. I can hear them." Rather than panicked, she just sounds very sad that she felt this coming, as though she was praying to be proved wrong. It's heartbreaking to hear a six-year-old voice with such an adult tone.

"Don't worry," Zack assures her. "We'll take care of it. You just make sure you and the other kids are okay. Okay?" _Give her a task. Get her focussed on something other than the danger. Busy people aren't concentrating on their own fears._

Kairi continues to look wretched. Her face without even the hint of a smile is even worse than knowing this isn't just another drill – like the sun without the shine, or frost without glitter. She looks cold, and not just because she's wrapped up in so many layers her arms can't lay flat against her sides. Pacha peers around her. He's such a nervous boy; not at all like his mother. More like Kuzco, now Zack comes to think about it.

"Are we gonna get eaten by the Heartless?" Pacha asks.

"Of course not." Zack ruffles his hair.

"Really?"

"You see this face? Does this look like the face of someone who'd lie to you?"

Pacha looks at him seriously. "Yes, if you thought it'd make me feel better."

Well, scratch _that_ for a pep talk. "Not this time, kiddo. I'm one hundred percent truthful. You're gonna be fine. As long as I'm around, nothing's going to touch you, got it?" He glances at Kairi. "You know what to do, Kairi."

"All right."

"Atta girl."

His hands itch with inactivity until he hears the first screams. The Buster Sword's magic blazes green-gold in the back of his mind. His feet race across the square of their own accord. He fights through the panicking crowd holding the sword above his head so as not to cut them as they run past. They're picking up speed. Screams spread like a ripple.

_Shit. No. I promised they'd be okay. Kairi –_

"Run, you little hooligans," Miss Finster yells. "Don't look back, and help anyone who falls down. Yes, even you, Lawson. Nobody gets left behind or it's three hours of detention cleaning every chalkboard, window and toilet in the school for everyone, you hear me? And that's _before_ you lay on your back under the desks ad scrape off all the old chewing gum you reprobates have stashed there …"

Who knew there would come a day when he was grateful to that woman for being so aggressively competent?

The Heartless have broken through the air above the fountain, just as they did the last time they attacked the town, the night of José and Panchito's party. Leon's theory about this being a weak spot in the gummi shield seems to be correct, as dozens of dark bodies tumble out of the empty air, called to this world by those already fighting Leon and the others.

Zack briefly wonders whether there are more thin spots like this in other cities. Then there's no more time to think. His whole mind is occupied keeping himself and those around him alive.

* * *

Tifa's feet kick up so much snow her pants are soaked from the knees down. It doesn't stop her. She stomps on the shadowy head poking out of the ground. The Heartless isn't looking at her and pops satisfyingly under her heel. Craters of black-stained snow mark her path from Cid's shop.

The _'ching sh-ching'_ of metal heralds her arrival. It's worse than she thought. Heartless spew across the town square, some ducking under the ground, some shuffling the way they've shuffled through her memories since she saw them last – in this exact spot, swarming around Zack as the magic of his own sword almost killed him.

This time Zack looks a lot better off. Well, in a manner of speaking. He's in the middle, whirling like a dervish. The magic of the Buster Sword gives him an edge this time, makes him faster and stronger, but he's still hopelessly outnumbered. There are bodies dissolving on the floor and people running in all directions, their survival plans forgotten in that special gut-churning terror of the darkness and its monsters.

Tifa doesn't even hesitate. She hurls herself into the battle, calling on her chi manipulation and using it to devastating effect. Within seconds she has proved to herself that all her careful experiments with boulders, all her training with her friends, and all her trial-and-error exercises to test the limits of her powers have been worth it. The Heartless crumble before her like dried out biscuits under a hammer.

"Hey there, stranger." She lands next to Zack, leaps into a spinning kick, and then back-flips to stamp on a lurking snow-shadow. "Need a hand?"

She knows she should be apprehensive, but she's too exhilarated. She has to reassert her brain's control to remember she's not just here to prove what a good fighter she is. The pitiful bodies are evidence of that. One is a little girl in a pale blue dress from Kairi's class. Tifa tries and fails to remember her name, but can only come up with the nickname 'Corn Chip Girl'. Resolve steels inside Tifa at the sight of her little body fading away without its heart.

Zack shoots Tifa a little grin, strained but honest. It's a connection few other people can share; the excitement of battle even when you know everything is on the line. There are those who fight because they have to, those who enjoy fighting, and those who do it because they have to but find guilty enjoyment in it anyway. Tifa has never wanted to swing a sword, but she guesses it's like the satisfaction of hitting something until it breaks.

Zack's grin fades as the Heartless just keep coming. It quickly becomes apparent that even with their special skills, the two of them aren't enough. For every creature they destroy, another and its brother take its place. Worse, these aren't just the type of Heartless they're used to fighting.

A deafening roar cuts across the noise. The hole in reality above the fountain stretches, as hands hook into it from the other side and _pull_. It's the most surreal thing Tifa has ever seen, until the creature steps through and usurps the honour.

The thing is huge. It wields a stubby serrated sword, perching on top of the fountain to survey the scene like some warrior king watching its troops lay waste to an opposing army. Dagger-like horns knife up from its forehead, outmatched only by the curved blade on the bullwhip of its tail. Its gaze settles on Tifa and Zack. It narrows the unmistakable yellow eyes of a Heartless, then throws back its head and beats its chest with one fist, before spreading undersized wings and, impossibly, taking flight.

"What the –" Zack starts.

The creature hurls a handful of dark fire at them.

"– _fuck_?"

Tifa hits the dirt. Cobblestones and water that used to be snow explode where she was just standing.

Fresh screams go up from those of the crowd near enough to feel the blast. Real panic takes hold of them now. Tifa's stomach lurches, but not from slamming into the ground. She can predict what will happen if people lose control and forget what they're supposed to do. It will be just like last time, with Heartless stealing hearts and people killing people as they try to get away. They need to take care of this new threat, and fast, or there will be more deaths. It will be mayhem.

Well, more than already.

Tifa rocks back, rolling onto her shoulders, and flips to her feet. "Is that the best you've got?" she calls, mimicking Yuffie's recklessness to get the new creature to aim at her instead of anyone more vulnerable.

Luminous eyes follow her movements. She rockets across the square, away from the fountain, hoping Zack will be able to guess what she's up to. Running up a wall, she uses her own momentum to flip into a vertical arc and comes at the monster in mid-air, upside down, lashing out with a savage kick that wouldn't just break a man's neck, but separate his head from his shoulders.

The kick connects, spinning the creature's head sideways, but it doesn't separate or explode in a shower of dust. The monster doesn't even stop. Tifa tucks into a ball to increase the speed of her arc. The creature's horns, jerking like a bull intent on goring a matador, miss her by millimetres. She feels the vague scrape of one against her back. She lands on the side of the fountain, where she clings with one hand and both feet braced against the stone.

"Now, Zack!"

Zack spent years being the hero of Hollow Bastion, and several more becoming a 'hero' here as well. He has trained with Tifa, been taught by her, and taught her things. He read what she was up to as soon as she made her first move. While she distracted the creature, he got directly underneath it. Now he uses the magic of the Buster Sword to leap higher than humanly possible from a standing start. He rips it open from groin to throat and comes out the other side like an idea bursting out of its skull.

"Woo-hoo!" Tifa can't help but yell. Yuffie has definitely been a bad influence. "Yeah!"

She is still whooping as she takes out a bunch of smaller Heartless, which seem much less intimidating after their steroid-y cousin.

Except it's not the only one that has been taking steroids. It's a whole freaking steroid family gathering.

A second set of clawed hands prise open the tear. A second head with even bigger horns pokes through. Zack immediately leaps and lops it off, but a third creature shoulders it aside. It's through and reaching for him before he has chance to leap again. He swings the Buster Sword and chops off a hand, but the creatures barely flinches. Dark fire flies, ricocheting off the sword. Tifa begins to feel the strain when a fourth giant makes its appearance alongside dozens more regular Heartless.

They're getting past her. She redoubles her efforts. She punches and kicks and punts and head-butts, and even has bits in her mouth from where she bit one that tried to get her own heart by reaching down through her shoulder. It doesn't matter. They're still getting past her. Zack is fully occupied fighting the steroid cousins, so it's up to Tifa to protect everyone from the smaller-but-no-less-deadly Heartless.

But they're _still_ _getting past her_.

Out the corner of her eye, she sees a small crystal heart fly into the air and vanish. Another death. A mixture of despair and anger floods through her, like her stomach has sprung a leak and poured acid into the rest of her body.

"No!"

She thrusts her hands into the snow, shepherding her chi into her palms and fingers as she rips up a chunk of pavement. It shouldn't be possible, but Tifa turned her back on 'possible' a long time ago. She keeps going, cutting her hands and completely tearing off two fingernails down to their roots. The pain is bad, but not so bad she lets it distract her. She spreads her chi to the rest of her arms, her back and her legs for support, and hefts the lump of concrete to squash a large cluster of Heartless at once. She raises it and repeats the manoeuvre, forcing her chi where it's needed to use the pavement like a gigantic fly swatter. Crude, yes, but effective.

Zack yelps. A splash of blood hits the snow where one of the big creature's serrated blades grates against his shoulder. He shifts his grip and drives his own sword through its throat, ripping sideways to leave its head half hanging off. Bracing his feet against this one, he propels himself into and through the midriff of another, rupturing dark muscle and sinew that all vanishes like mist.

Tifa has seen Zack fight Heartless using the Buster Sword before, but it's still an awe-inspiring sight.

"Tifa, watch out!"

She turns at the voice and instinctively hurls the chunk of pavement at the Heartless sneaking up on her. When the dust settles, Tifa can see Aerith on the edge of the square, watching Zack with naked worry.

"Aerith, get out of here!" Tifa yells. Aerith can't fight and, frankly, they need as few distractions as possible right now. If only they could plug that hole above the fountain. That seems to be the only place they're coming through, but it's enough after the big creatures stretched it so wide.

Aerith's gaze is fixed on Zack. "He's hurt!"

And he is. One arm is definitely wrong, blood running down it and dripping off the elbow. Tifa knows she can't go to help him or the smaller Heartless will spread unchecked, but she has the urge to do it anyway. Aerith also looks ready to dash into the square, consequence and rampaging Heartless be damned.

Where the hell are the others? Why is it only the two of them and Aerith facing this gigantic threat?

"IGNITE!"

With uncanny timing, a disc of orange fire flies into the square and finishes decapitating the half-headless creature. It explodes and the disc continues in its wide arc, slicing through a line of Tifa's Heartless. Lea pelts into the square and hurls the other chakram with another shout, taking out more Heartless as he skids to a halt by her side.

"Good thing I was here to save your chunky butts." He grins wildly, cheeks pink under his tattoos from a combination of running and cold. "Good antidote to the fucking weather, too."

He doesn't cut much of a dashing figure in his snowman scarf and slightly-too-small coat, but at that moment he's the most welcome sight Tifa could wish for apart from Cloud, Leon, Yuffie and Reno all descending at once.

"Who are you calling chunky?" she demands, putting paid to more Heartless and pressing her back against his to form a strengthened defensive line – Heartless on one side, the rest of Traverse Town and, more importantly, its residents on the other. "I should punish you for that."

"A thank you would've sufficed. Reno's your man if you're into kinky stuff. I'm taken." Lea glances around. There is more in that simple gesture than if he abandoned her right then and there. "Where's Yuffie? Is Reno here?" His two most important people.

And she has no idea where they are or whether they're safe. She doesn't know whether anyone they care about is okay.

Aerith still lingers at the edge of the square, though she's the only one now. Everyone else has scattered, leaving the fountain and the immediate are surrounding it to them and the Heartless.

And the bodies. Can't forget the bodies. Some aren't vanishing, which means they aren't Heartless victims. Tifa swallows bile. All this time, all their preparation, and they're still repeating everything that went wrong last time.

She sets her feet and her fists. "They can take care of themselves. We have bigger problems."

Lea looks like he wants to argue, but at that moment another giant-sized super-Heartless appears. This is the biggest yet. Its sword and ankles flame with dark fire. It flicks its tail, slicing through the fountain. There's a moment when nothing happens, before the entire top slides sideways and shatters on the floor. Chunks of stone skitter away, churning the snow even further.

"Whoa …" There's sudden strain in Lea's voice. Tifa remembers he has only faced Heartless once before, and never seen a monster like this. To his credit, he doesn't go to pieces. "Somebody's been taking his vitamins."

"Intimidated?"

"Me? Yeah, right. I'm way better looking. And it'll look even worse after I'm done with it." He braces himself and launches both chakrams.

Tifa raises her fists and the battle begins afresh.

_

* * *

_

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	74. Firestorm

**.**

**

* * *

**

73. Firestorm

* * *

Cid drags Penelo along by her arm. "C'mon, girlie, pick up the pace."

"But –"

"Ain't no buts about it. Tifa said to move, so we're damn well gonna move."

"But I want to help!"

So does he. It damn near killed him to see Tifa run off and not follow. Cid is tougher than a reinforced titanium hull, but fear slid through him when Penelo burst in with the words they'd all been dreading

"The Heartless are here!"

It took every scrap of Cid's resolve not to bash Tifa over the head and carry her with them when she intended to fight the little fuckers. It would have been the only was to stop her going. His hands were still fists now.

He isn't stupid. Not by a long shot. Nevertheless, his emotional reactions confuse him sometimes. He has become so attached to those kids, but Tifa most of all. She's like … it would kill him to admit it. Even forming the words in his own head is a wrench. Cid never wanted family. He grew up without one and managed just fine. He never had the urge to reproduce, the way some guys panicked when they reached a certain age and realised their mark on the world was a giant ass indentation in their easy chair. But despite his protests, Tifa has become like his own daughter. He cares about her, despite her only appearing in his life as a busybody upstart who wouldn't take no for an answer, who stuck around despite his protests and the clear message she was as welcome as a fart in a welding suit.

Concentrating on Penelo is the best distraction he could ask for right now. It's not quite 'exchange one girl for another to satisfy his misplaced protective daddy issues', but at least this in one kid he _can_ keep out of rouble.

"I want to –" Penelo started to say again.

"We _can_ help," Cid grits, yanking Penelo so hard she nearly falls over, "by doing what we've been told to do and clearing the area of potential victims."

"But where do we go?" Penelo's eyes are huge. Of course, she's not from around here. She hasn't been through all the checks and learned all the plans under Leon's watchful eye. "Where could possibly be safe from those things?"

"Nowhere."

"So how –"

"Best we can do it stay out of the way and keep from increasing the number of Heartless by letting them steal our hearts as well. Nowhere's completely safe, but Leon bought spells while he was gallivanting, trying to drum up support for his Heartless defence campaign. There are lots of witches, wizards and warlocks scattered around this world. A lot of 'em own shops that sell protective wards."

They pull up short as they spot their destination. They've taken the long way around to come up to the church from the other side, avoiding the town square. However, above the church roof Cid can see a giant horned head. It bobs, before flying off its neck and vanishing in a puff of smoke and black dust.

"Fuuuuck…"

"That's not like the big one Yuffie and I saw outside the tent," Penelo says breathlessly. "That one was like a giant beach ball with teeth. And there were lots of little ones with antennae and big googly yellow eyes. That one looks like … like …"

"A fucking devil."

And Tifa's out there fighting that thing.

Correction: those _things_. More float into view, wielding swords and dark fire. Cid's heart clenches, but he marshals himself and starts towards the church again. Others have already done as ordered and gone in, but a few linger, staring.

It was Aerith's idea to make the church one of the warded places. There are others around town, but this is the biggest. The church holds a lot of people, and it's a fitting location for a stronghold against the Heartless. Cid isn't whimsical like her. He just looked at the structural integrity and pointed out the holes in the ceiling. Protective spells, however, don't need buildings to be intact for them to work. Apparently.

_I hate magic. Makes no fucking sense_. He started to run. "C'mon, girlie."

Penelo staggers in his wake. "I have a name, you know –"

"Everybody got a name. Now shut up and lift those little dancin' feet, or I'll light a fire under them."

* * *

Cloud grunts and swings his sword. He hoped to never see another Heartless as long as he lives. Every time he thought it he knew it was a fool's dream, but it felt like superstition to stop making that wish. Now all he can concentrate on is fighting so he can go another few years without seeing them again.

He hopes.

He meets Yuffie and Leon earlier than expected. They have been forced back, away from Cait Sith's tent. Though they dart left and right so fast he can barely see them, more often than not they end up cutting diagonal lines across the street instead of horizontal ones. Oncoming Heartless gain ground inch by inch.

"Cloudy!" Yuffie yells. "Head's up!" Using a flagpole like a parallel bar, she kicks one of the balloon-type Heartless at him.

"Got it!" He slices it in two with a single stroke.

"Stiiii-rike!" Yuffie's shuriken whips through the ground-dwellers and back into her hand as she balances precariously on the pole. "You're outta the game, bozos! Home team wins! Man, Lea's _gotta_ teach more than just me about that baseball game from his world so everyone can appreciate my magnificent wit."

Cloud keeps hacking and slashing, but it's reassuring to hear her chatter, even in the midst of battle. It grounds him, a reminder that he's not alone out here. It's easy to feel alone against these kinds of odds.

Leon's steely-eyed determination does the same as Yuffie's chatter. He ploughs into the Heartless like a machine. Cloud feels inept compared to them. He's holding his own though, and maybe now they're a trio they can regain some ground.

No such luck.

Where are they all _coming_ from? Their origin seems to be Cait's tent, or something within it. Cloud is so far away he can't be sure.

Something roars and crashes into the bakery behind them. Cloud does what he has always been taught not to do. He instinctively turns his head.

A giant Heartless with wings, tail and … is that a sword in the snow beside it? The creature lays half-in, half-out of the bakery. A tiny figure leaps onto its belly. Comparatively tiny, that is.

Zack lands lightly in the slush as the Heartless turns to dust under the Buster Sword's downward thrust. Cloud catches sight of the town square at the end of the street. They've moved back further than he thought!

The square is swarming with Heartless.

"Zack!"

Zack looks up, eyes wide. "Cloud, look out!"

Cloud whirls to see another balloon-thing bearing down on him. He twists his sword into a guard, but it's already inside his defences. He staggers back, trying to avoid it.

The dust hits him in the face, as does the full force of Leon's glare. "Stay focussed."

"Uh, right." Embarrassment flares, especially with Zack right there. Intellectually he knows Zack is more concerned for his safety, but he can't help feeling like he's showing him up, plus all the effort Zack put into teaching him how to fight. Making basic mistakes when it really counts? Cusses rise in his mind like snakes in long grass.

Leon doesn't even bother to grunt acknowledgement. There's no time for that – no time for anything but the perfect placement of feet and elbows and –

"What in the name of Cid's hairy ass is _that_?" Yuffie gapes. If it's making Yuffie gape, it has to be bad.

It is.

It's huge too – bigger than the balloon Heartless, or the sword-wielding Heartless Zack just took out. It uncurls like a foetus stretching inside the womb, if a foetus were a giant mass of darkness given physical form. This creature's head is a tangled mass of rotting creepers. A huge heart-shaped hole has been punched right through its sternum. It has pathetic little wings that beat ineffectually but seem threatening anyway. It's too big to comprehend. Cloud's whole body is probably the size of its _head_ – less than the size its head! The thought makes him see those creepers like nooses looking for necks. All he can do is mimic Yuffie's gape until a smaller Heartless tries to land on him.

The gargantuan Heartless flexes its claws, as though waiting for the memory to surface of what they're for. It turns one palm upwards and watches, almost curiously. A ball of black energy coalesces there. It raises this to the hole in its stomach. The energy detonates outwards, becoming regular Heartless.

"It's … creating them," Cloud says. "Or summoning them from somewhere."

This is bad. This is _very_ bad. Not only do they have to contend with the Heartless already spewing into their world, and those already here, but now there's this new source. Plus this massive super-Heartless is a considerable enemy on its own.

"Aw, man," says Yuffie. "We just can't catch a break today!"

The super-Heartless lumbers towards them, stepping on smaller Heartless and popping them like it couldn't care less. Clearly, there's no loyalty among these creatures. Heartless are selfishness and greed incarnate.

Cloud bunches his muscles and his resolve.

It thunders right past him.

"What the … oh no." He gives chase, but his way is blocked by so many little black bodies. A balloon Heartless teleports in, blocking his view. Even so, he knows what he saw – where the new creature is headed directly for as if drawn there.

It's making a beeline for the church.

* * *

"Let go of me, Kuzco!"

"Nuu ooay."

"I said let _go_."

"Ow! Yank my teeth out, why don't you?" Kuzco rubs his jaw with the flat of one hoof. "And _I_ said 'no way'. Pacha will be fine, but you won't if you try to cross town to get to him."

Chicha's words are clipped and caked in enough ice to preserve a herd of mammoths. "I am not leaving my son out there when there are Heartless around."

"He'll be okay," Kuzco says with more certainty than he feels. Inside, he's pretty much a quivering puddle of 'Mommy save me!' who wants to call for his guards so they can deal with this. He'll never lose that impulse to shift problems onto other people. He calls it delegation. Chicha calls it shirking.

He never thought a time would come when _he_ is the one making sense and _Chicha_ – plain-speaking, sensible Chicha – is the gibbering wreck who needs to be talked down before she does something stupid. Actually, it's kind of cool. Who knew adulthood is more than a constant feeling you're doing it all wrong, and missing the handbook everybody else seems to have read cover to cover.

"There are _Heartless_, Kuzco," Chicha says desperately. "He's never seen one before! He'll panic –"

"Kairi is with him, and they'll be at the church. We need to get to a warded area too, or he'll lose his mom." Kuzco isn't cold-blooded. He is just as terrified for Pacha's safety, but through his concern a minnow of common sense swims upstream. "Don't do that to him."

Chichi bites her lip. He takes her sleeve between his teeth, already soggy with his own saliva. Ew! He tugs gingerly. She doesn't move.

_C'mon. C'moooon!_

"Hey, you two. What the heck are y'all doing out in the open like this?" Dr. Sweet's deep baritone sweeps over them. Relief surged through Kuzco. Here is someone else to delegate to – at last. Though the part of him that was enjoying being the level-headed one sulks at being deposed, the rest dances for joy. He isn't ready to _that_ adult yet.

He lets go of Chicha's sleeve. "She won't leave."

"Chicha?"

"My son …" Chicha hasn't taken her eyes from the skyline, as though trying to develop telekinesis to bring Pacha to her. "I can't …"

"C'mon." Without preamble, Dr. Sweet scoops her into his arms and slings her over his shoulder. Chicha shrieks. She beats his back with her fists, but Dr. Sweet is, to put it bluntly, a beefcake. Her punches are little more than gnat bites to him. He marches away. Kuzco trails behind, trying not to feel guilty.

"It'll be okay, Chicha," he tries to reassure her.

"Let me go! Put me down! Pacha! Pachaaaa!"

"It'll be okay." The words taste strange in Kuzco's mouth when his tongue is valiantly trying to form the more genuine 'You're right, it's hopeless and we're all gonna die!'

A sudden burst of light from the far side of town snaps his head around so fast he _knows_ he's risking whiplash. White light shoots into the sky. A vague shadowy pall swirls around it but disappears in its intensity. It leaves a green stain on Kuzco's retinas, bisecting Dr. Sweet's face when he looks at him.

"What the heck was that?" Dr. Sweet asks, also blinking.

"Probably nothing good, so if we could make with the running away, that'd be just fine and dandy." Kuzco head-butts him. A hint of his usual sarcasm creeps in. "_Thank _you."

* * *

There's a lot of screaming when the roof judders – even more when a face with giant yellow eyes appears at one of the holes. Cid wishes he had a plasma bomb. It's one of the few things he has never been able to replicate in this world.

"Is that … another Heartless?" Penelo has stuck close to him as the only person she knows here. She has also kept hold of that pole. She holds it tight in her fists. If she didn't, Cid can tell very well she's the type who'd hug him for something to cling to.

"I reckon so." Cid keeps his voice even. Inside he's wracked with conflict: anger, fear, the desire to _do_ something, and the most powerful craving for a cigarette in the history of the fucking _multiverse_.

"It's a lot bigger than the others," Penelo says.

"Yup."

The roof shakes again under the creature's fists. The wards hold. Nothing with evil intent can enter here. Leon was very careful with the wording when he bought those spells – darkness is to be kept _out_. Too bad it can't repel the stuff completely. Cid would prefer it if the wards would knock that sucker right back to wherever it came from.

_Asswiping cheap-ass magic_. Ironically, it makes Cid feel better to pick fault with the thing saving his life. Perfection is a fallacy. What seems perfect is a lie. What can be improved on is real. He can put more faith in that.

A tiny hand slips into his. Cid reacts as he might to a swarm of bees encasing his head, or the discovery that someone else's sewage has been rerouted to his bathtub. "Gah!"

Kairi stares up at him. "You can't let the bad feelings take over, Mr. Highwind. That's what they want."

"Jeezum crow, Niblet, you scared a year's worth of growth offa me." Niblet? _Niblet_? What kind of pansy-ass nickname is _that_? "Get back to the others."

"You have to think positively." She sounds so like Tifa it silences Cid. She's always wittering on about positivity and self-belief. "Everyone does. Otherwise they're feeding it. The darkness _listens_."

"You say some weird sh- stuff, Niblet."

She holds his hand tight. He lets her. Middle of a crisis like this, she can say whatever she fucking well wants.

Everyone has gathered in the corners, as though trying to hide from the searching yellow eyes, even though Heartless work on instinct and some kind of heat-vision them to living beings with hearts and ignore everything else. The centre of the floor is filled with shifting beams of sunlight, crisp and fresh now the snow clouds have parted. Aerith's flowers are untouched, even by snow. That's even more ridiculous to see than a bunch of people and anthropomorphic animals sheltering in a building in such bad repair that, were it an airship, Cid would just scrap it and start over.

Overhead, the roof continues to shake.

Inside, so do the people.

Zack was furious when he realised Aerith didn't get to a warded place with Dr. Sweet. Never mind that because she was there she was able to heal the severed tendons in his shoulder, allowing him to use his useless left arm again. He grabbed her shoulders and told her in no uncertain terms to get the hell out of there.

"You need me," she said.

"I need you to stay alive," he snapped back.

He doesn't know whether she did what he said. That was when they got dive-bombed by a giant Heartless that tried to not only cut his tendons, but cut off his entire arm. Zack ended up in the next street throwing it into the bakery. He can only hope that because he left Aerith behind, she had some semblance of safety

And now … now he really wishes he knew what to do next, because there's a Heartless the size of Ansem's castle coming, gorilla-like, along the street. When he leaps to slice it in two it swats him aside like an insect. Zack crashes into the side of a building. He only escapes serious injury thanks to the Buster Sword's magic. He is much more agile and resilient when he allows it free rein through his system like this, but it also brings a slight disconnection from reality. It feels as if he's viewing everything through a smeary lens. He is hyperaware. He feels _wired_. The sword is so focussed on the new Heartless monster that only the sound of Cloud crying out stops Zack from abandoning everything to chase it and it alone.

Heartless swamp Cloud like a thick blanket over his head. Zack descends like a fury. When the Heartless have been dispatched, he hooks one of Cloud's arms around his neck, ignoring the protests that he's okay. Yuffie and Leon land either side of them like sentries. When they have ascertained Cloud can walk and still has his sword, they try together to beat the masses back.

It's futile. There are simply too many. Also, the new giant Heartless begins attacking the church. Zack can hear thin screams from inside.

Aerith might be in there, if she listened to him. Kairi definitely is. So are all the other school kids and people from this area. They're depending on him and this handful of motley warriors to keep them safe like they promised.

_Promises aren't always __**possible **__to keep_, an unhelpful part of Zack's brain chirrups. _Angeal promised he'd come back, didn't he? _

_Shut up, shut up, shut up, __**shut**__ – waitasecond. Crap!_

Kairi is in that church. The Heartless have bypassed everything else to aim for that church. The connection isn't difficult. He curses himself for taking this long to make it.

Cloud is apparently quicker on the uptake. He shoves Zack, knocking him off balance. "Go. You and the Buster Sword are more important over there than over here. Both fights are going to merge soon anyway." He gives an apologetic smile. "See you in the town square."

Zack is too practical not to see the sense of this. That super-Heartless is creating other Heartless. It's a threat that needs to be dealt with if they're to have even the slimmest chance.

He still doesn't want to go. It feels too much like signing a death warrant. His arm tightens around Cloud.

Cloud smiles at him, stressed as hell but confident that Zack can do this. Cloud believes in him. That gives Zack strength. "Meet me by the fountain?"

"What's left of it." Zack grips the Buster Sword and reluctantly lets go of Cloud. "It's a date." Then he springs away to do battle, hoping he hasn't just left his lover to die. Yuffie and Leon, too.

_Angeal, if you're listening, take care of everyone for me. Don't let them die. Please…_

* * *

A shaft of light shoots up from the edge of town. Yuffie sees it and has time to wonder what fresh piece of flaming shit it about the drop on their heads. Surely they've had their quota by now. Her left thigh is bleeding. She leaves bloody footprints in the slush and painted an interestingly shaped smear of crimson up the wall of the Dr. Sweet's practice – an irony that is not lost on her.

Glory of Wutai returns to her. She wonders how she ever fought Heartless without it. She has used up all her kunai, even though she's picking them out of the ground whenever she can (waste not, want not). She is on her last batch of throwing stars too, and Mr. Pointy is looking less pointy without the second of her two sais to keep him company. She's on throwing needles now, which are only supposed to be for sneak attacks. Well, at least they're better than handfuls of fresh air.

"This has officially stopped being cool."

Leon slashes with controlled force, all the movement in the flick of his wrist like he tried to teach her a long time ago. She expects him to grunt, or chuck an ellipse at her. Instead he says, "Was it ever?"

"Hell yeah," Yuffie lies. "Especially when they pop like salty slugs. That's always the best bit." Because gut-wrenching terror and narrowly avoiding death are the height of coolness. Natch.

Leon cuts down a Heartless about to leap on her from above. "Watch yourself."

Cloud impales the one about to stick its hands through Leon's back from behind. "Take your own advice." The Heartless wriggles for a moment on his blade. It's like some hideous mutant marshmallow over a campfire before it vanishes. "Any idea what that light was?"

"It came from Cait's tent." Yuffie realises with a lurch that Cloud doesn't know. "Cloud, they took Cait's heart."

His expression turns pained. He liked Cait. They all did. Yuffie's been calling Cait's name with the prefix 'That's for' since this fight started. "Penelo's with Cid."

That's good to know. Weird as it is to think, Yuffie trusts Cid to take care of things. He's a cranky old geezer, but he's a capable one too. "Just as long as she doesn't go crushing on him like Esmeralda did. Cid can't have _all_ the girls."

No laughs, but Yuffie puts that down to the situation rather than her own un-wittiness. After all, they're now so far up Shit Creek they're exploring uncharted territory. Who could have predicted these new types of Heartless? Or how powerful they are? Even Leon has that tightness around his mouth; the one that says he think he messed up when circumstances were clearly beyond his control from the beginning.

"Hey, Leon?"

He glances at her, eyes hard.

"Try smiling. Maybe it'll frighten them to death." She flips a jaunty salute and darts forward, ignoring her aches and pains in favour of kicking more Heartless butt.

She will never get tired of seeing them explode into dust. Not even if she lives to be a hundred years old – which looks increasingly unlikely.

"Bad Heartless! Bad! Sit! Stay! Roll over! Oh, defiance, eh? Disobedience? Well, now I'm gonna have to fetch the rolled up newspaper. Or the really-sharp-and-ouchifying-spiky-projectiles, because the two are totally synonymous."

Despite her efforts – physical and verbal – she, Leon and Cloud are pushed back. They end up entering the town square backwards, fighting all the way. Leon barks orders. For once Yuffie is happy to comply, getting into a rough huddle with him and Cloud. Backs pressed together, they spin around and around, taking out as many Heartless as they can, like some kind of lethal spinning top. They're doing quite well, too. Even though they've combined the two battles and united their enemies, the number of smaller Heartless seems to be dropping.

Yuffie also feels better when she sees Lea and Tifa leaping about like a pair of deadly chipmunks. Y'know, if chipmunks had spiky hair, big boobs, flaming chakrams and could fell a Heartless at twenty paces. They work pretty well together. Lea's long-range attacks cover Tifa's hand-to-hand. They're both in pretty good condition, too. No stabby pains through _their_ upper thighs.

Good gravy, that's a lot of blood at her feet. Did that all come out of her? Yuffie feels a little light-headed, but soldiers on. No rest for the wicked, nor the devastatingly ninjatastic.

She could really do without the giant Heartless who come with their own swords, though. _That _is a big fat pain in the butt. They don't even play fair! One shimmers, becoming translucent, and Glory of Wutai goes straight through without any damage. Perhaps she should be pleased that the creature looks equally surprised, but somehow it's a hollow pleasure. Even distracted, her strikes do so little they may as well be doing nothing. The Heartless hurls its sword straight at them.

"Scatter!" Yuffie shouts.

Not even Leon argues. The sword buries itself in the ground. Yuffie is closest. The slush around it gives up the fight and melts completely, evaporating into steam. The Heartless shimmers again, but this time, instead of becoming intangible, it dissolves into black fire that launches at the ground, forming a rough circle around its sword – and her.

"Not good, not good, definitely not good." She leaps to her feet, staggers slightly, and looks for a way out. The flames leap higher and higher, black as a nightmare. She can't even see over them. Heat radiates, drying out her eyes and forcing her back to her knees. "Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit –"

"Yuffie!"

Who is that? The roar of flames makes it difficult to tell. Yuffie can't leap over them and there's no wall to run up for extra height. She dashes towards the sword in the centre of the flaming circle, wondering if she could use that, but the heat from it sends her reeling. _Still _the flames climb higher, forming a crackling, funnel inferno.

"_Yuffie_!" someone on the other side screams, high-pitched and frantic.

Her skin is starting to crack, the air too dry to breathe without coughing. Ironic – a few minutes ago she was soaked with sweat and snow and slush. Now she's dry as a ribcage in the desert. She likes extremes, but this is ridiculous. Glory of Wutai burns in her hand as the metal heats. Her vision blurs. The ache in her thigh is suddenly unbearable, the edges of her torn flesh starting to curl backwards like the edges of a dry sandwich –

Something drops through the tiny aperture at the top of the funnel, grabs her, and surges sideways through the conflagration. There is a brief, intense surge of agony when she passes through the flames- then she's rolling in cooling slush that actually _steams _when it comes into contact with her. Yuffie sucks in lungfuls of air, conscious she is facedown with a heavy weight on top of her while Heartless and black spots vie for supremacy at the corners of her vision. The inferno detonates, caving in on itself. A few more seconds and she'd have been pâté.

Very ninjatastic – _not_.

A glimpse of red makes her croak, "Lea?"

"Don't insult me. I'm way cuter than that asshat." Reno raises his head. "You okay, Jailbait?"

Her throat feels like she has been swigging acid. She can smell burned hair. Her thigh hurts like hell. Still, she finds strength to smack the side of his head. "Don't call me Jailbait."

Reno spots something over her head, grips her in a parody of a hug and rolls them both sideways. Milliseconds later a shadow-Heartless pops out of the ground where they were. Reno pushes a button on his EMR. It hums with electricity, crackling when it strikes Heartless. He reduces two to ash before hauling Yuffie to her feet.

"What a rush." He grins uncontrollably. "Not only did I fix the way these little fuckers were getting into this world, I get to play hero for once. I've never played the hero before." He tilts his head at her. "It's actually kind of cool, yo."

Yuffie isn't sure she heard right. "You did what?"

"That fortune-teller cat's crystal ball. It's how they were getting in. I was surprised nobody else thought to smash it, but don't worry, I won't hold it against you pea brains for missing the obvious. The light show was _almost_ as good as blowing shit up with plastique."

That beam of white light from the edge of town. That must have been him. "That was you?"

"Guilty as charged." Reno lamps a Heartless, sticking his EMR straight through its head like a machete.

Conscious that Glory of Wutai is still clenched in her hand, Yuffie raises it to throw and yelps in pain. Her palm is blistered, but dropping the shuriken, even in the middle of that inferno, never even crossed her mind. It doesn't now, either. The only way this thing is leaving her hand is in a magnificent throw. She bunches her muscles and flings it, ignoring the wrench of pain as her skin also rips off.

That gargantuan Heartless with the hole in its stomach is attacking the church. It blurs slightly. Yuffie blinks. Nope, not the Heartless; her own vision.

Damn it.

_Great Ninja skills, don't forsake me now. _A Heartless lands on her back and thrusts its hands into her chest. _Forsaking me! You're for-freaking-saking me!_ She bats unsuccessfully at it. Something wrenches inside. She wants to puke. _Oh gawd ..._

"Watch it!" Reno whacks the nasty little thing in the head. The hands squeezing her heart vanish.

Yuffie gasps, falling to her knees. The sensation is unpleasant in the extreme, making it even harder to breathe when she's already having problems with her poor, scorched lungs. Glory of Wutai thumps into the ground beside her and clatters to its side like a puppy trying to get close without hurting her.

"You," she wheezes at Reno, "just keep on … saving me … today."

"What kind of guy would I be if I didn't rescue the love of my little brother's life?" Reno sticks out his tongue. "Yack, I think I'm gonna hurl if I swallow any of that mushy stuff, yo."

"Mullet … Head …"

"I should've left you to burn." He grabs her hand to pull her to her feet. "You're such a little –" He stops.

Yuffie can't take her eyes from his. "Mullet Head?" Her voice comes out kind of squeaky, and not just because of her raw throat.

The world stops for what seems like an age, though in reality it's less than a second. Yuffie's world narrows to just Reno's eyes, wide and blue and _shocked_.

Then the horned Heartless behind him yanks its arm backwards, ripping his heart out through his back.

_

* * *

_

To Be Continued ...

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

The various Heartless in this chapter are the regular Shadows (kingdomhearts. wikia. com (slash) wiki (slash) Shadow), and also Darkball (kingdomhearts. wikia. com (slash) wiki (slash) Darkball), (kingdomhearts. wikia. com (slash) wiki (slash) Invisible), and finally Darkside (kingdomhearts. wikia. com (slash) wiki (slash) Darkside).

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	75. Breaking Up is Hard to Do

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* * *

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74. Breaking Up is Hard to Do

* * *

Zack hears the scream but can't turn to check who it is or what has happened. He's too busy trying not to get squashed, swatted, pulped, flattened or torn apart by Big Daddy Heartless. That's the name he has given it in his head, since it keeps producing regular Heartless that attack before he can get close enough to stop their parent from attacking the church.

"Damn it!" he shouts in frustration, as yet more tiny creatures chase him up the wall of a building when what he wants is to drive the Buster Sword through Big Daddy's big head. "Go _away_!" Zack puts on a burst of preternatural speed and slices through them. He turns on a pin, doubles back and slices again. They explode in his wake. He trails their dust as he leaps onto Big Daddy and stabs.

He may as well have tickled the thing with a feather. Its punches don't falter one iota. The church roof judders with each one, and the screams from inside are brittle and laced with panic.

_Don't try to run away_, Zack wills the people inside. _You're safer in there than with this thing out here. _

He dashes up the creature's back to its head and swipes at its skull. The Buster Sword cuts deep into the mass of tendrils, but Zack's shoulder nearly dislocates when they wrap around the blade and _pull_. Rather than repel the attack, they try to drag him further in. One creeper winds around his arm. His flesh prickles where it touches, like he has been burned.

The Buster Sword is agitated inside his mind. It senses darkness pressing against it, unaffected by the light for countless millennia. This creature is new, is young, but the substance it is made from has always existed. The shape and source may change, but the nature of darkness remains constant …

Zack's head rockets backwards under the onslaught of sensations transferred to him through the sword. Over everything else comes the urge to destroy this dark creature. He can get behind that idea. Wrenching his arm free, he brandishes the sword again, but Big Daddy swivels its neck like an owl and he finds himself staring into fathomless yellow eyes the size of his entire body.

"Hi there. The name's Zack Fair. You're trying to destroy my town. Prepare to -" Zack's words are cut off by the hand that grabs him. "Crap! Wait, prepare to crap? That's not right. That's – nyaargh…" All the breath leaves him as the creature squeezes his chest. His bones and organs grind together, trying to occupy the same space at the same time. He throws his head back, fighting for breath. _Stupid, stupid,_ _**stupid**_-

A heavy boom makes Big Daddy mimic him. Its head rockets backwards, a small smoking hole in its forehead. The hand holding Zack spasms and unclenches. He drops, catching hold of a gargoyle on the church roof with a force that threatens to tear his shoulder right out of it socket. Zack hangs there by one arm, sucking in air and staring down at the ground.

Leon's gunblade is still smoking. Zack has never actually seen him fire that thing before. If Leon didn't buy shells from Cid, he'd have thought the gunblade was incapable firing at all. Leon always uses it as a sword, so it's easy to forget the six enchanted bullets in its belly.

Well, five now. Did just that one take out Big Daddy?

The giant Heartless ratchets forward again, creepers undulating and very much alive. It raises a foot to stamp on Leon. Nope. Big Daddy is even more tenacious than Yuffie with the last piece of cheesecake.

Zack hoists himself up the gargoyle and onto the roof. He can feel the vague purr of the wards around him; like static electricity without the unpleasant snapping. He is about to jump onto Big Daddy again (if a bullet to the head doesn't stop it, maybe _losing_ its entire head will) when he glances through a hole in the roof, into the church itself.

Cid is down there. Penelo is by his side and a cluster of children have gathered around his ankles. They appear to have gravitated to Cid like some cantankerous, foul-mouthed Pied Piper. Standing with her hand in his, Kairi watches Zack intently, as if she expected to see him at exactly this moment.

"What are you standing around playing peek-a-boo for, kid?" Cid bellows. His voice is distorted by the wards. "Go get that fu-... uh, go teach that thing a lesson!"

The kids take up the chant.

"Go get it!"

"Go on, Zack!"

"Get him, Mr. Fair!"

"Show that creep who's boss!"

Kairi continues to stare at him, gaze pleading. The expression in her eyes, even at this distance, is the same as Zack's feelings only a short time ago as he left Cloud to do battle without him: _Please be careful. Please don't die. _

Heartless swarm the church from below. Tiny bodies thump against the walls and doors, try to prise up the wooden boards nailed across the holes, and fail as the wards read their intent to harm and kept them out. The strategically placed scrolls and talismans inside the church do their job, but when Zack watches at least one burning up in the far corner as its magic runs out. These wards aren't permanent – once they have been invoked there is a time limit on how long the area will be protected. Exceed the limit and the magic will just vanish and you'll be just as vulnerable as everyone else.

_Sometimes being a hero means not fighting_, Zack thinks, launching himself onto Big Daddy's arm. He slices off one hand at the wrist before the monster can use it to create more Heartless. _But sometimes being a hero means kicking ass._

He won't let anyone else die today, even if he has to take this creature apart piece by piece to do it, he will keep everyone safe and whole and _here_.

The sad irony is, he doesn't realise it's an oath already broken the moment he swears it.

* * *

Aerith screams when the horned Heartless turns into fire and surrounds Yuffie. She never left the battlefield, despite Zack's insistence that she should. She can't bring herself to leave when people she loves are being hurt and need her healing skills. She has already taken care of a deep cut in Lea's side, and reattached one of Tifa's fingers, which hung off her hand by a few shreds of skin and tissue after she _literally_ single-handedly defeated one horned Heartless as it tried to crush Lea between its palms. Tifa wasn't at all triumphant at her victory. Aerith can't remember the last time she saw her friend so grim.

Everything is chaos!

Aerith saw the blood seeping through Yuffie's trousers when she, Cloud and Leon arrived in the square, and has been watching for an opportunity to heal her before it gets worse. The fact Yuffie can still move around means she hasn't punctured the artery, but it's still a lot of blood. Aerith can't even _think_ about leaving while she is still needed.

Field medic. Yet another job she never thought she'd have when they talked about careers in school. Aerith always thought she'd end up taking over her mother's flower shop. Life really likes the unexpected, she has found.

Aerith breaks from her sheltered-but-not-really spot behind a cluster of rain barrels. She isn't sure why – it's mostly dumb luck that has kept her safe so far. It's not like she can actually _do_ anything to help as Yuffie disappears from view behind a wall of black and purple flames, but neither can she just watch her friend be burned alive.

"Yuffie!" Aerith screams, drawing the attention of several Heartless. They turn on her. She backs away, torn between looking at them and – no, no, no! "_Yuffie_!"

Reno leaps off the roof of the building behind Aerith. He lands on top of the advancing Heartless, clubbing them into dust with his EMR. "Hey, babe. What's shaking?" He appears unfazed by the onslaught, hooking the EMR over his shoulder and giving her his trademark grin – cocky and a smidge lewd, like he's thinking about undressing you with his eyes but hasn't yet decided whether it's worth the hassle. To look at him, you'd think he has been fighting Heartless all his life.

"Yuffie's in there!" Aerith points.

"Jailbait?" Reno's smile falters. "Right. Babe, you hide back where you were. Let a man deal with this, yo."

Part of Aerith wants to protest at his misogyny, but the words catch on her anxiety like cloth on a rusty nail. Surely nothing can survive that heat or those huge flames.

Reno uses the barrels like stairs, vaulting himself back onto the roof. He takes a running jump right into the centre of the inferno. Aerith's breath actually stops – she can feel it wither away in her chest – but then he bursts out through the fire with someone in his arms and rolls in the slush beyond the melted zone. A singed and slightly blackened is clamped tight Yuffie to his chest. Reno's ponytail is on fire and his clothes are smoking, but he's alive – they both are.

Aerith has never been so amazed or so grateful. So when the flames abruptly shuck back together and the reformed Heartless thrusts one massive hand into Reno, it is doubly shocking. He just took on an army of Heartless, jumped off the roof of a tall building, leapt into an inferno and came out alive. He can't die _now_.

But he can.

And he does.

Yuffie's face is a mask of horror when Reno's body slumps into her arms and disintegrates over her. A rainbow of sparkling energy blows away in the breeze, pieces of him getting caught in her hair, clothes and eyes. Yuffie blinks and stares at her hands, as though she can't believe what has just happened.

Aerith sees no more. A Heartless slams into her from the side. She hits the ground, throwing up slush and getting tangled in her own skirt. Her wet hair flops into her eyes, but she can feel the trembly little body crawling over her belly, its touch as light as Cloud's the first time they made love, but far more terrifying. She hits out at it, remembers Tifa showing her how to punch without breaking her thumb. Someone, Aerith buries her fist in the crown of its head, right between its antennae. The Heartless radiates surprise that this weak prey can fight back, right before its head bows inwards and its face ruptures into a mouth, vomiting dust all over her. It crumbles, but Aerith can't take any satisfaction in proving she's not totally helpless.

Lea's agonised scream cuts across all other sounds.

He is on the other side of the square, still working in tandem with Tifa, but he saw what happened to Reno. The noise he makes isn't … entirely human, Aerith thinks. Self-assured, overconfident Lea sounds like a wounded animal.

"RENO!"

He shouts his brother's name, over and over. Aerith sees him break formation with Tifa. She sees Tifa, surprised at her back suddenly being exposed, set upon by two shadow-Heartless. Aerith also sees Cloud, and even though she wants to yell something different, she calls for him to help Tifa.

They have to stick together. That's the only way out of this now.

* * *

Zack jams his boot into Big Daddy's eye. It makes a squelchy noise and gives, but it's like standing on overripe fruit. It doesn't help, except to make Big Daddy flail at him – if the ponderous movements can be called flailing. It moves with no speed or grace. The threat of it comes mainly from its tenacity and how _indestructible_ it seems. Zack has done everything except blow the damn thing up with dynamite. Nothing has worked.

Leon hacks off one if its feet. Big Daddy topples sideways. It doesn't crash, but sort of lolls, using a church spires as a lever to pull itself up again. Leon sets about the other foot like a lumberjack, while Zack grips tight to a couple of writhing tendrils and kicks out its other eye. Big Daddy groans, though whether in pain or irritation isn't clear. Even blinded, its hands still move with unnerving accuracy, leading Zack to believe it doesn't actually _need_ eyes to sense where he is – or where his _heart_ is.

Nor does it need both hands to create more little Heartless. They burst out of its midriff and fall around Leon, giving him something else to concentrate on, and leaving Zack alone on top of a very ticked off monster.

The tendril he's clutching detaches like a lizard tail. Zack falls backwards, bouncing off one huge shoulder. He digs the Buster Sword deep into Big Daddy's arm to stop himself falling. He can't lose whatever advantage he has right now. This battle has gone on long enough. He's all kinds of tired and hurts in a dozen different places, and wants nothing more than to detonate the whole square, if it means clearing the town of Heartless so he can find Cloud, Aerith and the rest of his friends.

A glimpse of blond hair catches his attention; Cloud rushing to Tifa's aid.

_Thank goodness he's safe,_ Zack thinks, simultaneously wondering, _Where's Lea?_

Then Big Daddy tries to shake him off and he has to grip tightly to keep from being thrown into the air.

_Here_. The thought arrives in his head and his mind gives it a voice. Green-gold magic, a splash of _busterswordknowsbestdowhatIsay_, and Zack's eyes are drawn to the hole in Big Daddy's middle. That's where it creates Heartless. This is, for want of a better word, its core. _Heretsirkeherequickfasthurry_.

_You can't be serious_, he thinks back.

Disapproval lances into him – _inappropriatemovenow_.

Zack grits his teeth, plants his feet against Big Daddy's forearm and wrenches the Buster Sword out in a back flip that would make Yuffie proud. He lands awkwardly, sprawled half in and half out of the gap like a target on a shooting gallery at a fair. He can _feel_ the creature pulsating under his belly – spongy, hot and slimy. That will _so_ be in his nightmares tonight.

The moment deserves a witty quip, but all he can come up with is "Die, Big Daddy!" as he hacks to either side like a deranged woodcutter. He drives the sword point up, deep into its chest from below. Big Daddy shakes like a frozen water pipe. Then, at long last, it explodes. The shower of dust is so thick it's like several buckets of wet sand being thrown onto Zack, one after the other. It leaves his skin tingling where it touches. He grinds it into his hair and back as he rolls with the steep fall to keep from breaking his neck.

Leon drags him unceremoniously to his feet. "Well done," he says in a rare display of admiration. Then he adds, "Big Daddy?"

Zack shrugs. "Seemed fitting."

"We still have _that_ to deal with." Leon indicates the portal above the fountain.

Small Heartless are pushing their way through once more. Thankfully, no more giant things emerge, but one or two of the balloon Heartless also float through and cast about for likely targets. These enemies are fresh. The defending forces are not.

The Buster Sword's presence uncoils in Zack's mind once again, demanding to know whether he trusts it. He is startled it would question him. It takes that as a yes, wending _ideas_ through his thoughts for him to connect. It's so bizarre – the more the sword fights, the more sentient it seems, as though battle is the kiss of life to its sleeping princess.

"I think I know how to close the portal," Zack says.

"You do?" Leon says incredulously.

"Well, I have a good idea."

"How would you know something like that?"

"The Buster Sword's old – it was old before my uncle discovered it. It _knows _things. It's done this before, or something very like it. But this'll take both of us. How many bullets do you have left?" Leon fired several times after that first shot, aiming for vital points on Big Daddy and finding none.

Leon doesn't have to check. "Two."

"That's enough." Zack motions for him to follow. "C'mon. I have to get up there."

Leon starts to follow, but stops when Aerith's voice rings out so sharply it cuts into them like a shard of ice.

"YUFFIE – NO!"

* * *

Cid isn't sure when Kairi let go of his hand. Maybe he let go of her. It's possible; he was pretty preoccupied keeping one of the teenagers in line when the punk started gibbering and running pell-mell over Aerith's flowers.

"We're dead meat! It's over. I'm telling you, we might as well dig our own graves. We're already in the right place. Use your hands, pull up covers in a dirt bed, because we're all Heartless chow!"

"Moron!" said a tiny girl in an ugly orange hat. She had steel caps in her bovver boots to match the steel in her voice. She couldn't be more than six or seven, but glared with the intensity of a hardened warrior. "_Sit_ down before you _fall_ down."

"Why would I fall down?"

"Because my fist would send you into the air, and what goes up must come down. Get it?"

A girl with blonde hair sniffed and yanked on the punk's arm. "Like, do as she says, Brad. She's nuts."

Next to her another girl also sniffed, "Yeah, she's, like a total aberration in the Ashley pool."

"She's a what?" the punk blinked.

"A freak, basically. Don't worry, we're working on it, but she's, like, totally resisting our help – ow! You kicked me, you little mutant!"

The boy and the four primped girls then looked up at Cid, as his shadow fell across them. "Uh, hello, sir."

"Are you," Cid gritted around his toothpick, "_trying_ to start a riot?"

"No, sir, we were just –"

"Then sit down, shut up, and stay the hell offa those flowers. or a little girl's punch will be the _least_ of your worries."

The punk gulped and hasn't said another word since.

His outburst, however, has set even the adults on edge. That Finster woman approaches Cid with the purposeful march of a woman with some kind of army background. Despite himself, Cid feels his spine straightening like he's on parade back in his own world.

"The wards are fading on the East wall," she murmurs, so softly her lips barely move.

"Why are you telling me?"

"You're in charge, aren't you?"

"The hell?"

It emerges that he _is_. He's not sure when that happened. People look at him like he knows what he's doing; that same follow-you-into-hell expression Shera always wore. It pissed him off then, too, because there's nothing worse than a competent woman waiting to have someone else make decisions for her. The whole room feels like a kicked puppy waiting for its owner to draw back the other foot.

_Fuck._ Cid scratches his head and tries his best. He must do something right because the tension eases a little. Finster even gives him an approving nod. Disgusted with himself for even _caring_ what that woman thinks, he looks skyward again and realises there hasn't been any thumping on the roof for a while. _Maybe the kid killed it. _

Someone tugs on his pant leg. Cid looks down to see Chicha's brat, nose running and wrist rubbing it in lieu of a hanky. "I can't find Kairi."

"What?" Cid goes cold.

"She's not here. I looked everywhere, and I even asked the big kids, but they wouldn't talk to me because I'm so little, and they don't like Kairi anyhow, and I haven't got a tissue for my nose, and they said I was 'ree-pul-sive'-"

A quick search confirms it: Kairi isn't in the church. She isn't even hiding in Rinoa's vestibule, the choir room, or in the hallway with such broken beams that Leon fenced it off in case they fall and kill someone.

"Do you think she went outside?" Penelo asks, her eyes saucer-wide.

"The Caspian girl has some strange ideas, but she's not that foolish," Finster asserts.

Cid can't say, but inwardly he curses himself. That little girl is precious to so many people. They all trusted him to look after her, and he couldn't keep her safe and in one place for less than an hour. No wonder he never had kids of his own – they'd probably all die of starvation or head injuries from rolling off his workbench before he realised they weren't elaborate clockwork dolls.

An explosive boom resounds through the church, like thunder but close enough to make the ground shake. The air pressure increases sharply. Cid's ears pop. Penelo grabs his arm, but releases it in embarrassment. Fresh shrieks go up from the people around them. Cid can hear that Brad punk crying softly, biting down on his lip so nobody will notice.

Silence falls, suddenly and heavily. So heavy, in fact, it squashes all noise better than Cid's most colourful threats of bodily harm.

"Is it … over?" someone asks.

Cid can't answer except to say, "I hope so. I'm too old for this sh-stuff anymore."

* * *

To say Lea is out of control would be a cruel under-judgement. He horked 'control' up a while ago and trod on it as he rushed to hack the head off that bastard Heartless.

He always thought he could greet every crisis with a quip and a smirk, and possibly a kick to the nads, followed by a chakram to the face. Even when he was ordered to kill Reno back in their world, he didn't go to pieces. He just ambled away from his boss like he'd accepted the decision while his mind worked furiously to figure a way out.

That time he decided his brother was worth more than his job, his reputation, and even his own life when Cissnei caught up with them – and _still _Lea kept his head, even meeting the business end of her giant shuriken, Rekka. Though he's the younger one, Lea has always been the more responsible brother. Sometimes that just means that when the police show up he's the idiot still at the smashed-up bar and Reno has fled with a girl.

When he sees his brother die, something happens inside Lea that he never would've thought possible. He just … lets go. Everything he has ever held onto, everything that defines who he is and how he operates, suddenly doesn't seem important compared to getting across the town square and mutilating the thing responsible. He has never felt rage like it. He's never _grieved_ like this before. Their mother died, sure, and right in front of them, after extracting a clichéd promise for them to look after each other. They were just kids at the time; too young to fully appreciate what her death meant. Then they became Turks, and Turks don't grieve. They just get on with the job, toasting the dead with tequilas more salt than liquid.

Lea isn't a kid anymore. He hasn't been a kid since he was caught trying to pick the pocket of a bald guy in sunglasses and a snazzy suit, and Reno came out of nowhere to kick the guy in the head for daring to hold his little bro up by the neck to crush his windpipe.

Reno was the one the Turks wanted initially. Reno was the talent. Lea wasn't useless, but he couldn't compare, and he knew it. Reno was the one who made sure they took Lea as well. He wouldn't abandon his baby brother to the streets. It was Reno who initiated Lea into the world of guns, girls and alcohol when they got older, too. For the longest time Lea looked up to Reno, until he carved out a personality for himself and became his equal in almost everything. Without Reno, Lea would probably have died in a doorway a long time ago, or thieved from someone who really _would_ strangle him and leave him in a dredger with the rest of the unwanted garbage.

And now Reno is dead; killed right in front of Lea.

It snaps something deep in his brain. For the next few minutes there's no Traverse Town. There's no town square, no slushy battle-scuffed snow, no Tifa whose back he should be watching, no portal, no church full of civilians – no _world_ outside Lea's own body, which moves as if on autopilot. He sees small Heartless blocking his way and dodges. He throws his chakrams when they get too dense. He grabs a thin black arm as it comes towards him and pulls, wringing the wrist while sending the owner sprawling to the floor. He tramples its head into dust without stopping. He ducks, sidesteps and jumps over anything between him and his target.

When he reaches the giant horned Heartless he latches on with such reckless disregard for his own safety, he may as well have asked it to position its sword first so he has the best angle to jump onto it. For a few minutes, Lea is just a tangle of arms, legs and sharp edges, using his chakrams like shovels and _digging_ chunks out of the Heartless's body. At one point he's pretty sure it gets a hand around his heart inside his chest. The image of Reno's arching spine and crumpling knees returns. Rage suffuses Lea; anger unlike anything he ever thought possible. It _burns_, searing away his inhibitions until his mind is an incoherent mush of _RenoRenokillthe thingkillitmurderingshadowscumbagHeartlessRenogoneRenokillkill__**Reno**_!

His brother is dead.

The fact is so incomprehensible, it overwhelms Lea's mind and he goes temporarily mad with grief and battle-lust. When the Heartless explodes, he is still fighting it. His rage refocuses onto the little ones, hacking and slashing, slamming them into the ground and walls of buildings, ripping at the soft little bodies that have frightened so many people and destroyed so many worlds. Lea feels vindicated to be literally tearing them apart instead of just killing them. Grief, that unfamiliar emotion, wells up, darker and thicker than old blood. It blurs his vision and his thoughts.

Reno is dead.

The Heartless killed Reno.

They killed his brother.

They have to pay.

Anger. _That_ he's familiar with. It rises inside him like a column of fire and gives him strength and speed he never possessed before.

A Heartless grabs his shoulder. It pulls him backwards, trying to spin him to face it, probably to get at his chest from the front. Lea tosses a chakram high, pivots on one foot and knocks the thing away from him, slamming it against a wall. He snatches the chakram out of the air and rams one sharp spike through the revolting creature's midsection. It crunches as the spike lodges in the surface behind.

Wait – crunches? Heartless don't crunch.

This Heartless gasps. That's not right either. Regular Heartless don't have mouths. The noise pulls Lea back to himself the way much bigger things couldn't. He blinks like someone emerging from hypnosis.

And finds himself staring into Yuffie's wide eyes. He is still holding onto the chakram he has just impaled her with.

Aerith screams somewhere behind them. "YUFFIE, NO!"

Lea can't look away. Yuffie's mouth opens and shuts soundlessly, like a fish underwater. One of her hands is also wrapped around the metal, like she's making sure it's real, and that he – the man who only this morning told her he loves her – really has done this to her.

Lea's pulse hammers so loudly in his throat that no words can slip past. If it weren't so horrifying, he'd find this funny – two of the loudest chatterboxes in town staring at each other _and no words are coming out of their mouths_.

Another, deeper voice shouts. It might not be as far away as it sounds. Lea's not even sure what it's saying – couldn't care less, either. He's too busy having a meltdown.

His world is gone.

Reno is dead.

And now he has stabbed Yuffie.

There aren't many things that could break Lea. He has killed people – sometimes people who didn't deserve to be killed – and done things he'd be ashamed of if he hadn't shut down his shame function when he accepted his first suit and the title of 'Turk'. Before she was sent to kill them, in the days when she passed them moist towelettes to clean of the worst of their targets' blood off their faces, Cissnei joked it'd take more than a nuclear holocaust to make Lea and Reno lose their cool.

"You're not calm, but you're kind of … focused," she mused. "Strong-minded is probably a better way of putting it. You don't take shit from anybody or anything."

Didn't they prove that when they arrived here? Their entire world was eaten by the darkness, but they were okay because they had each other. Lea thought he could take on anything as long as he had Reno by his side. Then he met Yuffie, and fell in love for the first time, and it seemed in that strange welter of untried emotion that nothing could touch him.

If someone deliberately set out to break Lea, there's no more they could do than this.

An insidious voice whispers poison in his ear: _There's nothing left, is there? Everything's gone, there's only you and this little world now. The Turks are gone. Junon is gone. Now Reno and Yuffie are gone, too. They're dead, or as good as. You loved them both, but that's pretty pointless, isn't it? Reno's dead because of her, and she's dying because of you. _

Yuffie lets go of the chakram and reaches for him, mouth still trying to form words. She trembles like some pathetic wimpy female, not the strong, selfish, but compassionate girl he fell in love with.

This is _wrong_.

Instinctively, Lea takes a step backwards, away from the hand slick with her own blood. He yanks his chakram out without thinking what it will do.

Yuffie finally makes a noise. The metal pulls free of her gut with a gush of blood so thick it's more black than red: she screams.

Grief. Guilt. Remorse. Humiliation. Revulsion. Hatred. Everything mushrooms inside Lea's chest. His heart isn't sure whether to slow down or beat faster. It does both, leaving him breathless and queasy, his nose full of blood-scent and his voice still trapped in his stomach, burning up in the bile forcing its way up his throat. He backs up another step, hesitates, reached fro Yuffie and freezes like her scream has fried what's left of his brain.

Abruptly the ache in his chest becomes a sharp pain. It's like he has been stabbed through the back with a pair of tongs straight from an ice bucket, which wiggle around his ribcage until they find his heart and _pull_.

Lea's conscious mind sinks like a pair of cement shoes in a canal, and he hears an echo of Yuffie's dying scream in his own voice as he plummets into the dark.

* * *

_To Be Continued ..._

**

* * *

**

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_Hi there. The name's Zack Fair. You're trying to destroy my town. Prepare to -"_

-- A semi-side-fling to Inigo Montoya from _The Princess Bride_.


	76. Don't Go To Sleep

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* * *

**75. Don't Go To Sleep**

* * *

Pain. It's one of those words that gets bandied about so much, you kind of forget what it actually means. "What a pain in the ass!" "I talked to him and it was painful!" "No pain, no gain!" "Bring on the pain!" The word is so tiny, it's too easy to overlook what lurks inside the arrangement of letters.

The feeling itself is so huge it forces everything else out of Yuffie's head. Her thoughts have to line up to get back in through her ear, and jostle, getting themselves so muddled she can't think straight. When she tries it's like scraping her brain against a cheese grater. It hurts so much to stay awake that she decides it's not worth it, shuts her eyes and hopes she'll wake up and discover this is all just another nightmare.

"Yuffie! Don't pass out. Yuffie, stay awake!"

_Go 'way. I'm sleepin'._

Her midriff hurts like hell; worse than the nastiest period pains _ever_. She wonders whether Merlin would have some remedy to magic them away. Then she realises Merlin's been gone for about a squillion years. How could she forget that? _Everything's_ a bit hazy. All she can really concentrate on is her throbbing gut and a desperate need to go to sleep.

Mmm, sleeping in Lea's arms. Nice. He always spoons her, curling his longer body almost protectively around hers. He doesn't even realise he's doing it when he's asleep. It's sweet, even though Yuffie doesn't need protecting, on account of how she's an independent modern girl and can take fantastic care of her own damn self, thank you very much. Nevertheless, it's nice. It makes her feel loved, and lets him know how much she trusts him when he can drape his arms around her and she doesn't pull away.

"Yu … don't fall … ith me …"

Yuffie's mind feels like it's made of fudge; chunky but gooey, oh-so-sweet and tasty, but useless at conducting thoughts like actual brain cells. There's something she should remember, something about Lea, but the melty-welty fudgey-wudgy-ness catches hold, submerging the thought before it can reach the front of her brain. It couldn't be very important if it sank so fast. Something about Lea … Lea and Reno … and pain … lots and lots and _lots_ of pain …

Where is Lea? Where did he go? He was here a second ago. Damn it! She can't think straight. Lea? Lea!

Oh great, now she sound panicky, like some jealous girlfriend who's worried her boyfriend ran off with the local tramp while her back was turned. _Lea, you better not have done anything stupid while I wasn't paying attention_.

There's a battle to fight, that's right. She has to get up, but _hell's teeth_, it hurts to move – hurts even to _think_ about moving. She draws a harsh, grating breath and tries to push herself into a sitting position. The pain flares white-hot. She flops back, rendered boneless.

_What's that funny taste – blood? Well that's not good. _

"Yuffie!"

_Leon?_

What's he doing here? Oh yeah. He's fighting too. Big strong Leon, always fighting the good fight, especially when it comes to Heartless. Still trying to avenge Rinoa; still trying to make everybody pay for what happened to her – including himself. Including Yuffie, too. He kicked her out of his apartment for … something. When was that, anyway? Could be last week, could be ten years ago, it's all one and the same in her memory right now.

He sure sounds concerned for somebody who, to her memory, he doesn't give a shit about. Not like Lea. Lea cares. Lea loves her. He said so. Lea wouldn't throw her out, or tell her she's just a useless child, or make her feel worthless without also pointing out how she can make herself better.

But where _is_ Lea?

"… ffie, c'mon … on't die ... lease, don't … on me."

Calloused hands cup her face. Not Lea's hands, she'd recognise those anywhere. Leon's hands then – but why would Leon be holding her face? And what's all this about dying? She's fit as a fiddle and twice as tuneful. It's Lea they should be worried about. She remembers, abruptly, that there's something wrong with Lea. Panic leeches into her, but she _still can't move, damn it!_

Leon's hands are warm and slightly sticky with sweat. He has taken his gloves off. Ooh, momentous. He does everything with those gloves on – even wipes his ass, or probably does, because that's the kind of thing he'd do, she's sure. All protocol. All respectable. All Captain of the Royal Guard.

But his touch brings back how much she has missed him. Before he went weird, when things were good between them – when he tried to hide in his shell and she wouldn't let him, and when she needed to feel _needed _and got that from him. All those times he was just plain Leon with her.

Why are they at loggerheads again? Oh yeah, he thinks she's a child and doesn't love her like she loves him. He still loves Rinoa and Yuffie's not even a poor substitute, she's the one sitting _behind_ the bench with a bucket and a sponge. Right. Or … hang on, did they argue about Lea? That memory also feels correct. Argh, this is all so confusing!

Yuffie's mind slips away from her, like trying to grab handfuls of smoke. She gives herself up to the feel those two strong hands.

_Lea, where are you?_

"Lea…"

* * *

Unlike Reno, Lea doesn't just blow away like dandelion seeds. His body does disintegrate, but the iridescent fragments stick close together as they fly over the rooftops. The Heartless snuck up on him while he was preoccupied with Yuffie. Aerith shouted a warning, but Lea only had eyes for her. He backed straight into it

Aerith pounds towards Yuffie and the greedy Heartless reaching for her failing heart as well. She needs to go faster –

Leon's gunblade slices it from tail to tip. He doesn't even pause, just runs through the cloud of dust to kneel by Yuffie's side. Yuffie's face is deathly pale, slick with sweat, and her breathing is laboured. Fresh blood oozes over her lower lip and down her chin with every breath. Aerith is just grateful she _is_ still breathing. Shock alone could have killed her already. The entire midsection of Yuffie's snowsuit is soaked with blood. Through it Aerith can see glossy muscle. The wound _pulses_, shiny and firm and … and those are … on show are … Even Aerith's gorge rises at the sight.

Yuffie's eyelids flicker. Aerith is already opening a blossom of magic above, feeding her power into the wound to regenerate bone and tissue. The damage done by Lea's chakram is extensive and she's working against time. Concern for her friend could make her clumsier than normal. Aerith pauses to take a steadying breath. She won't let her emotions overtake her. If she does, Yuffie will die here.

"Yuffie! Don't pass out. Yuffie, stay awake!" Leon shouts.

Amazingly, Yuffie _is_ still awake. Her mouth moves

"Yuffie, don't fall asleep, stay with me. Come on, you're tougher than this."

Tougher than a mortal wound? Aerith bumps against the outer limits of her powers. No, she hasn't done enough yet! She pushes further, deeper, opening the blossom wider and filling it with so much energy it shines like a second sun. She can feel Yuffie's veins and arteries knitting back together, threading their way through torn flesh. Her mind creaks alongside the shattered ribs piecing themselves back together. Like an overeager horse, Aerith reigns in the bones' desire to keep on growing and growing. It's a delicate balance between pushing enough power into Yuffie's body to heal it, and not calling so much she damages her further.

Yuffie's heartbeat is irregular. If Aerith isn't careful, she'll go into cardiac arrest. Aerith monitors Yuffie's adrenaline levels, thanking Dr. Sweet for teaching her so much. He has helped her better understand what the heck she's _doing_. There's so much more to healing than just waving a hand and a kiss to make everything better.

Leon has never sounded so desperate unless talking about Rinoa. Yet this is a different kind of desperation. With Rinoa, he is always depressed. Now he sounds _frightened_. He's begging. Leon has never begged for anything before. He has never needed to, and would be insulted by the idea he ever would.

"Yuffie, c'mon. Don't die. Please, don't die on me." He drops his gunblade, tears off his gloves and holds her face, shouting, "_Don't_!" like an order. "Don't you dare, you stupid, irresponsible little –"

Yuffie's eyelids flutter. "Lea…" she murmurs, before slipping away from them, into unconsciousness.

Leon makes a noise Aerith can't put a name to. She doesn't have time to try, either. She just keeps working her magic. It's the only thing she _can_ do right now. She can't save Lea or Reno, or any of the other people they've lost, but she _can_ save Yuffie.

She hopes.

* * *

The world is made up of four elements: earth, air, fire and water. It's a well known fact, and like most well known facts, is actually completely wrong. There is a fifth element and it strikes with alarming regularity compared to any natural disasters the other four can come up with, even working together. It is called surprise.

It hits Zack as he and Leon turn to see Lea and his chakrams vanish and Yuffie slump against a wall, a bloody hole in her stomach. Leon makes a noise better suited to rending metal, and when Zack looks at him his face is like a stranger's. He takes off across the square at a run, not sparing so much as a backwards glance.

Zack hesitates. The desire to also go to Yuffie is tempered by the portal still open above the fountain. Aerith runs to Yuffie's side, and his desire to protect her as well nearly outweighs the need to take care of the bigger threat.

Two Heartless wriggle through and land in front of him. He readies his sword instinctively, but they're crushed when Tifa lands on top of them.

"You told Leon you can close the portal, right?" she pants. There's large gash on her forehead and her hair is a wild tangle of Heartless dust, melted snow and her own blood. Pinkish rivulets run down her face and neck, giving her a slightly unstable look. "I heard you. You said you could stop them coming through. How?"

"I …" Zack pulls himself together. Get the job done; be the hero, then be just Zack, who's allowed to run over there and se if one of his closest friends is dying.

_Sometimes being a hero means doing what needs to be done, not what you want to do._

Damn his inability to disregard Angeal's teachings. Damn Angeal's teachings for being right when he doesn't want them to be.

Zack focuses on Tifa. "I need Leon's gunblade. The magical force of those bullets detonating should make the portal unstable enough to seal."

"So basically you're going to shoot it to death."

"Something like that."

"Works for me. Cloud!"

Cloud appears at Tifa's side, equally bloody from cuts on his arms and jaw. "What?"

"Cover Aerith and Yuffie," Tifa says. "I'm going to get that gunblade, with or without Leon."

Cloud frowns in bewilderment, but sets off after her. Zack doesn't see his face when he spots Yuffie, but he can imagine Cloud's expression. Cloud feels things deeper than he likes to admit. It sends a fresh stab of pain through Zack. Death is messy, but the aftermath is worse for those left behind. He still remembers the crap he put Aerith and Cloud through after Angeal died, on top of the grief they were also feeling for his uncle. He never wants them to be hurt that way again.

_Focus. Deal with the Heartless still coming through. The last thing we need right now is another Big Dadd–_

"Zack?"

He whirls in horror to see Kairi standing a few feet away. "Kairi!"

Cloud falters at the name. He skids, turns to look, and runs back until Tifa barks at him.

"What are you _doing_?" Zack heads towards Kairi. "Get back inside|"

"I came to help." She walks to meet him, tiny boots sloshing though blackened slush. The hem of her coat is getting filthy. And why is he even noticing something like that? Talk about priorities! "You need me."

Every Heartless in the square suddenly raises its head and changes direction.

_Fuuuuuck!_ Zack makes a snap decision. He scoops Kairi up, dashing for the church.

"Zack, no!" she protests. "I can help! I know I can!"

"You just get back inside and _stay _inside, young lady."

"But you need me. I can –"

They're ambushed by a Heartless hiding in the shadows of the fountain rubble. Zack tucks and rolls, holding Kairi against his chest to keep her from being crushed. She squeaks and clutches at him. He can feel her trembling despite her brave words.

_Damn it_, he thinks, and also, _Don't let her see Yuffie. She's too young to have things like that in her head. For crying out loud, __**why**__ couldn't she stay inside where it's safe_?

He is too keyed up to realise now, but it's for the same reason_ he_ can never leave well enough alone if there's danger. Even at barely six years old, Kairi can't bring herself to do nothing while her loved-ones risk their lives.

The Heartless rush them as one seething mass, flush against the ground like a shadow looking for an object large enough to cast it. Zack knows he can't reach the church in time, so he folds Kairi in the crook of one arm, and whispers, "Whatever happens, hang on tight to me and don't let go of me, got it? I'll protect you, I promise." Then he readies the Buster Sword. _If ever I needed your power, now's the time. _

The sword responds with a burst of green-gold behind his eyes and wordless promise of its own.

* * *

Tifa snatches up the gunblade, expecting Leon to say something. He barely seems to notice. He has Yuffie's slack face in his hands and stares so hard Tifa half-expects it to cave inwards under the weight of his gaze.

"I don't think you need me to cover you," Cloud says by her shoulder.

Tifa looks at the Heartless converging on Zack – and Kairi. "Oh no."

"Give me that." Uncharacteristically terse, Cloud snatches the gunblade from her and sprints towards them, his own sword in his other hand. He wields both as if they weight nothing.

Tifa knows she's no great shakes with a blade, but she has never seen him fight with two simultaneously. She's not sure he can handle the situation on his own and wants to follow, but then she thinks of the Heartless attacking Aerith, Leon and Yuffie after she has divested them of their only real weapon – especially since it was her idea to take the gunblade.

_Wait a second. _Tifa's eyes search, while her throat works to keep down her lunch at Yuffie's wounds. _Where is it? She must have dropped it somewhere _- there!

Tifa snatches up the giant shuriken Lea gave Yuffie. She grips it tight, the haft and weight familiar only from the training Leon insisted she did before he stopped talking to Yuffie and Yuffie stopped sparring with them in the sewer. Tifa is probably even worse with this thing than a sword, but she's not the one it's for. She has her own weapon, and her body in perfect working order for kicking some Heartless butt.

"Here." She shoves the shuriken at Leon. He looks at it and then her uncomprehendingly. His eyes slide back to Yuffie, but Tifa is insistent. "Take it. You need to be able to defend her and Aerith."

Leon finally breaks out of his stupor. He mutters an oath and tries to rise, looking for his gunblade. When he sees Cloud running away with it his eyes widen.

"Zack needs it to seal the portal," Tifa snaps. "Shut up and use this instead. You always make a big deal out of everyone being able to use everybody else's weapons, right? Well put your money where your mouth is. I'm going to help them. You stay. You're …" She hesitates, reading his body language and the memories in her own head. Leon always wants to fight the Heartless, has been keeping himself going specifically to fight them, but he doesn't want to leave this spot. "You're better here."

She doesn't wait for a reply before she follows Cloud.

* * *

Zack sees Cloud approach through the mass of Heartless. He sees the gunblade and bellows, "Shoot the portal!"

Cloud doesn't hesitate, trusting implicitly that Zack knows what he's doing. His own sword clanks as he reattaches it to the magnet on his harness. He levels the gunblade at the dark rip that has caused them so much trouble and fires once, staggering under the recoil but keeping his feet. Zack sends up heartfelt thanks for Leon's insistence they all train with each other's weapons as well as their own.

The enchanted shell doesn't make a sound as it flies into the portal, but the ripple caused by something entering from this side sends the air around it shimmering like a heat haze.

Zack shifts Kairi so her arms are around his neck and the rest of her dangling behind him, her small body pressed between his shoulder blades. "Hang on tight!" he yells. Her knees press into his sides, her face against the back of his neck. Zack silently begs, _Please let this work. _

The portal swells, bulging like an overfull balloon. The air pressure hurts Zack's ears suddenly.

_Angeal, if you're out there, please let this work!_

Zack jumps higher than humanly possible and _slashes_ with the Buster Sword. The enchanted blade hits something denser than air, juddering as it tears through – and then tears right _out_ of Zack's grasp when a Heartless small, gargoyle-like Heartless with wings shoots through the portal and cannons into his gut. Zack is knocked backwards, Kairi's thin scream in his ears. The Heartless clambers over him, trying to get at her. He is caught between grabbing the sword and punching it away with his bare hands.

The Heartless explodes, and the retort of the gunblade echoes through the square. The last shell zips right through and keeps on going into the bulging portal. What looks like a funnel of superheated air rockets back along its trajectory, as unfettered magic forces begin to leak from the unstable links between worlds. Cloud instinctively hangs onto the gunblade, but is lifted into the air and shaken like a rabbit caught by a terrier. The violence of it is easily enough to snap his neck like a shaken baby.

Zack twists, seizes the sword, bounces off the rubble and jumps back to strike the air around the portal again. The Buster Sword leaves a blazing trail. Where it cuts, reality folds down like a roller-blind after a sharp tug, covering the portal and sealing it with a thunderous boom. Magic discharges outward, flooding over the entire town and into the countryside beyond like a tidal wave.

Zack briefly catches sight of the world on the other side the portal: a tunnel with walls of shifting darkness and no end that he can see. Eyes stinging with afterimages, he isn't sure whether the shapes peering back at him and Kairi are more Heartless, tall dark figures, or just more shadows.

He lands, prepared to do battle again – only to find Tifa and Cloud, breathing hard, surrounded by settling piles of dust. The silence is the kind into which noise plunks and sinks without trace. Their collective panting, dropping rubble, the chink of the gunblade tip hitting the floor – none of it echoes as much as the stifling quiet that, until moments ago, had battle noises to fill it.

"It's lucky," Zack wheezes at Cloud, "you're a good shot, or that could've been really messy."

Kairi convulses suddenly on his back. "Oh!"

"What? What is it?" Cloud rushes to her, grabbing her arms and checking her all over. "Are you hurt? Where does it hurt? Did that Heartless hurt you?"

She pushes his hands away. "No, it's not that. It's Yuffie."

Zack goes colder than the Winter day around them. Is it really still only morning? He glances across the square, to the glow of Aerith's magic, which hasn't ceased or even dimmed since she called it up.

"Her heart has stopped," says Kairi with horror.

* * *

_To Be Continued ..._

**

* * *

**

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_The world is made up of four elements: earth, air, fire and water. It's a well known fact, and like most well known facts, is actually completely wrong. There is a fifth element and it strikes with alarming regularity compared to any natural disasters the other four can come up with, even working together. It is called surprise. _

- I think I may have pilfered this from Terry Pratchett, but I forget exactly where now.

* * *

.


	77. Kairi Sets Things in Motion

****

.

* * *

**76. Kairi Sets Things in Motion**

* * *

Kairi knows she's weird. She can feel people's hearts and hear the secret things inside them. She used to think this was normal, until Gretchen explained that you hear with your ears and _just_ your ears

"It is a scientific impossibility to listen with the heart. It has no organ of corti, otherwise known as a spiral organ, nor even so much as a cochlea with which to pick up sounds. Besides which, your heart is in the middle of your ribcage surrounded by other viscera. Even if it _could_ hear, all it _would_ hear are the noises of the digestive and respiratory systems."

Kairi didn't understand much of that. She rarely understands everything Gretchen says, because Gretchen is a genius. Everybody says so – even the teachers. She would've been skipped ahead to the bigger kids' classes if she didn't want to stay with her friends 'for social and interpersonal development purposes'. Kairi also knew, from picking up on stray fears from the teachers' hearts, that Gretchen frightened them in case they couldn't keep up with her.

One thing Kairi does understand from Gretchen, as well as all her other friends, is that she can do things that are supposed to be impossible. She also understands that what she can do makes her weird, which is a less nice way of saying she's special.

She has always been told she's special – Cloud in particular is always telling her. Sometimes he calls her over just to give her a hug and tell her, and then lets her go off to play. She figured it's just something all parents say to their kids. Cloud and the others may not be her parents, but they do the same things. Aerith makes her sandwiches for school like TJ's mother, and takes care of her cut knees when she falls over, just like Vincent's mom. Zack spun her around the room by her armpits until she shrieked when she told him that's what Spinelli's dad does every day when she comes home from school. Yuffie always shares the last cupcake with her, like Mikey's mom does with him. Cloud tells her she's irreplaceable, and uses that word after she told him Gretchen's parents never dumb things down for _her_. Even Tifa and Cid, who don't live with them, do parent-y things with her – Cid lectures her about how to stay safe when operating machinery, and Tifa taught her how to throw a wicked punch. Even Spinelli was impressed when Kairi caught Randall stamping on snails and popped him on the nose.

"You can't have s many moms and dads," Gus said with his usual puzzlement when he first heard her theories on parent-y behaviour. "That's … not allowed. Is it?"

"They're not my moms and dads," Kairi replied. "They're Cloud, Zack, Aerith, Yuffie, Tifa, Cid, Leon, Lea, Chicha…" and she went on to name everybody who fills the roles left by her pretty dead mother and handsome but absent father. Cloud always tells her they were beautiful people, which is kind of a lie, she knows, but his heart glows when he says it because he only wants her to be happy, so she can forgive him for fibbing.

"Wow," Gus said at the end. "And I thought it was bad when my family have a reunion every _year_."

Not long after that, when Gretchen got all smart about cuckoo-leaders or whatever, Kairi stopped talking to her friends about listening with her heart. She never said how the talent comes and goes; how sometimes she can go for weeks without hearing a single thing, and then wake up one morning and be aware of every heart in the apartment – where they are what they're feeling, whether they're hurting and how much. She doesn't mind when everybody's happy – that's like the pleasant buzz of soda pop on her tongue, or something equally sweet. Yuffie's joy when she's going to see Lea is like cotton candy, and Aerith's delight when Cloud sneaks up and lifts her by her waist is only eclipsed by the sparkle of Cloud's heart when Zack does the same to _him_. It's easy to smile when other people are happy.

Less nice are the days when she hears bad things from people's hearts. She doesn't like to talk about those, especially not with Cloud. He looks at her with such naked concern that her head hurts even more from the worry in his heart. She loves her family and doesn't want to make them worry, so she pretends she doesn't feel sick with how much the butcher enjoys kicking his dog, or she covers the trembles that hit her whenever the Ashleys take pleasure in making other girls feel bad about themselves. She nearly passed out from Brer Fox's piercing worry and guilt when Brer Rabbit had that myxomatosis scare, but pretended she was just hungry. She doesn't even talk about Leon's aching sadness and regret, or the small thorn of sadness in Tifa every time she sees Cloud, even when she's smiling. Kairi doesn't tell anyone anything if she thinks they'd worry about her, but works extra hard to stay sunny and help everyone be sunny with her. It's part caring, part self-preservation.

So in the aftermath of the Heartless attack, after everything has gone so badly wrong, Kairi sits quietly, not talking to anyone in case she blurts out the tide of other people's emotions threatening to swamp her. They are all bad feelings, painful and raw. Grief is the most overpowering, but also guilt, anger and exhaustion. She feels pukey, like that time Yuffie and she ate an entire bowl of raw cookie dough behind the couch before Aerith spotted them.

Zack is angry he couldn't do more to save people. His fury is spiky and hot, like indigestion. Kairi rubs at her chest and tries to block it out, but Leon's anger takes its place. He is angry that his plans didn't work, even though they kind of did.

"Not enough," he grits. "Not _nearly_ enough."

They're all worried about Yuffie. For that brief time when Kairi couldn't feel the cheerful babble of her heart anymore, she thought it might be like the wildcats again. She got that same terrible cold emptiness as they ran for the shelters and the Heartless broke through their ranks and took Corn Chip Girl's heart. She felt it again when she was safe inside the church and they took Reno's. The grief that spiralled out from Lea was so awful Kairi thought she might explode with it – and then suddenly she couldn't feel _him_ anymore either. All those losses so close together struck Kairi with such a strong desire not to lose more people she cares about, she broke the rules and left the church to try and help them.

But she couldn't do anything. She just got in the way. Zack was so mad, it pierced Kairi's heart like a spear of hot ice. Now she is staying out of the way while everybody cleans up, goes home, assesses the damage, count the bodies and compare the number to those unaccounted for.

Thirty-two people are missing, but only two actual bodies are recovered – one woman, who died from a stroke, the stress of the attack too much for her to handle, and one man, who was accidentally crushed by other citizens. That means thirty people had their hearts stolen by the Heartless today.

Kairi winces when Leon hears this and his heart effervesces with fury – at the Heartless, at the unfairness of it all, and especially at himself for not being better. He also resonates horribly with guilt that out of all the people who died today, he's more concerned about the one who almost did.

Yuffie is still alive. Aerith is so exhausted after healing her injuries and tending the other wounded, she falls asleep in Cloud's arms and has to be carried to Dr. Sweet's, where the others are gathering. Cloud puts her in the neighbouring cot to Yuffie, and both he and Zack refuse to leave them. They don't protest when Leon wants to stay close to Yuffie, though Kairi can feel Zack, in particular, kind of wants to. Kairi could tell them about the love in Leon's heart for Yuffie, but it's such a sad love. Leon feels awful about Lea, like maybe he tempted fate by wanting something bad to happen to him so Lea couldn't be with Yuffie anymore. Leon's has always been a mixed up, confusing heart to listen to, but now it's like a snake eating its own tail, rolling around and around in Kairi's head.

As time passes, people go home. Cid stays to keep watch where the portal opened, and shouts at Tifa when she tries to stay even though she clearly wants to follow her friends. Hours after the last Heartless has been destroyed, fresh snow falls, covering the devastation like a giant rug the whole ordeal has been swept under.

Except that it _can't_ be swept under the rug. It's too big for that. Too much has been lost – not least of which the certainty that they're safe here. After fleeing their own worlds, people thought Traverse Town was shelter, but the Heartless have even found them here. Nobody bats an eyelid when, even in the continuing bad weather, a lot of world-orphans pack up and leave. Kairi can feel their hearts growing distant the further they go, though she doesn't move from her spot.

Locals are less eager to desert their home town, but a couple do. Gus's father sends a pigeon to an old colleague in Saunterville and moves the whole family out there the next day. He doesn't even allow his son to say goodbye to his friends. Gretchen's family are next, and the Ashleys are devastated when the morning after the attack Ashley T's mom takes herself and her daughter off to Wander Harbour, breaking up the foursome that has been stronger than stone since they made fun of other babies' unfashionable diapers.

Two days after the attack is a significant day, though it doesn't seem so when Kairi first wakes. She is also in a cot at the surgery, since she didn't want to be separated from her family. Aerith healed the worst of Yuffie's injuries in the town square, but when Yuffie was stable she had to help others, and using her powers so much, so quickly, drained her. More people than just Yuffie were hurt, and Aerith wanted to heal them all. She still wants to when she wakes on that second day and finds she has been asleep over twenty-four hours.

"How could you let me sleep that long?" she demands, throwing back the covers. Kairi watches from a cocoon of hers, feigning sleep, and sees how Aerith's knees buckle when her feet hit the floor.

"Do we still have to answer that?" Zack asks as he grabs her to stop her falling over. "You were worn-out. You still are."

"I have to help …" Aerith shakes her head, pressing a hand against her temple and squeezing her eyes shut. "I have to help Dr. Sweet."

"You have to help yourself," Zack says firmly. He glances at the lump in Kairi's bed and drops his voice to a whisper. "Cloud, back me up."

"He's right, Aerith. You can't do anything if you're too tired to see straight. Get something to eat first, at least."

"I don't need to eat," Aerith insists. "I've missed too much time already. I have to – ooourgh …"

They slide an arm under each of hers from either side and, without needing to say a word to each other, lift her back onto the cot. Aerith fights them and tries to hop off again, but they deposit her back on her tush and stand with arms folded.

"Stay put," Zack says.

"Or else," Cloud finishes.

Aerith glares at them. "You don't understand." Then she cries; big gulping sobs that wrack her entire body. She tries to hold them in, worried Kairi will see her break down, but the sobs won't be contained. "Y-You don't … I couldn't … oh _gods_."

Also without needing to exchange a word, they hold her, wrapping their arms around each other until they're a tangle of gently rocking, shushing limbs. Kairi huddles under her bedclothes, trying desperately to block out the feelings coming from their tangled hearts as well – and then trembles so much Cloud realises she's awake when Yuffie wakes and immediately asks for Lea. The wash of grief is so strong Kairi also starts to sob and Cloud has to take her home. They stop letting her go to Dr. Sweet's after this.

Yuffie's heart hurts more than anyone's. It hurts as much as when Leon broke it. Kairi wants the hurt to stop now, just like she did back then. Lea stopped it last time, but now he's gone, and that makes this fresh hurt twice as potent. Yuffie's old scars have been cut open again, but this time acid has been poured on them too.

She stops talking after Aerith breaks the news about Lea; just stares at the ceiling because her new stomach muscles aren't yet strong enough for her to sit up. Kairi can feel her heart all the way back to the apartment. As Cloud carries her there, the slurry of emotions from the other citizens actually makes her gag. She tries not to, but throws up over his shoulder and down his back. Cloud uses this to bolster the decision not to take her with them when they stay overnight at Dr. Sweet's.

Kairi wants to help, but she's too young. Her natural desire to make people feel better is all she has to work with. She can't swing a hammer, clear away rubble, or heal the wounded; she can only hear their hearts and their secrets fears and desires.

But maybe that's enough.

That night, she slips out of bed and creeps around the bedroom she usually shares with Yuffie- or at least Yuffie's mess. Penelo has stayed at the apartment with her while the others are preoccupied at Dr. Sweet's. Cloud extracted a promise from Kairi to be a big girl, and not give Penelo any trouble while they're away.

"As if you would," he then said, pulling her into a hug. "Boy, Kairi, am I glad you're okay. You are _never _to pull a stunt like you did when you left the church. Do you hear me?"

"I only wanted to help."

"Helping is fine. Helping is admirable. You know what that means?"

"Admirable means … when you admire someone?"

"Exactly. But helping sometimes means just making sure we don't worry about _you_. Help all you want, Kairi, never stop wanting to help people, but make sure it's the right _kind_ of help – not the kind that's going to cause more problems." He hugged her tighter. "Do you understand?"

"Um, I guess. I'm not allowed to help anymore."

"Not like that. Help in your own way – and one of the ways you can help is by staying here with Penelo like a big girl while Zack and I say with Yuffie and Aerith tonight. Okay?"

"Okay." Kairi drew a cross over her chest with one finger. "I promise. Cross my heart and hope to –"

"Just 'I promise' is fine."

Kairi has been as good as her word. She played snap with Penelo, even though neither of tem really wanted to play, and did some quiet crayoning before bed. Penelo kept nodding off, head bobbling onto her chest. She is dog-tired from helping Cid and the clearing crew in the town square. She doesn't stir when Kairi takes her clothes for the next day from the chair and slips out of the room.

Yuffie's favourite stories are full of little girls doing the amazing when things are darkest – ordinary girls with no special skills pulling victory out of thin air, skilled girls who fight like Yuffie and Tifa, and those with enough luck that they can save the day when everybody thinks there's no chance. Yuffie often sits with Kairi in her lap, reading, or just plain telling these stories. She changes the written ones or makes stuff up as she goes along, and Kairi is always so enthralled by the excited lilt in Yuffie's voice that she leans back to feel her voice thrum against the back of her head, and sense the joy in her heart.

Well, things are dark now. If someone doesn't do something, all Traverse Town will be smothered by own grief. Or that's how it feels to Kairi and her listening heart.

She's too young to understand the phrase 'time heals'. Healing is what Aerith does, but even after her care Yuffie's heart aches – loudly, undeniably and uncontrollably. With typical childish impatience, Kairi wants to stop the hurt _now_, and thinks knows a way.

She's too big to need help dressing, though the fiddly buttons on the back of her top are too difficult to reach. She leaves them open, pulls on her boots and coat, and debates whether to stand on a chair to fetch her scarf and hat of the hook. Penelo would probably wake up, she decides, and her gloves are still in her pockets, so she settles for just them. Quietly, using the tricks Yuffie wasn't supposed to teach her but did anyway, Kairi eases the front door open and leaves the apartment.

Outside is bitterly cold. Kairi tucks her chin into the high collar of her coat and tramps down the stairs, avoiding the creaky step and arriving at street level without mishap. Fresh snow has fallen, leaving the world crisp and pristine. Her footprints mark her path to the chocobo shed.

Fenrir doesn't like her much. Kairi has never felt the need to listen to his heart – his behaviour says enough already – but Laverne is different. She is gentle, warbling lovingly at Penelo as though they've always been rider and mount, not just thrown together by fate and the Thief King's selfish generosity. Both birds have been stabled together and, against all expectation, Fenrir has accepted his erstwhile unknown daughter as a roommate. He actually nosed the feed towards her before taking any himself, and watched her eat with what Cloud could only describe as pride, as though it pleases him how big and strong his chick has grown.

Kairi has to stand on tiptoe to get the top half of the shed door open. Laverne pushes it the rest of the way. She reaches down, delighted to see her. Kairi's own heart eases at the joy radiating from Laverne's. She spends a grateful moment listening hard, trying to block out the insistent thrum of misery from elsewhere.

Fenrir ends the moment abruptly. He shoulders Laverne out of the way, giving Kairi a filthy look. It really is amazing how intelligent these birds are, and how much emotion they can show in their bright blue eyes when the rest of their faces remain static.

"I-I need some help," Kairi whispers. She firmly believes animals talk when people aren't around, like she used to believe toys did until she went to school and met Spinelli. It's difficult to believe in whimsy when one of your school-friends is a girl who crunches it up and spits it out like a world-class lugie. Still, Kairi refuses to believe animals don't talk, she is simply of the opinion that they don't talk to anyone but other animals, and only when nobody else is around. Maybe she'll ask Kuzco about it sometime.

Laverne pushes Fenrir aside and bends her neck to Kairi again, making crooning noises. Kairi explains her idea, but Laverne's pitch doesn't change. She seems more intent on having the skin behind her head feathers scratched than nodding approval.

"So will you take me there?" Kairi asks.

"Kweh?"

"Can I ride on you?"

The key word, 'ride', resonates in Laverne's head. She makes another delighted noise. "Skreet!" Fenrir has never said 'skreet' in his life, so it must be part of her ostrich heritage coming through. "Skreeeeeee-"

"Shh!" Kairi holds a finger to her lips. "We can't let anyone know, or they'll say I'm too small to go, but I _know_ this will help. You think it makes sense too, right? Don't you?"

"Skreet. Kweh. Skreeeeeeet."

Kairi takes this as a yes and unbolts the lower half of the door. It doesn't even occur to her that Fenrir might head-butt Laverne into the straw and stare down at her, a dangerous and powerful bird with nothing between him and this small human he doesn't like. Kairi scrambles backwards and falls on her bottom in the snow. She kicks to back up, but instead of pecking her, Fenrir steps delicately out of the shed and up to the store cupboard where his tack is kept. He yanks it open with his beak and the rope Cloud uses for a handle, and pulls out a bridle that, through some head tossing, he manages to slip over his own skull. Then he leans down and presents the fastenings to Kairi. When she doesn't move he shakes, making the metal jingle.

"Wark."

"_You'll_ take me?"

"_Wark_." He gives another impatient shake of his head.

Laverne hops from foot to foot and makes distressed noises. Fenrir quietens her with a look and a flap of his stiff wings. Her ruffled feathers don't go down, but she does step backwards into the warmth of the shed.

Kairi fastens the bridle in place, fumbling several times, but eventually it's secure. Fenrir stretches his neck, testing the feel of the bit in his beak. He gives Laverne a sharp: "Kweh!" She moves further into the shed and he gives Kairi a pointed look.

"You want me to shut her in?"

"Kweh."

Kairi pushes the shed doors closed, but the moment it clicks, something solid hooks under her bottom. She finds herself shovelled up onto Fenrir's head, sliding down his neck and onto his back. She squeals with her mouth shut, bumping over his shoulders.

"Wark!"

Kairi has never ridden before, except for a short trip around town on Laverne with Penelo sitting behind her. Bareback is difficult, and Fenrir's ground-eating lope is nothing like Laverne's gentle gait. Kairi has to hold on tight as he canters silently down the empty street. Cold air blasts her face, and her legs are already starting to hurt, but she fists one hand in his feathers and hangs on to the reins with the other, trying not to slip or fall as they disappear into the night.

* * *

Aerith wakes slowly. At first she doesn't know why she's awake, since sleep still drags at her eyelids and her thoughts skitter between reality and dreams. Then she hears the soft hitching breaths and realises what woke her. Yuffie is crying again. Aerith pushes back the covers on her cot and pads barefoot to her side.

"Yuffie?"

No answer. Yuffie has barely said a word since she heard, and then remembered, what happened. Her silence is more terrifying than the prospect of more Heartless. At least then Aerith would have some idea what to do. Now she has no idea, and winging it is like stepping off a cliff with a parachute full of pots and pans.

"Yuffie, I'm here." Aerith touches the back of her hand. Yuffie doesn't pull it away but she doesn't return the gesture either. She just lays on her back, limp and unresponsive. "Do you need a glass of water? Do you need help to get to the bathroom?" The speed with which Aerith repaired her stomach left Yuffie's muscles frail. Now she needs help with the simplest movements to avoid straining them, or damaging her tender insides. "Yuffie?"

"No." Yuffie's voice is croaky. Aerith wonders how long she was weeping before the noise penetrated her own sleep.

"Do you want me to stay here?"

A pause. This probably means no, but when Aerith moves back towards her own bed Yuffie murmurs, "Yes" like she's embarrassed to say it.

"Okay."

Aerith pulls up a chair and sits beside her. For want of anything else to do with her hands, she strokes the back of Yuffie's. Yuffie accepts the touch but still doesn't respond.

Her breathing evens out after a while, but doesn't deepen enough to indicate sleep. Gradually Aerith's eyes become used to the dark, and she sees Yuffie's glinting in the thin light from the moon through the blinds. She must nod off, because when Yuffie speaks again Aerith's chin is pressed into her chest.

"He didn't mean to do it."

"Hm?"

"Lea."

Aerith stiffens. Yuffie has refused to talk about what happened. It has only two days, but even one _hour _of this unnatural silence is dreadful. If Kairi is the light of their family, Yuffie is the energy. Zack's strength, Cloud's compassion, Aerith's motherliness and Tifa's courage would all fall flat without Yuffie to skip around them, needling them when they're down and badgering them to stay bright when they're happy.

"He didn't mean to hurt me. He was just … crazy about Reno."

Reno. Another loss. Aerith feels a pang even though she wasn't close to him. He saved Yuffie's life and lost his own in the process.

"It wasn't anybody's fault. None of it was. It was all just a … a series of accidents." Aerith pauses. "Terrible, terrible accidents."

"Shyeah." Yuffie's voice turns hard. "A real bunch of fucking unfortunate events."

"Yuffie, I'm -"

"You say you're sorry and I'll rip off that ponytail and gag you with it."

Aerith is startled by the sudden venom. Then again, maybe she shouldn't be. Grief isn't predictable. "I'm here," she says at last, but the words sound hollow even to her own ears. She should have said 'I'm here for you,' but before she can add anything else Yuffie interrupts.

"So am I. That's the point."

"Excuse me?"

"He should be here too. Lea should be here too. And Reno. They shouldn't be … it's not … oh, fuck it all. I sound like a complete cliché." Yuffie turns her face away, but not before Aerith sees the fresh tears. "It's not fucking _fair_. Why don't I get to be happy? Why don't _they_? All those people who survived the attack, who _should_ have bought it, but instead Lea … and Reno … and Cait … It's not _fair_!" She whips her hand from under Aerith's as if she suddenly can't stand to be touched.

Aerith decides not to comment on the 'should have died' part. Nobody has the right or authority to decide who deserves life and who doesn't.

"I'm a ninja," Yuffie continues, as if reading her thoughts. "If anybody gets to choose who lives and dies, it's an assassin, right? Other people's lives in the palms of our hands. That's why every Wutai warrior was such a good shot – kill from a distance; go for the jugular or the femoral artery. I was never very good with arrows, but I can needle a neck from a tree without anybody on the ground knowing I'm there. Oh, the training dummies I've butchered to improve my aim."

"Yuffie, I don't think –"

"Nobody _thinks_. Not even you. You're so compassionate and wise, but you're even better than I am at putting your head up your own ass and pretending stuff doesn't exist. Why do you _think_ I'm so good at fighting, Ponytail? It wasn't self-defence classes. _Think_ about it for once. I'm a ninja. I've never made any secret of it. But how abut this to chew on – I'm a _killer_. I've _killed_ people." Yuffie turns over, wincing, and grabs Aerith's front to pull her face down towards her. "I killed a guy with my bare hands in Ragdim. He raped me, and I _killed_ him for it. Was _that_ a terrible accident too? Can I just say 'whoops' and everything's okay again? Will that wipe my slate clean?"

Aerith's eyes widen. She has always suspected, but to have Yuffie slice open her pain and throw it at her like a handful of mud is as jarring as it is surprising. "Oh _Yuffie_."

"Yeah. Oh Yuffie."

Aerith swallows her shock and horror, understanding with a sudden burst of clarity what this is really about. Lot of things suddenly make sense, but at this moment in time one stands out above the rest. She places her hands over Yuffie's fists. "What happened to Lea and Reno isn't your fault, Yuffie."

Yuffie glares at her. She's furious. For a moment Aerith honestly thinks she's going to draw back a fist, but instead her hands begin to shake. Her knuckles judder against Aerith's collarbone, still wrapped in the fabric there. Then she lets go and covers her face, sobbing.

"Some kind of fucking payback," she says brokenly. "He didn't care. Lea was the first person I ever told everything, and he didn't _care_. And I loved him for it. I loved him for not caring. How sick is that? I killed a guy, and I fucking adored a man for not _caring_ that someone is _dead_ because of me. And n-now _Lea's_ dead because of me, too – because he didn't care about what I'd done, even said I was right to do it because of what the guy did to me, but that kind of opinion isn't allowed when you're trying to redeem yourself and be a hero."

"That's not it at all. "

"It is – it _is_.It's like I'm not allowed to be happy because I wanted so much to become this … this killer. Even after I realised I couldn't do it, couldn't kill without remorse like the rest of the warriors my tribe, I wanted to be a ninja anyway. I thought I could be a great ninja without the killing part. My dad always said I was naïve … so useless … I'm not allowed … I … I want … oh gods, Aerith, he's dead. I'm thinking about myself, about stuff that happened years ago and doesn't _matter _anymore, while Lea's _dead_. Those Heartless took his heart. He was so busy worrying about me, about what he did by accident, that he didn't see them, and they took his heart. I saw his face. It _hurt_, having his heart stolen, and I couldn't stop it. You're supposed to protect the one you love, and we couldn't … I couldn't …"

Aerith's heart feels like it's breaking. She has never heard Yuffie sound so defeated.

"I've lost him. I love him, and he's never coming back, and it's not _fair_…" she babbles, flitting between too many thoughts and emotions, unable to settle on one until everything comes crashing out of her in one big acidic wave. She rolls over and throws up noisily down the side of the bed.

Aerith wouldn't usually hug Yuffie, and definitely not right after she has been sick. Yuffie isn't type to receive hugs well – which is a lot more understandable now – but at this moment it seems entirely appropriate, and Yuffie responds not by pushing her away, but by clutching at Aerith like she's drowning.

"I named my shuriken Glory of Wutai, but Wutai's dead. They're all dead. They have been for years. There's no glory left, and now Lea's dead too. I want him back, Ponytail. I don't care if it's selfish; if I had to pick between him and my tribe, I'd pick him. I want him back."

"Shhh."

"I want him back!" Yuffie's voice rises, becoming a hysterical shriek. "I WANT HIM _BACK_!"

Aerith twists in the chair so Yuffie doesn't have to sit up, which puts her halfway onto the bed. Her hair dangles into the foul-smelling vomit, but she doesn't move. She just holds Yuffie and rocks her, like Zack and Cloud rocked her when her own grief and frustration got too much – and that's how Zack finds them when he blunders sleepily into the room, woken by the noise. He stares in wonder and not a little alarm.

"Aerith?"

"Shh," she murmurs. "Just give us a minute." Aerith stokes Yuffie's hair, the way her own mother used to when she was small and took a tumble. She wishes a hug and a kiss could make things better the way they could back then, but it's going to take a lot more than that to heal this damage. "It'll be okay, Yuffie. Shh, shh, it'll be okay …"

* * *

"I've never seen her like that before." Zack's hands are so tight around his mug he's surprised he hasn't cracked it. "I mean _never_."

"She's hurting." Cloud pours hot water over another teabag. He stares at it for a moment, not turning away from the counter in the small kitchenette. The door is closed, but he keeps his voice low, as though not wanting Aerith and Yuffie to hear even though they're all the way on the other side of the building. "She really loved him, didn't she?"

"Loves."

"What?"

"Present tense. That's why it hurts so much."

"Oh. Right."

Zack frowns and slugs back a scalding mouthful of tea. It burns all the way down, but right now he doesn't care. It has been half an hour since he walked in on the girls, thinking they were being attacked and finding something much worse. Yuffie's face will be forever embedded in his brain, and he knows he will get no more sleep tonight with what he saw and heard running circles in his head.

Lea. Zack can't quite believe it. Lea and Reno are such _survivors_. For them to be the ones who died seems as mind-boggling as Yuffie killing people, and yet both are true. Likewise Cait. Zack is used to calling past the fortune-teller's tent, stopping for a chat and shortbread, and being constantly surprised at the rude sense of humour under all that mysticism. Cait has become a friend. Now he's gone. The pain of loss is all too familiar.

Emotions jumble around in Zack like a nest of poisonous snakes poked with a stick. Some hero he turned out to be. He defeated the monsters, but couldn't save his friends. Now he has to watch as someone he cares about burns up from the inside out because of his failure. Is this what he put Cloud and Aerith through when Angeal died? They stayed with him when he was at his worst – and his worst was pretty bad. He has always appreciated and loved them for that. He can do no less for Yuffie now.

"This is too weird," Cloud says. He stirs his tea with a spoon, clinking it against the ceramic but not even looking at what he's doing. Zack guesses it's just to keep his hands occupied.

"You're telling me."

"The worst part is she's lying in there, crying her eyes out, and all I can think is how lucky I am it wasn't you or Aerith who were …" Cloud trails off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"Or Tifa."

"Yes. Or Tifa."

"Or Kairi."

"I _know_, Zack. But saying it just makes me sound even worse. Yuffie is inconsolable because Lea died, and I'm a hell because my loved ones didn't." Cloud pauses. "Kairi just wanted to help, you know."

"I know, I know, but … cheering from the sidelines is helping. Scaring me half to death by turning up on the battlefield like that? Not so much." Zack winces at his own word choice. No wonder Aerith's the one left doing the comfort thing. The last thing Yuffie needs is Zack's forcibly-cheerful attempt to eat his own foot all the way to the knee.

"She just wanted to help," Cloud says again. "Isn't that what we're doing right now?"

"Wrong. Right now we're sitting n Dr. Sweet's wannabe kitchen, drinking horrible tea and trying not to think about what Yuffie must be feeling."

"Well _I _want to help her." Cloud raises the mug to his lips, finds it too hot and lowers it again. "I just don't know how I'm supposed to do that. What do you say to someone at a time like this?"

"You managed pretty well when it was me."

"Angeal was different. Not only was Yuffie nearly killed by her boyfriend, he then died in front of her eyes, she couldn't save Cait, and Reno was killed saving her life. Any one of those is a lot for a person to take in, but all of them together …" Cloud shakes his head. "You saw her, Zack. I've never seen her like this before. I'm worried this might break her."

"Break _Yuffie_?"

"She's still human. Lea I – was – her first real relationship. She doesn't know how to cope with what she felt or what she's feeling now. It's like … imagine how _you'd_ feel if I was Lea and I stabbed you before dying myself, or if Aerith was killed right in front of you by a Heartless."

"Well that didn't happen."

"No need to sound so defiant."

Zack unclenches his hands. "You didn't die," he says, softer but no less determined. "Neither of you did. I get what you mean, Cloud, but I don't even want to think about what I'd do if either of you were to die, let alone be killed."

"You just cracked that mug."

"Damn it. Ah, hot!" Zack puts it down and shakes out his hands.

"Idiot." Cloud finds a cloth, transfers the ruined mug in the sink and grabs Zack's hands. "Here." He wipes at them, but Zack avoids the cloth and laces his fingers awkwardly through Cloud's instead. Cloud pauses and looks up at him. "Zack?"

"Shut up a minute." Zack pulls Cloud to him, just holding him close for a second. They both need showers and smell pretty rank, but even that's not enough to make him move away. He needs this contact for a minute. It's grounding, and brings him back to himself after Yuffie's pain threaten to send him spinning off into the land of terrible what-ifs. He balances his chin on top of Cloud's head, shuts his eyes and just breathes; long, slow breaths to centre himself. "Shit."

"Um, to you too?" Cloud offers.

"No, stupid."

"Well I haven't washed my hair since –"

"I didn't mean _you're_ shit, I just meant … shit. As in 'shit, I'm glad you're okay' or 'shit, what happens now?'"

"Shit, what do we do next?" Cloud suggests.

"That too. Man, I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

"Go on and live a good life and forget all about me."

"Don't even joke about stuff like that."

Cloud leans into him, not hugging or engaging in the prelude to a kiss, just standing close and listening to Zack's heartbeat. Zack can feel Cloud's ear against his chest. When he breathes in Cloud's head rises and falls in time with his breaths, as if they're one being. He does it again, deeper this time.

"Sorry." Cloud moves his face to nestle into the warm hollow between Zack's neck and chin. "Was I compressing your lungs?"

"No. Quit apologising so much. You've been apologising ever since we got here. You don't apologise for being alive, or for being loved."

"Well what do you want me to say?"

"Not sure. Something. Nothing. Whatever you feel like."

"I love you."

Zack smiles and presses a kiss into Cloud's stinky hair. "That'll do."

_

* * *

_

__

To Be Continued …

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

… _or Brer Fox's piercing worry and guilt over Brer Rabbit when he had that myxomatosis scare._

- Myxomatosis is a severe disease that decimated the wild rabbit population when it arrived in Britain fifty years ago. Richard Adams called it the 'white blindness' in his novel _Watership Down. _Domestic rabbits are also susceptible and deaths in pets are reported every year, although you can now vaccinate against the disease. The classic form of myxomatosis is seen in rabbits that haven't been vaccinated. It is a dreadful disease that causes immense suffering: affected, unvaccinated rabbits can take a fortnight to die and treatment is usually futile, which is why euthanasia is usually recommended. Classic myxomatosis starts with runny eyes and in the very early stages can be confused with other causes of conjunctivitis. It rapidly progresses to a severe conjunctivitis which causes blindness and is accompanied by lumpy (nodular) swellings on the head, plus lumps on the body. Excessive amounts of thick pus discharges from the nose and swollen eyes, which are often sealed shut with crusty residue. There are also two nonconforming forms of the disease: one causes a pneumonia-like illness, the other mainly affects skin and carries a better prognosis. And the worst part of this dreadful sickness? Humans invented and deliberately released it.


	78. An Ill Fated Rescue

**.**

* * *

**77. An Ill-Fated Rescue**

* * *

"Aerith?"

"Shh." Aerith, stroking Yuffie's hair off her face, doesn't break her rhythm. Every so often Yuffie whimpers, but at least she has stopped shying away from being touched. That has to be a good sign. "She's finally sleeping."

Cloud eases the door open to creep into the room. "How is she?"

"Devastated. Heartbroken. Inconsolable." She sighs. "All of the above? I don't know. I can only heal bodies."

"You don't give yourself enough credit. Did Leon come in earlier?"

"Yes."

"How did that go?"

"Not well. He thought she was still sleeping." Aerith doesn't say anything for a moment. When she does, her voice is subdued. "Yuffie … blames herself."

Cloud winces. "For what happened to Lea?"

"For Lea, for Reno, for not being more than she is. She's confused and she's angry, and blaming herself is easier than accepting it was an accident. If she doesn't have anyone to blame it makes their deaths seem meaningless, I guess." Aerith looks sadly at the sleeping girl. She has obviously had a lot of time to think about this. "She was so tired and tangled up inside I'm surprised she still remembered her own name. She kept telling me things about the Wutai Clan and her father, then she'd switch to telling me things about Lea and his world, and then she'd start shouting about nothing at all." Aerith sighs. "She sent Leon away."

Cloud guesses this is an understatement. He wonders whether Yuffie knows about the vigil Leon kept over her while she was unconscious, or his undisguised fear when he thought she might die. His stoicism had fallen away when faced with losing her, and he either hadn't realised or hadn't cared that he was disproving his claim to feel nothing for her. Cloud remembers with the horror on Leon's face when Yuffie's heart stopped, before Aerith's magic got it beating again, and the naked relief that probably would've floored Yuffie if she'd been able to see it.

"She needs us now," Aerith murmurs, tucking Yuffie's long hair behind her ear like she's a small child and not nearly an adult. Wrapped tight in percale sheets, Yuffie looks so much younger, her narrow face pinched and drawn. It looks like she has lost weight in only the couple of days she has been here. Since she's already so skinny, her newly hollow cheeks and the dark circles of grief under her eyes make her look ill. "She always acts like she doesn't need anyone, but she made me promise not to leave her. At first I thought she was just talking about tonight, but now ..."

Cloud is about to say something when he hears a noise outside the door. Aerith's eyes flick to Yuffie, but her already depleted strength was exhausted further by her emotional outbursts earlier, and she doesn't stir. The door opens a crack, to reveal Zack looking grimmer than when Cloud left him. It's clear from the look on his face that he isn't here to check up on Yuffie.

"We have a problem."

Cloud is instantly alert. "Heartless?"

"No. Leon's back."

"He didn't go home?"

"I think –" Zack pauses to glance behind him. Evidently Leon isn't close by. "I think he's been just wandering around town pretending to patrol."

"In this weather?" Aerith asks. They saw the snow earlier. She doesn't add the second part of the thought, though Cloud can see it written in her face: alone, without back-up, with the real possibility of another attack? They have learned not to take anything for granted now. Just because Reno sealed one rift and Zack and Cloud sealed the other doesn't mean another couldn't appear somewhere else. It was surprising enough to discover the Heartless used Cait's crystal ball to gain entrance to this world in the first place. There's no telling what else they might do if they like the look of this world enough to try again.

"He must have been very distracted," Aerith says.

"Well, can you blame him?" Cloud asks.

By now they're all familiar with Leon's feelings for Yuffie. His reaction in the square dispelled any doubt. Cloud, in particular, understands about stepping aside and pushing away someone you care about because you believe you're wrong for them, or because you think they'll be happier with someone else. After all, that's what he tried to do for Aerith and Zack when he thought they were in love with just each other.

Leon, on the other hand, managed to succeed in extricating himself from Yuffie's heart, only to have her sink deeper into his when she fell in love with Lea. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but having someone around and happy with someone else makes it ache with devastating realisation. Leon is a master of self-hatred and culpability. His mind must be a poisonous place after all that has happened.

"Does he have frostbite or something?" Cloud asks, trying to think what the problem could be at four in the morning. It must be pretty big to bring Leon back _here_.

Zack's jaw tightens. He shakes his head. "It's Kairi. Leon said he saw her riding out of town on your chocobo."

* * *

Kairi's fingers are cramped and numb even with her gloves on. Fenrir seems to know exactly where they're going and doesn't need her to guide him, so the reins have become little more than something to hold on to when he leaps over small rocks and changes direction so sharply she slews to one side and nearly falls off.

To distract herself from the cold and her sore bottom, she finds herself listening to his heart for the first time. It's a proud heart, with resentment and arrogance everywhere, but also something that feels a lot like when Cloud hugs her. Evidently Fenrir's decision to let her ride him is less concern for her than for Laverne. Laverne would have taken Kairi anywhere, but she doesn't know the area. Anything could happen to her out here. Fenrir, at least, knows how to use his claws against fangs, and won't fall into any gullies.

Kairi buries her face in his prickly feathers. "You _do_ have a good heart after all. Cloud will be so pleased."

Fenrir gives an embarrassed "Wark!" and jolts her over a boulder to maker her shut up.

Kairi wonders what Cloud is doing right now. Sleeping, probably. She can't concentrate on listening for his heart, so far behind them in town. Yuffie's heart sparkled with pain when Fenrir was still in his first canter, and it sharpened Kairi's resolve to make things better for her. She hopes they _all_ stay asleep until she gets back. That would be best, because that way nobody will worry. You can't worry about what is already done. Besides, they'll probably all be so happy with her, getting mad won't even cross their minds.

The mountains loom in the distance, a darker black against the velvet sky. Clouds roll as if competing with the little girl and chocobo, promising more bad weather there.

Can spirits get wet? Kairi wonders. Lea always hated getting wet. She remembers one time when he visited and it rained unexpectedly. He sat in their apartment and sulked, curling back his upper lip like a cat that knows it doesn't have the agility or speed to dodge falling raindrops. Yuffie laughed at him and ran off to put water in one of the balloons left over from Kairi's birthday party. Aerith made them clean up the mess, but they kept smiling on the inside even when they grumbled and picked bits of burst balloon off the walls.

But Lea did stand out in the snow to keep watch when it was his turn, so maybe snow isn't the same as rain. If it snows, maybe his spirit will still come with her if she asks nicely and tells him how much Yuffie misses him. If she explains how Yuffie couldn't come herself, maybe that will make things easier. It'd be silly for him to wait for her in the mountains if she's stuck in a bed at Dr. Sweet's.

"Do you know where the big crystal is in the mountains?" Kairi asks Fenrir. "You and Cloud have gone to so many places, you must know. Do you remember the way there?"

"Wark!"

That could mean anything, but it sounds irritated. She settles back to focus on how pleased everyone will be when she brings Lea's spirit home, letting the details slide over her as unimportant compared to this greater truth. Details are things adults take care of. Kairi has no capacity to think of them for herself. She has no idea exactly what she's risking right now. All she can think of is Tifa's story of Vincent and Lucrecia, of Yuffie's grieving heart, and of getting snowed on when she has no hat.

* * *

Zack's coat was ruined during the fight with the Heartless, so he has been wearing a couple of thick sweaters under Esmeralda's cloak. He rarely wears the cloak, despite how dramatic it looks, since he once got it caught in the door of the café and nearly garrotted himself in full view of a busy street. When she went back to the apartment to fetch some spare clothes, however, Penelo carried everything bundled up in both his and Cloud's cloaks. It seems churlish to not wear them when she is already beside herself with apologies. The vibrant red seems extra bright in the stark halogen bulbs of Dr. Sweet's, as he and Cloud pull on their things.

Penelo apologises every five seconds for not keeping a better eye on Kairi. She ran into the surgery fifteen minutes after Leon, squawking that Kairi's bed is empty and her clothes are gone. "I was asleep. I didn't wake up. But that's no excuse, I know, I just … I'm so, so sorry –"

"Nobody knew she'd do something like this," Cloud assures her, but the skin around his mouth is tense, and Zack is adept at reading his eyes. Cloud is terrified. No doubt he is already imagining what could happen to a little girl alone in the wilderness – as well as what might already have happened. "It's not your fault."

"Take Laverne," Penelo insists. "She may not be as heavily built as Fenrir, but she can still carry both of you, and she's fast."

Zack doubts she's as fast as a chocobo rooster at full tilt, especially one carrying a light passenger instead of two grown men, but says nothing of this to Penelo. He has seen Fenrir going so flat out even Cloud, an experienced birdsman, had trouble keeping his seat. He also remembers riding that blasted bird the night they arrived in Traverse Town, and how _he _was almost shaken loose when they careened down the side of a cliff. Laverne may be good, but Fenrir is like the wind.

_Yeah, a freaking tornado. _He chases away images of Kairi's small body sprawled, ruined after rolling to a halt at sixty miles per hour.

Cloud straightens, fastening his sword harness and attaching his blade to the magnet on his back. "Are you ready?"

It has been decided that they two will chase down Fenrir and bring Kairi back. Zack keeps replaying how all the Heartless in the square zeroed in on her, and Big Daddy's single-minded attempts to break into the church while she was inside. If there are Heartless around, and they sense Kairi, alone and vulnerable, they may decide to attack again. It will take two of them to get her to safety in that kind of situation. Not to mention there's no way Zack is letting Cloud ride out alone with that same threat. Nobody even suggests Cloud _not_ go.

"Not Rocky Road, end-of-the-sale frenzy, but sure, I'm ready." Zack gives his best 'everything will turn out okay because _I'm_ on the case now' grin. "Let's move it."

"Wait!"

They turn to see Aerith coming towards them. She is staying here, but it's obvious she's torn between who she should more anxious about: Yuffie or Kairi.

Judging by the scorching kisses she gives both Cloud and Zack, they're included in that equation as well. "Bring her home," Aerith says, standing on tiptoes to hug them both simultaneously. "And bring yourselves home in one piece, too."

Zack raises an eyebrow.

She smacks the back of his head. "Don't be so crude!"

"Ow! What? I didn't say anything! I can't help it if _you_ have a dirty mind."

She smacks him again, but it's worth it to puncture the atmosphere and let some of the tension drain out. Zack would gladly let Aerith smack him a thousand times if it helps.

Laverne proves her tolerant nature by waiting patiently as Penelo tries to saddle her. She's still apologising and looking over her shoulder so much that Cloud takes over and readies the chocstrich with quick, experienced hands.

"Sorry," Penelo mumbles. "Can't so anything right."

"Don't." Zack puts a hand on her shoulder and shakes her slightly. "It wasn't your fault. When Kairi sets her mind to something, even we're hard pushed to stop her. Thankfully she doesn't pull stunts very often, but we're none of us equipped to deal with her when she's really determined to do something, and according to Leon she had that look on her face tonight."

"But –"

"Penelo, you aren't to blame. Trust me."

It's easy to see where Kairi went. Fenrir's footprints mark a path through the crisp new snow. Zack rides behind Cloud, conscious the Buster Sword is heavier than Cloud's, but Laverne makes only the vaguest peep at their combined weight.

It's true; she _is_ fast. Even carrying two armed men, she skims over the ground. Zack allows himself to believe they'll catch up with Kairi sooner rather than later. It's almost five o' clock now, and the world is still pitch-dark. The sun rises later in Winter. The air is cold and so still Zack can tell there's a storm on the way. That makes it doubly important they find Kairi before it breaks. None of them should be out in the open in bad weather, or the Heartless will be the least of their problems.

Cloud's shoulders are a rigid line, visible even in the moonlight after they leave the lights of the town behind.

Zack has his arms wrapped around Cloud's waist to anchor himself. He squeezes a little tighter and calls, "Don't worry. We'll find her."

Cloud gives a stiff nod, but doesn't take his eyes from the trail.

Zack falls silent, glad he tucked his cloak around himself before they started and the still air became the biting wind of a breakneck pace.

* * *

"So," Yuffie says as soon as Aerith re-enters the room, "are you going to tell me what the hell's going on, or do I have to guess? Because I'm great at guessing games, but right now? Too tired and too pissed off. Really and truly can't be bothered."

"Nothing is going on –"

"Bull. Shit."

Aerith grimaces. For all that she's spent years talking to Cid and hearing Zack curse when he stubs his toe or cracks his head from _always _leaving the top cupboard door open, she still adopts a prim and proper attitude to swearing. Gratuitous cussing doesn't make her purse her lips in disapproval like Miss Finster or Aunt Sarah, but the wounded look in her eyes usually makes Yuffie stop.

"I heard voices," Yuffie says, "and not one of them was the Doc's. I know I'm the only patient in this place, so spill: what happened?"

For a moment Aerith considers not sharing the news, but predicts Yuffie will roll out of bed and go find out for herself, probably pulling all sorts of muscles in the process. "Kairi's missing."

"_What_?" Yuffie props herself up on her arms, ignoring the pain that makes her wince involuntarily. Not for the first time, Aerith wonders whether she reattached all those torn ligaments correctly. She has never done such a huge, intricate healing before, and the potential problems are more than she can count on both hands and feet with her socks off. "When?"

"We're not sure. Not long ago. Apparently she took Cloud's chocobo and rode off somewhere. We don't know where or why, but Cloud and Zack have gone to get her. She won't get far. She's never ridden alone before, and you can guarantee that bird will get tired of wandering in the wilderness and come home to his nice warm shed before long."

"That's good, I guess." Yuffie slumps back on one side, but remains propped on the other. She seems to consider her next move very carefully, then whips back the covers and plonks her feet on the floor. Aerith hurries to push her back down, but Yuffie resists. "I'm not an invalid."

"You still need to rest."

"I'm plenty rested."

"Yuffie, you were seriously injured. You need more rest than just this."

"So heal me up again. Give me a boost of your magic so I can get up and leave this freaking place. It's like a tomb in here, and you guys are all those irritating mourners who stick around after the burial and won't fuck off." She doesn't flicker at her choice of words – in fact she's watching Aerith to gauge _her_ reaction.

Aerith refuses to rise to the bait. Zack got aggressive and reckless sometimes when grieving for Angeal. She does the same now as she did then – keeps her voice level and her touch light, but remains firm. With Zack, it was him feeling out the boundaries of his life and personal relationships after the most important one was taken away. He needed to know what his world looked like without Angeal in it, and who else would leave him in the wake of his uncle's passing. Yuffie is the same. Aerith lets her know with a hand on her shoulder that she's not letting up on this.

"You need to rest. What happened has left you weak."

"Because I died." Yuffie nods in satisfaction. "Surprised? Yeah, I know about that. I heard you talking to the Doc. My heart stopped, right?"

Aerith nods. What's the point in lying now?

"Heh. So I died of a broken heart." The bitterness in Yuffie's voice is like an entire grove of lemon trees. "How fucking clichéd."

Aerith presses her shoulder. "Yuffie, sit."

She sits. "How bad was it?"

"How bad was what?"

"What Lea … what the chakram did. How bad was it really? And don't give me any of that 'this may cause you unnecessary distress' garbage. It's my body; I'm the one who died, so I have a right to know what killed me."

Aerith chooses her words carefully. "The tip of the spike penetrated the anterior and posterior walls of your stomach, causing you to bleed into your gut. There was muscle tearing and a lot of the frontal abdominal muscles were completely severed. Your diaphragm was injured, and the force of the blow snapped three of your ribs, one of which shunted backwards and punctured your left lung. You went into shock and the trauma to your system caused your heart to palpitate irregularly. There were other things as well, but basically, Yuffie, when I got to you I didn't know where to start. Any one of those could have killed you."

"_Should_ have killed me," Yuffie corrects. "Because let's face it, I wasn't meant to survive. I was meant to go join the rest of my clan in the big ninja encampment in the sky. So, once again I'm the pitiful little survivor, crawling away to lick my wounds while those around me die horribly. That figures. Somebody up there's playing a giant joke, and I'm always the fucking punch line."

Aerith isn't sure what she's doing until afterwards, when her hand stings and Yuffie is holding her cheek. "Don't you ever," she says quietly, "say you should have died."

Yuffie's expression morphs from shocked to defiant. "Why not? It's true, isn't it? I'm this giant bad luck charm – keep away from Yuffie, if you get too close to her and she starts to care about you, you'll wind up dead. Aren't you worried _you'll_ be next? Or how about Hero, or Cloudy, or Small Fry? Everybody I get attached to buys it eventually. It's better if I just leave now so you guys have a fighting chance."

"If you move from that bed, Yuffie, I swear I'll … I'll …"

"You'll what? Even like this, I could still kick your ass."

"Probably."

Yuffie snorts.

"All right, _certainly_ you could. But that won't change anything. You're not bad luck. You're not the reason for those you love not being there anymore."

"Stop trying to soften the blow – 'not being there anymore'? Give me a break. I'm not a little kid. They're _dead_, Ponytail. They _died_. They're not just out buying groceries or filling out lottery cards, they're _dead_."

"And you miss them."

"Of course I miss them! Have you ever lost anyone you loved? I mean _lost_ them, like it's your fault – like they were taken away from you, and you should've done something to stop it happening, but you didn't? Your mom was still alive when we came here. You didn't have to watch a Heartless rip her heart out and know there was nothing you could do about it, did you? And you never even knew your dad or Ifalna, so don't try to play that card. You guys talk about this Angeal guy like he was some great idol of yours. He died, yeah, but he had one of those glorious deaths. He didn't die because you were so fucking stupid you couldn't stop it."

"Yuffie, you're in pain. I understand. For that reason, I'm not going to take anything you say personally –"

"Oh yeah, Saint Aerith, always ready with the endless patience and compassion. You fix people when they're broken, right? Well, fix me."

"I've already healed your injuries as much as I can, Yuffie. The rest is just time and patience."

"No, I mean fix _me_. Make it so I don't bring bad luck anymore. Make it so I can be with people and not get them killed." Yuffie narrows her eyes accusingly. "You can't do it, can you? I'm a disease, and the only way to cure a disease is to kill it and free the body it's infecting so it can heal. Fix me or kill me, Ponytail, but do _something_ other than stand there and preach your holier-than-thou act at me."

Aerith's arms and neck prickle. _I'm a disease, and the only way to cure a disease is to kill it._ Yuffie isn't that stupid or self-pitying. She wouldn't. She _wouldn't_.

Would she?

This brittle, snarling girl in front of her barely resembles the Yuffie she knows. The Yuffie she has come to love is an energetic, mischievous girl with lots of flaws but a heart big enough to balance them out. She's not cruel, she's not vindictive, and she has a firm grasp of right and wrong even if she skews the interpretations to her own ends. She has always been unpredictable, but in a compassionate way. This Yuffie is wild-eyed and fraught, and Aerith can't shake the feeling that in this state of mind she's capable of anything.

_She_ _might_, whispers a voice. _She might do it._

Aerith doesn't need this; not now, still choked with her own grief over lost friends, exhausted from using so much energy so quickly, and worried about Kairi. Yuffie seems to have forgotten that she doesn't have a monopoly on grief for Lea. Aerith liked him too, as well as Reno and Cait. Everybody's hearts have room for the friendships made in Traverse Town, and there are now empty hollows where those three used to be.

But grief makes Yuffie selfish. She snaps against the bars of her own emotions, unable to register how other people might feel because it's not as important as how _she _feels. "Do me a favour, Ponytail: don't act like you understand what I'm going through right now, because you don't. It's like I've been hiding from this horrible truth and suddenly I _get_ it – I really get it, and it only took losing the man I love to teach it to me. When you lose Hero or Cloudy, _then _you can come back to me and tell me you _understand my pain_."

A knock comes at the door. Reeling a little, but refusing to let it show, Aerith opens it. "Yes? Oh … Leon."

The temperature drops twenty degrees.

"What do _you_ want?" Yuffie demands.

"I heard raised voices," Leon says in his usual monotone.

"We're having a mad orgy and Ponytail won't let me top. Now fuck off so we can get back to it."

His face remains impassive. "Are you okay?" he asks Aerith. He doesn't bother asking Yuffie. It would be the most stupid question in the history of stupid questions.

"I'm all right," Aerith lies.

He nods. Finally he looks at Yuffie. She bares her teeth where once she might only have stuck out her tongue. "Penelo's back," he says. "She'd like to see you."

Yuffie sags. She has no quarrel with Penelo. Grudgingly she informs Leon he can let her in. Before he does, he treats Yuffie to an unfathomable look. She glares back.

"I don't want your pity, Leon_fart_."

"Good. You wouldn't get it."

"Oh yeah, that's right; you killed the love of _your_ life, too."

He doesn't react, as though he was expecting this. Yuffie is trying to provoke him like she tried to provoke Aerith, easing her own frustration and pain by making others experience them too.

"You didn't kill Lea," Leon says matter-of-factly.

"You're just mad because the Heartless did it before _you_ could. Don't deny it. You never liked or trusted Lea or Reno. You probably think they _deserved_ what they got, just like you think _I_ deserved what I got. I'll bet you were really disappointed when I pulled through, huh? 'Oh great, the whiny annoying brat who helped burn down Madame Medusa's shop is still alive and kicking when my poor sweet Rinoa is taking a dirt nap'. Newsflash, Leonfart – life isn't fair. If it was fair, I _would've_ died, just so I wouldn't have to look at your ugly face anymore."

Push, push, push, push … right to the edge of the cliff to see who jumps off, who falls, and who clings on by their fingertips so she can grind her heels to see if they'll let go.

Aerith's breath snags in her throat. She glances at Leon, but his expression is flatter than a shadow. Even his eyes are unreadable. "If you had died," he says calmly, "I would have grieved you as much as you're grieving for Lea."

Yuffie hurls the beaker from her bedside cabinet at him. Leon dodges. It shatters against the wall and doorframe, splattering water everywhere. Pieces of broken glass tinkle into Aerith's hair and onto the floor.

"Fuck off! Just fuck off!" Yuffie screams. If she was an unfamiliar version of herself before, now she's a total stranger. "Get out! GET OUT!" She jumps to her feet and hurls herself at Leon, trying to kick and punch him. When he catches hold of her wrists she leans forward and sinks her teeth into his chin, drawing blood. They fall backwards, her on top, still clamped to his face in a terrible parody of a kiss.

The noise brings Penelo running. Between the two of them, she and Aerith prise Yuffie off. Yuffie falls back onto the bed with a pained grunt, mouth stained red and hands clutching her middle. She slides off the edge, onto the floor, the better to reach Leon with her foot.

"Fuck off," she wheezes, kicking at him when he gets to his knees beside her. "Don't pretend you care. You made it clear you don't, so don't pretend you do now out of _pity_.You hated him. You were awful to him. I hate you. I _hate_ you, Squall Leonhart. How the hell did I ever think I was in love with you? I _hate_ you! I HATE you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate, hate, hate, HATE –"

"Yuffie, stop struggling." Aerith tries to keep her still so her magic can feel out if she's done any real damage to herself.

"I HATE YOU!" Yuffie shouts with such venom that Penelo actually flinches. Yuffie has finally found a good target for all her bilious rage and hurt. "It should've been _you. _They should've taken your heart. You don't use it for anything anyway. It should've been you, not Lea. I hate you for living when he's dead! I hate you! I H-HATE Y-YOU!" She dissolves into incoherent sobs that make Aerith's windpipe constrict for the happy, independent girl who has been reduced to such a pitiable thing.

Leon gets up, wipes his chin, mutters, "I'm going to patrol," and closes the door behind him.

_

* * *

_

To Be Continued …

* * *

.


	79. Familiar Faces

**.**

**

* * *

**

78. Familiar Faces

* * *

The sun turns the sky from black to navy blue, and then washed out grey. The stars fade away and birds begin to twitter a lacklustre morning chorus. Kairi shivers and thinks about breakfast.

The mountains seem a lot closer in daylight. A lot scarier, too – all jagged and unfriendly. Her growly tummy is uncomfortable, but she is more taken up with the cliffs and rocky peaks. Where is she supposed to go now? Tifa never explained that part. In Kairi's mind she just imagined she'd know as soon as she got there, but now she doubts herself. In stories it's always easy; the heroine comes to a cave she doesn't have to climb very far to reach, usually the very first one she even looks for, walks inside, and hey presto, there's whatever she's searching for.

These mountains aren't like those in books. These mountains are harsh and dusted with more snow, full of sharp angles and steep inclines. They don't look like they'd be home to any helpful little fuzzy animals or anything like that. Kairi wavers, but she has come too far to turn back. It doesn't even occur to her childish sense of logic that this mountain range may not have a special crystal like the one outside Hollow Bastion.

Breakfast does seem like a fantastic idea, though.

"Fenrir," she croaks. "Fenrir, stop. I'm hungry."

The chocobo carries on for a few minutes as if to spite her. Finally halts and warbles, shaking his head from side to side like a wet dog drying its fur. Kairi squeaks and slides off. In a flash of self-preservation, she refuses to let go of the reins and hobbles, slightly bow-legged, leading Fenrir until she comes to a clutch of bushes.

She learned a lot about plants from Aerith, and a lot about wilderness survival from Zack. Consequently, she knows the berries on the low bushes are poisonous to humans, so she leaves Fenrir pecking them greedily. His stronger stomach juices are more able to cope. There's a much more likely food source in the knobbly tree. In Spring and Summer it will bear fruit, but in Winter its branches are barren. Not so the knothole in its trunk, which, after some experimental poking, gives up its stash of nuts in a tumble of shiny brown shells. Some squirrel has diligently collected these, but the stash hasn't been touched in a long time. The squirrel probably became a meal for a larger animal, which is sad, but she forces herself not to think about that.

Kairi cracks the nuts open with the heel of her foot the way Chicha did when she couldn't find a nutcracker. They're bitter and chewy, but to an empty belly they're good enough. Despite the horrid aftertaste, Kairi is proud she was able to find her own breakfast out here when Aerith won't even let her cut her own sandwiches with the sharp knife at home.

Tummy sated, thirst becomes her most pressing problem. There's no sink and she didn't bring anything to drink. She watches Fenrir take a beak full of snow and eat it. Kairi copies the move, allowing the snow to melt in her mouth. It numbs her tongue, but it also quenches her thirst. She doesn't know anything about lowering core body temperature, and thinks she's being very clever indeed.

"You're smart, Fenrir."

"Kwark!"

At last, she returns to his back. The sky is much brighter now. The aches in her muscles reawaken when she once more adopts her clinging-on-for-dear-life position. Unlike before, however, this time they don't have to endure hours of bouncing about.

After entering the barren ground at the base of the mountains, before they even reach the range itself, they come across a lot of outcroppings and strangely shaped rock formations. Kairi wonders whether one of them looks like the demon from the Vincent and Lucrecia story. She studies them, squinting.

Fenrir skids to a sudden stop.

"Aah!" Startled, Kairi peers around his neck. Her face lights up at what she sees. "Lea!"

The three figures all wear dark clothes, like funny dresses with lots of zips and pockets. Two have their hoods drawn up. They look kind of like the Grim Reaper, who oversees spirits of the dead as they cross from one plane to the next. Kairi heard all about him in the ghost stories Spinelli told at her sleepover, until her mom told her off for scaring Gus into wetting the bed. It would make sense to have someone like that around the mountains if there's a crystal where spirits linger to say goodbye to their loved ones. And there must be, because the third person is unmistakable. The teardrop tattoos only confirm it.

Kairi is delighted. She doesn't even have to go all the way into the mountains to find the crystal cave. Lea's spirit is here waiting for her. He must have sensed her approach and come down to meet her, which just shows how eager he is to go back to town instead of staying out here in the cold, horrid wilderness. Kairi is thrilled her idea has been proved a good one. Now Yuffie can get better and things can go back to normal, and everyone's hearts can stop hurting so loudly.

Fenrir rumbles in the chocobo equivalent of a growl. He fluffs his feathers, spreads his tail, bows his head and scrapes the ground menacingly.

Kairi is shocked and dismayed. "Stop it! That's Lea's spirit. You don't have to be afraid of Lea." Fenrir continues to growl. Kairi isn't brave enough to whap him on the head like Cloud does. She ignores him instead. "I'm so happy to see you, Lea. Everybody has been so upset since the Heartless came, but I remembered the story about the crystal cave and how spirits wait there for people to come and see them, so I came and fetch you back to town, and here you are! Are these your friends? Are they spirits too, or are they Grim Reapers? Do they want to come back to town with us? Can Grim Reapers come to supper like regular people?" Kairi abruptly remembers Spinelli saying how there's only _one _Grim Reaper, and he carries a big blade on a stick called a scythe. Neither of these people has as much as a drumstick. She thinks about who else was lost in the attack, no longer sad because obviously they're not _really_ lost if their spirits are here. "Is that Reno and Cait Sith with you?"

Lea's expression is so remote that it silences her. One of the other two figures comes to stand next to him, but the mouth of the hood is pointed at Fenrir. Kairi can't even tell if it's male or female, now she comes to think about it. The footsteps behind it in the snow are too solid to belong to a spirit.

"This is the child you told us about?"

"Yeah," Lea replies. If Kairi didn't know better, she'd say he sounds _bored_. "Everybody calls her 'special' because of what she does."

"She can listen to people's hearts and read their intent, and the contents of their characters? Can she also improve upon those hearts she connects with by using the light of her own?"

"I guess." Lea shrugs. "Some kind of shit like that."

Kairi starts to feel uneasy. Why isn't Lea talking to her? He doesn't seem at all pleased to see her –has barely acknowledged she's _here_, even though she's put so much effort into coming to find him. From the sound of it, the figure she thought might be Reno is someone else. She doesn't recognise his deep voice, but something about it chills her. Automatically she listens to the person's heart – and recoils.

She can't hear anything. Not from any of them.

Not even from Lea.

They aren't spirits. They're flesh and blood, like her, but they're _wrong_. They feel dead, like the wildcats. Where their hearts should be is echoing and _cold._ Lea's emotions usually burn and flicker, contradicting themselves like a fire slowly consuming a piece of wood and collapsing it into ash. Now he feels like an empty hearth that hasn't been lit in a long time.

"Y-your hearts," she stammers. "Why can't I hear your hearts?"

The figure who spoke pushes his hood down with elegant fingers. His face is fine-boned and dark his eyes are a strange shade of gold that make Kairi hold tighter to Fenrir. Predators have eyes like that. "Ah, so it's true. I had my suspicions after Saïx and Xigbar made their report on this world, and especially after our newest member told us about you. Tell me, child, what do you perceive when you listen here?" He gestures to his own chest.

Kairi swallows. Nobody ever told her it's dangerous to talk to strangers. There was never any need in Traverse Town. Once you were accepted, you weren't a stranger anymore, and everyone who stayed in town from other worlds has the same respect for each other as survivors. "You don't have a heart," she says with disbelief. "But that can't be right. You're standing here, so the Heartless can't have taken it, and you're not dead – are you?"

The man smiles. There's no warmth in it. "Oh, but we are, child. Dead, at least, on the inside. Quite a poetic way of phrasing it, but apt nonetheless. Saïx?"

Kairi never saw the third figure move. The first she knows of him is when he roughly pulls her from her perch. She holds tight to the reins and screams. Fenrir reacts to the noise by pounding his feet and twirling around trying to attack her captor because that's his default response in a crisis. He receives a savage backhand for his efforts. Impossibly, it sends him pirouetting to the ground. He gets up again, enraged, and launches himself at the figure. The man simply tucks Kairi under one arm and knocks him back hard enough to crack his beak.

"Shall I kill this bothersome creature, sir?"

"No!" Kairi cries. "Don't hurt him!" Panicked and not thinking clearly, she releases the reins. "Run, Fenrir! Run away!"

Fenrir launches himself again. This time he is knocked six feet before he rolls to a stop in a flurry of blood and feathers.

"Saïx," says the gold-eyed man. "Desist. That bird is inconsequential. Let it go, but hold onto the child."

Fenrir stays in a heap while Kairi is carried, struggling, to the other two men. As she watches in growing horror, the gold-eyed man waves his hand and creates a small portal like the one the Heartless used to get into the town square. From it he pulls a piece of undulating mist, just solid enough to stay pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Kairi squirms to get away as he brings it close. It feels wrong. She doesn't like it, and the feeling gets worse as it gets closer.

"A simple test." The man holds it towards her. The mist freezes like a creature that has been electrocuted. After a few seconds it goes limp. When he places it against her chest it dissolves into black embers like the remnants of a fire. "So it _is_ true. A heart so pure and full of light that no darkness can exist in or near it. A rare phenomenon indeed, but worth so much more when coupled with an ability to not only read, but also touch the hearts of others and imbue them with that same light." He speaks breathlessly, like a little boy unwrapping a Yule gift to find he got exactly what he wanted. "A Princess of the Heart."

Kairi turns tear-filled eyes on Lea. "Lea, I'm scared."

Lea stares at her. Up close, she notices subtle difference in his appearance. The roots of his hair are darker, fading to almost black, and the tips aren't his usual brownish. They're bright, fire-engine red now, the same as Reno's hair. His eyelids are edged with black, too, though the tattoos beneath have changed from black to purple. Only his eyes remain the same colour, but the vivid green shines an even more dazzling shade that almost distracts her from how blank they are. Though he looks directly at her, Kairi sees no concern for her. He turns away with disinterest.

"L-Lea?"

"The name of his Other only," the gold-eyed man says. He prods Kairi like she's a piece of fruit he's thinking about buying. She kicks and squeals when he starts to unbutton her coat. He pauses, expression thoughtful, then lifts his hands away and links them behind his back. "The witch has a vested interest in these Princesses."

"Are we to take her back with us?" Kairi's captor – Saïx – asks.

"Her plans are motivated by her lust for power. She seeks to contain and manipulate – a selfish and self-destructive path motivated by greed and low self-esteem. I, however, desire knowledge; a much worthier goal. She has been useful in commandeering the castle and cleansing it of that irritating backlash magic so that I may access the research I had thought lost to us, and I shall admit she intrigues me, but only as a social experiment. Her heart should make an interesting field study."

The one called Saïx shakes his head. "I don't trust her."

"Neither do I. she doesn't expect trust, only loyalty, but she is not deserving of mime if it fails to also serve my own ends. There has long been talk that the fabled Keyblade Master will be revealed by exposure to a guardian of the light. I should very much like to meet that person, whenever he or she develops into those powers. Since the Princesses of the Heart were also mere fable, the existence of such a champion now becomes a viable reality. If we find one, we may find the other. My investigations into the nature of the heart could be progressed a great deal with that kind of data from such strong hearts. And then there is the possibility of discovering Kingdom Hearts itself …"

The hands holding Kairi tighten a fraction, as if the owner doesn't altogether approve of this. "Superior?"

The gold-eyed man blinks. "That is not the name by which I asked you to call me, is it?"

"I apologise."

"It will, however, be what I wish you to address me as from now on."

"It pleases you?"

"Nothing pleases me, just as nothing pleases you, or," he smirks entirely with his mouth, "Axel."

Kairi wonders who 'Axel' is.

Lea rolls his eyes and mutters, "Whatever."

The gold-eyed man falls into another thoughtful silence that neither of the others breaks. They defer to him. When he speaks again they listen, though Lea pretends not to. "The location of the latent Keyblade Master is unknown, obviously. Yet light has a habit of being drawn to light. The stronger the light cast out, the stronger the light it finds. With the strong light from a Princess of the Heart as a beacon, the Keyblade Master's heart should be simple to locate even at an embryonic stage of power-development …"

"What do you wish, Superior?"

Lea rolls his eyes again. "Good grief." He sounds so much like the Lea she knows that Kairi's tears fall in earnest.

It isn't supposed to happen like this. She has no idea what's going on, just that it scares her. She wishes she'd never come here. She wishes she was at home, in bed, just waking up and going through to the kitchen to watch Penelo burn toast and then slather it in jam to cover the taste. She wants Aerith and Zack and Cloud and Yuffie - all her family and friends, not these two strangers and this odd, changed Lea who acts like he doesn't care about her.

"Leeeeea," she whimpers, because she doesn't know what else to do or say. "L-Lea-heeeee."

"Shut up," he snaps. "Your voice is giving me a headache."

Stunned, Kairi falls silent.

"The Corridors of Darkness are a vast, uncharted network," the gold-eyed man muses. "A compass is needed to navigate them, if one is to locate something one desires." He reaches out and reopens the portal, but makes it bigger this time – easily large enough for him to step through. At a gesture, Saïx carries Kairi towards it.

"No!" she screams. "No, don't take me in there! Put me down! Help! I don't want to go in there. Please don't – _don't_!" The shifting, swelling shadows terrify her down to her bone marrow. It's an instinctive, primal fear, too great for her to articulate except in guttural noises. There are things in the dark that scare little kids, and then there's the darkness itself, which is what they should really be afraid of. "No! Please!"

The gold-eyed man pulls up his hood, signalling Lea should do the same. Lea complies with very bad grace. They flank the portal as Saïx approaches it, holding Kairi out in front of him like she smells bad. His grip is too strong for her to break.

"Noooo!" she wails. Then she hears something that lifts her heart so fast it makes her dizzy.

"Hey, you! Get the hell away from her!"

Kairi twists, trying to see past Saïx's elbows. "Cloud! Zack! Help!"

* * *

They hear her before they find her. She's screaming. Zack's blood turns to ice in his veins, until all of him is a cold as his numbed cheeks. The effect on Cloud is even more electric – he kicks Laverne into a merciless gallop and they plunge towards the sound at breakneck speed.

Zack doesn't know who or what the three people are, or what they're doing with a Heartless portal. All he cares about is the struggling little girl in their grasp.

"Hey, you! Get the hell away from her!" He grips the Buster Sword, calling on his link to ignite its magic, and leaps from the saddle. The act should kill him, but he moves with superhuman agility and runs until he has his balance, brandishing the sword.

"Cloud! Zack! Help!" Kairi's face is wet with tears.

Anger bubbles inside Zack like an overheated pot. All his protective instincts surge to the fore. He has to tamp them down to stop himself rushing in and doing something stupid. The three figures may have weapons. They might be able to hurt Kairi before he can hurt them. A pinprick of concern lances through his anger: they may just have happened upon her and be helping her. No, that's too ridiculous to contemplate. Kairi is clearly terrified, and they were about to take her into a Heartless portal. No way are they on the up-and-up.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demands.

"Hm," says one of the figures – male, deep-voiced, difficult to determine age but tall enough for adulthood. "Knights in shining armour. I suppose that's part of a princess's mystique; even small ones."

"Who are you pe-" Zack starts. Cloud stops Laverne in front of him. Zack can't see his face from behind, but Cloud's voice is a determined monotone.

"Put. Her. Down."

"Cloud!" Kairi struggles. Her captor grips her harder. She cries out in pain.

Cloud's entire body radiates fury so wholly and absolutely, even Zack is shocked. Cloud is so humble and mild most of the time, it seems impossible he's capable of this. Anger curls away from him like smoke. Zack almost expects to see the air around him shimmer with heat.

"Don't worry, Kairi," Zack reassures her. "We won't let them hurt you."

"Hurt is not our intention," the spokesman says, spreading his hands like a public speaker with an audience. "The infliction of pain is an inefficient use of time, effort and resources unless there is a greater goal to be attained by it. Our objective is much more esoteric."

"Much more _what_?" The words slip out before Zack can stop them. _Oh, great, way to prioritise the situation, Zack. Next he'll be hitting you with a dictionary, and then you'll really be fucked._ He glances up at Cloud. He has drawn his own sword and holds it in one hand. _Don't so anything stupid, Cloud. They have the advantage. First priority: keep Kairi safe_.

"Even a shining knight cannot grasp the profundity of our goal," says the spokesman. "How could you, when you still have what we desire most inside you? No matter. Your role in this child's life has ended, but ours is just beginning. We have need of her and we shall take her with us now."

"Let. Her. Go." Cloud grits the words. Zack swears he can hear teeth crack.

He notices Fenrir on the floor, still breathing but banged up and bleeding. Did these guys do that? If they can beat up Cloud's violent chocobo, then this just became another level of grim – especially if they're carrying as few weapons as they seem to be. Those coats don't offer much scope for the tools to take down a fully grown rooster, let alone one like Fenrir.

"Saïx, continue," says the spokesman.

Kairi keens like a mouse as the eagle's claws strike.

She is a hairsbreadth from entering the portal when Zack moves, throwing caution aside for speed. He rockets sideways, propels himself off a rock formation, and slams into them from the side. The 'Saïx' guy is knocked to the left and misses the portal. Zack gets satisfaction from using the small of his back as another stepping stone while wrenching Kairi from his grip.

"Ours, I think."

"Zack, look out!" Kairi cries.

He grunts as a strong hand grabs his ankle with the same kind of impossible speed. Zack crashes to the ground, twisting so he lands on his side and doesn't crush Kairi with his body or sword. He kicks the guy in the face, feels the satisfying crunch of a broken nose, and rolls to his feet – just in time for the spokesman's hand to wrap around his throat and lift him off the floor. His other hand rips the Buster Sword from Zack's grasp.

"Infidel."

"Aw, c'mon, can't you come up with a line more original than that? That is so –" He lifts both feet and punts the guy in the chest. "- clichéd." His windpipe aches. He ignores the pain as he stamps on the spokesman's wrist to retrieve his sword. Zack sprints away, thrusting Kairi up at Cloud. "Take her!" Zack whirls to face the three enemies. "I'll cover you."

For once, Cloud doesn't try to argue about leaving him behind. Instead, he growls, "Rip them apart," over Kairi's terrified sobs.

There's no time for Zack to ponder this order from gentle Cloud, nor the strange way he says it. Cloud's voice barely sounds like his own. But the men are on their feet again, and that is way more pressing right now. Even though their faces are obscured, it's easy to tell they're not interested in playing Pat-a-Cake.

Zack takes solace that they aren't armed. That is, until one rips open another portal, jumps in and appears behind him. Zack sees stars. He reels, the back of his head a wellspring of pain. It's mostly the Buster Sword screeching magic through him that lets him handspring away. Even that's not enough when another portal appears _there_ and the bastard clocks him again. Zack hits the floor and muses, distantly, that he could get very tired of that trick.

Three pairs of boots surround him. Foggily, Zack tries to calculate whether he could take all their heads off with one swing if they get into a nice tight circle. The snowy ground is cold against his cheek, which is fine because it distracts his nerve endings from the gash in his scalp. It felt like that guy has _claws_. His thoughts are scrambled for a second, and that second is all they need to get the upper hand. It's almost embarrassing that they have reduced him to their victim so easily.

A foot rests against Zack's neck. Just the right amount of pressure will break it. The tension in the muscles above indicates a willingness to do just that. Zack feigns unconsciousness to buy himself some time, looking for an opportunity to exploit and get himself back on top.

"Such is the way of insects," says the spokesman.

"Shall I finish him, Superior?" This question is gummy, as though the speaker is swallowing mouthfuls of yoghurt while trying to talk. Zack guesses this is the guy whose nose he broke. Good. He hopes it hurts – a lot.

"He isn't important compared to our greater objective. I notice, Number Eight, that you did not get involved in that little skirmish. Perhaps you have some lingering attachment to these people that prevents you from striking them?"

"Meh."

"You will address your Superior in a proper manner," snaps the glutinous voice.

"Oh dry up, lapdog. This whole thing sounds screwy to me. I did what you said and showed you the girl. I even brought you to her when I figured out what she was doing way out here. _You_ were so slow you lost her. If you want her back so bad, get her yourself."

The answering growl is just this side of feral. It stops abruptly.

"Saïx, desist. Your loyalty is noted, as is your insolence, Axel. I would warn you that entry to our ranks is not a given. Saïx has shown great potential and dependability, while you have yet to prove yourself beyond the verbal."

"So I'm all talk, is that what you're saying? All fur coat and no knickers?"

Zack freezes. He knows that phrase. It's one of Yuffie's.

"Zack!"

The realisation is swept away by dread. _No, Cloud. Get away. I told you to get Kairi away from here._

"You bastards get away from him!"

"Ah," says the spokesman, "so it seems the other knight's heart cannot allow him to abandon a fellow warrior of the light to what he perceives as the dark. How fortuitous for we who teeter between the two."

"Superior?"

"Retrieve the child. Kill them if you must, but do not be gratuitous about it. Warriors of light tend to slay many Heartless, and even if the princess does not lead us to the Keyblade Master, we have need of those liberated hearts. Go, both of you."

_No! _

The pressure on Zack's neck increases. Hot, bloody breath blows into his face. "I know you're awake. Your heartbeat gives you away."

_Damn it! _Zack kicks out, aiming to sweep the other leg out from under the guy, but it's too late. Something hard raps against his head. He's out cold in an instant, and when he wakes, he almost wishes the guy had just killed him now.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	80. Loss of Innocence

**.**

* * *

**79. Loss of Innocence**

* * *

Cloud can feel Kairi's sobs juddering through him over the pound of Laverne's feet. She clings to his stomach, tiny hands like claws, and he is filled with such uncontrollable rage that he could spontaneously combust. He had tried to ignore thoughts of finding her injured from a fall or, at worst, being attacked by Heartless. Instead, they found her being kidnapped by three men with no qualms about hurting a child. Just the thought of what they might have planned to do with Kairi makes him burn.

Kairi is crying too much to form proper words. She cries with relief, fear and gratitude for the rescue. Cloud's nearness emphasises how lucky she is, and how narrow her escape. Cloud would hold tighter if he didn't have to also hold onto the reins.

Laverne tries to pull up. Cloud urges her on, intent on putting distance between them and the three men. The chocstrich fights him, trying to turn back, towards the pathetic bundle of yellow feathers on the ground.

_Fenrir_.

Cloud curses himself and turns to look. He sees the three men gathering around Zack, prone on the ground. His cloak flutters but the rest of him doesn't move. It has only been a minute – surely they didn't defeat him that fast? This is _Zack_. But the sight is unmistakable. Cloud's anger doesn't fade, but fear subsumes it. Zack is the strongest warrior Cloud knows. Cloud just assumed Zack could take care of himself while he got Kairi to safety, but Zack is _on the ground_ and _not moving, _and now one of the men is _standing on his __**neck**_!

Cloud reins Laverne in, hesitating. He needs to keep going and get Kairi to safety. He needs to go back and help Zack. Two of the most important people in his world, and suddenly he is being forced to choose between them. Kairi holds him tight. He shuts his eyes to the three men and his lover.

_I can't_.

"Cloud?" Kairi sniffles.

He has to.

He isn't stupid enough to take Kairi back with him. Instead, he wraps her shivering body in his own cloak and bundles her between two oddly shaped boulders. They look almost like hands, enfolding her in long, sharp fingers. He prays the dark fabric will hide her amongst the shadows. The men aren't watching him when he reappears from behind the formation. He can only hope they won't be able to tell where she is. With any luck, they'll be so preoccupied with Cloud they won't have time to wonder about Kairi, and he can go back for her when he has rescued Zack (who is _okay_ even though he _isn't moving_, because he is _Zack_ and Zack _cannot be dead_). Cloud allows himself a sliver of amusement that this time _he_ is the one playing hero, and promises to start calling Zack 'damsel in distress' for as long as he can milk the joke.

"Stay here and don't make a sound, Kairi."

Kairi nods, trembling. "Y-You will come back, right?"

"Of course. Just don't look, okay? Stay hidden and whatever you do, whatever you hear, _don't_ look." Cloud darts away to leap back onto Lavern and swing her around. She breaks into a canter, kicking up snow. Cloud yells, "Zack!" When he gets no response from him, Cloud shouts even louder, "You bastards get away from him!"

Two of the men turn, but the third raises a hand. A blue-black pole out of thin air, something like a bo-staff, but much more elaborate. He cracks Zack across the head with it, signalling that Zack wasn't really as down for the count as he seemed. He is truly unconscious now, though. The rage inside Cloud reignites, pushing aside his fear. How _dare_ these men threaten and hurt those most important to him? They are _so_ going to pay for what they've done. His rage uncoils inside like a physical burn deep in his chest, but he ignores it, instead brandishing his sword and forcing Laverne to go faster.

The blast of blue energy knocks him out of his seat before he is even close enough to lash out. Cloud tumbles, tucks and rolls to prevent injuring himself. He loses hold of his sword like an amateur and scrambles to pick it up, only to have a boot stamp on the blade, pinning it to the ground.

"The princess is no longer in your possession?" says the spokesman. Cloud recognises the lugubrious voice, patronising tone and habit of using long words when short ones would be more efficient. "How fortuitous. Or is it, in fact, 'how careless'?"

A flicker of movement, like Zack going full speed under the Buster Sword's magic. Someone attacking from behind! Cloud rams his elbow back, aiming for his attacker's midriff. Instead, he finds himself thrusting it into a waiting palm. The guy was ready for him! Cloud's eyes narrow and he kicks backwards instead, but the hand on his elbow tightens, turning into a pulling grip. Cloud is spun into the air with a flick of the man's wrist. He lands with a thump, winded. Three, two, one, and already he has been defeated. But could he really have expected anything else? What did he _think_ was going to happen to _him_ if these three took out _Zack_ so easily?

"A pathetic specimen. Even the fallen knight was more of a challenge."

Cloud has always been weaker than Zack. Nevertheless, it stings to know it's so obvious. He can't even come through in a pinch. He thinks about Zack and Kairi, both vulnerable, both counting on him. Strength surges into him. He flips to his feet, into one of Tifa's combat stances, fists raised, already aware that when the man threw him, he inadvertently put Cloud between them and Zack.

_I'll protect him with my life_, Cloud promises, then remembers Kairi and hopes he doesn't have to make good on that promise.

Another flicker of movement. The man with the bo-staff– summoned out of _thin air_, which adds another layer of 'uh oh' to this fight – moves behind Cloud and lashes out to either knock him unconscious or crush his skull.

For a moment, Cloud honestly isn't in control of himself. Something alien swells inside him, pulsing out of synch with his own heartbeat. His body moves without him. He fades out of reality, where it's like he can see himself as a separate person. He watches as he runs and leaps with more speed and agility than ever before. He didn't even know he _could _move like that. Does he really know how to fight this way? Man, that throw must have knocked him around more than he thought.

The next thing he knows, his attacker is on the floor with his hood hanging half off his head, blood streaming from both his nose and a cut across his throat. He reaches up to touch the wound, which is shallow, since he got out of the way in time. Cloud knows with unnerving certainty that if the guy hadn't been fast enough, it would have been fatal. The thought is a grounding one. He falls back into his own head staggers as if he really has just fallen from a great height. He stares at his hands, at the blood under his fingernails, and feels a little sick. What the hell just happened?

"Ah," says a lugubrious voice by his ear. "So you are not such a warrior of the light as you seem."

Cloud whirls, but he's back to being plain old Cloud Strife again. The blast of blue energy slams him backwards against a boulder. He crumples, chest aching from a couple of cracked ribs. He feels them grind when he gasps for breath. His nausea increases. He's going to throw up. Some warrior.

"Unlike we who have no place on either side of the divide between light and dark, it seems _you_ have a place in _both_ worlds. How selfish and greedy you are." The spokesman doesn't sound upset, despite his words. Rather, he just sounds curious and a bit wistful. "You, also, would make an interesting field study."

A childish wail makes Cloud's head jerk up. The sudden movement jars his ribs and he grabs his side, wheezing painfully. _Kairi!_

The last man, who refused to get involved in either fight, ambles towards them, Kairi in front of him like a bag of smelly garbage held out so it doesn't drip on his shoes. "Yo, boss-man. This yours?"

"Cloooooud!"

"K-Kairi …" Cloud coughs and tries to get to his feet. Another blast of energy furrows the ground in front of him. Snow turns to water and dirt comes down smoking.

"Stay down, warrior of both dark and light. There is little point in sacrificing yourself needlessly."

"Let her g-go – hrk!" Cloud grips the surface of the boulder and works his way up it, hand over hand, trying to ignore the urge to vomit. He hopes it _is_ just a couple of cracked ribs and nothing worse. "She's just a _child_."

"A very powerful one, whose talents we require." The spokesman makes a slashing motion with his hand. A portal opens next to him. "Saïx, Axel, it is time for us to depart."

"CLOUD! CLOUD, HELP ME!"

Kairi's wails force Cloud to grit his teeth and push himself upright. Instantly he does so, the man whose throat he cut is by his side. He snarls and buries a fist in Cloud's gut. White-hot agony spirals out from there, and from his ribs. Cloud lets out his own cry as he slumps forward, grey spots hazing his vision.

The spokesman shakes his hood. "Sometimes your actions make me wonder whether you are truly as heartless as the rest of us, Saïx."

The man dusts himself off, shakes back his hair and bows slightly. "I can assure you, Superior, I am exactly the same as you."

"Not exactly the same." There is an edge in the lugubrious voice.

"… No sir."

"Hey, bum-chums." The one holding Kairi transfers her to one hand and cups the other to mouth of his hood. "Not to get all poopy over your party, but are we going, or what?"

Through the haze of pain, Cloud sees the one called 'Superior' walking calmly over. He takes Kairi steps back, putting room between himself and Kairi's captor. "Saïx?"

Cloud knows what it feels like to be punched, but he still doesn't feel sorry for the other guy, who reels as Saïx buries a fist in his gut as well.

"Fuck, man! I thought we were all on the same side?"

The spokesman steps forward again, Kairi tucked under his arm. She struggles, but he doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he yanks the last man up by his shoulder. "We share a goal and a dream, but there are still rules and protocol to be followed. Without our hearts, these are the things that keep us from becoming mere mindless animals."

The bleeding man hesitates. His grip on the bo-staff tightens, making his gloves creak. "Animals, Superior?"

"This strikes a chord within you, Saïx? I know you do not think you miss your heart yet, Number Seven, but you will. I did not miss mine at first. I believed the loss of that cumbersome receptacle of _feelings _to be a boon, which freed me from the restraints of morals and ethics that had plagued the progression of my experiments for far too long. But I have learned the hard way that a life without feelings is an empty one, even with the most fascinating research in all the universes to occupy one's mind."

"Sir." The one called Saïx doesn't sound like he believes this, but is willing to let the matter rest for now.

The spokesman nods, shifting Kairi under his arms. She cries out in pain, and then whimpers when he draws the back of one gloved knuckle down her cheek as if to soothe her. "You are to be our saviour, little one. Or at least, you are to take us to one who could be called such."

Kairi stares at him. Then she does something that makes Cloud's heart jump with pride. She clams her teeth down on the man's finger and thrusts her fist into his eye. He yelps and drops her. She stumbles, but gets to her feet and runs away – straight towards Cloud.

Cloud who can barely move.

Cloud who can't defend her.

Useless Cloud, whose she kneels by and shakes like he can actually _do _anything except moan with pain. Kairi snatches her hands back and looks around desperately, not knowing what to do now. Cloud and Zack are the adults who came to save her, but they can't even save themselves.

"Laverne!" she cries, seeing the chocstrich, riderless, next to Fenrir.

"Kairi, run," Cloud croaks, changing to, "No!" when she refuses to leave him and the man called Axel retrieves her.

"Not a smart move, kid. Just shut up and everything with go better for you."

"Leave her alone, you monster," Cloud spits. "Go back to whatever rock you crawled out from under and _leave her alone_!"

Axel pauses, as if considering this. "Heh," he says after a moment. "Whaddya know? He was right." He tosses Kairi into the air like a doting parent with a baby. Her squeals are anything but happy. "No feelings." He catches her, whirls her around in a parody of play and marches away, Kairi tucked under one arm the way Lea sometimes carried a protesting Yuffie.

_I need more strength,_ Cloud thinks frantically. _I'm too weak and I'm going to lose her because of it. I need to be stronger. I need to save her! Kairi –_

"_**You really are a noble thing, aren't you? Smashed to bits and still more concerned about others than yourself. How selfless."**_

_What?_

"_**I can help you. I can make you stronger – strong enough to save her."**_

_Who are you?_

"_**Time runs short, boy. Will you accept my offer?"**_

_I ... I don't …_

"_**Do you want her to be taken from you? Do you want them to do things to her that you know nothing about – treat her like a tool, something less than human? Do you want her to die?"**_

"Clooooooooooooooud!"

_No, I want to save her!_

"_**Then I will give you my strength so you can save her life."**_

_Thank you._

"_**I wouldn't thank me, if I were you. Remember, Cloud Strife: the universe is about balance and the paying of debts. An act of darkness for an act of darkness, a heart for a heart, and a life for a life."**_

The three men turn together when an unearthly roar echoes around them. The one visible face of Saïx shows no surprise when Cloud rushes them. He sets his feet and wields his bo-staff. When Cloud shoves it aside with his bare hands, it's only Saïx's body that responds. His scarred face remains set, even when Cloud grips either side of his head and makes as if to snap his neck.

"How bothersome," says the spokesman, raising one hand.

Cloud releases Saïx only because if he doesn't he'll be barbequed by blue energy. The Superior holds out his other palm and tries to shoot Cloud out of the air as he flips, and again when he uses the rock formations around them like stepping stones. He raises his other hand, but by now Cloud has worked his way behind them and jumps down in a spinning kick to the face.

"Superior!" Saïx shouts.

Cloud rounds on Axel and flies at him with a series of short sharp jabs to the soar plexus. When the 'shing' of metal sounds behind him, he propels his body-weight onto his hands and kicks back with both feet, catching Saïx on the arm. Saïx grunts, but swings at Cloud with his weapon, and Cloud is too far gone to even register that the weapon has changed into something else. He spins and shunts his body into a forward roll, comes up inside Saïx's defences and floors him with a single uppercut that would break his hand if he were human.

Cloud avoids another blast of blue energy. The Superior rises, hood pulled back to reveal a face twisted up in pain but nothing else. There is no thrill of battle, or simple joy in his own abilities. For some reason this enrages Cloud. He leaves Axel to fling himself at this ungrateful wretch, who has probably never been weak and yet doesn't have the sense to take pleasure in his power. He slams the man's skull against the ground until his eyes rolls back in his head, but doesn't get as far as a killing blow.

"Cloud!" Kairi squeals.

Axel is halfway through the portal with her. Without hesitating, Cloud picks up a rock and hurls it. It strikes Axel on the shoulder with such force that he spins around. Kairi renews her struggles and half-falls, half-leaps out of his arms. It's an awkward movement, not helped by him losing his balance and falling over at exactly that moment. Kairi times her jump wrong and her head cracks against an overhanging rock. She doesn't make another sound, just falls to the floor and stays there.

Rage fountains in Cloud like oil from a newly discovered well. He throws back his head and roars like an animal.

"You know what? Fuck this," Axel mutters. "I'm outta here." He carries on through the portal, until Saïx appears behind him in a flicker of motion and yanks him back by his collar. "Get off, man. I'm going."

"You will leave when the Superior says you leave."

"I don't answer to anyone except me. I never asked for you guys to take me in or give me these shitty clothes. You said I owed you for them, and the way I figure it, I've more than paid off that debt. If I haven't, fuck off anyway. I'd rather walk around naked in the snow than put up with this."

"That was the way of your Other. That is not your way now."

"Who says?"

Saïx doesn't answer, just shoves Axel so they both meet Cloud's onslaught, putting themselves between him and Kairi. The portal the Superior created closes behind them. Cloud tries to barrel through to get to Kairi, but Saïx blocks him. He twists his weapon, hurling Cloud to the ground and pinning him by his throat. Cloud kicks up, connecting with the other man's midriff and launching him over his head. He clamps a fist around the weapon, yanking it from Saïx's grasp while he's in midair, but it dissolves in his hand.

Cloud springs upright and runs at Axel. His vision seems fringed with red. He has never felt so angry, or so powerful. He feels like he wants to rip this guy apart – with his bare hands!

"Aw, man, I always thought you were the weakling of the bunch," Axel says cryptically, but Cloud isn't listening. They trade blows that reveal Axel is a competent fighter when he can be bothered to get involved.

Cloud, however, is driven by the strange, dazzling energy coursing through his veins. It's like he has taken one of Merlin's magic potions. Is this what it feels like for Zack when he uses the Buster Sword's magic? Cloud has never been able to do _any _of this before. He sticks a fist into the hood and connects with cheekbone, making Axel lurch back. Cloud drops and swings out his leg, cutting him down like a tall tree. Axel lands heavily.

"Oh … man … that … smarts …" When Cloud looms over him he mutters, "Forget this. I don't even want my heart back. No kid is worth this shit; not even Small Fry."

Cloud hesitates, just for a moment. The strange energy screeches at him. Where seconds earlier it was wonderful and empowering, suddenly it hurts. How dare he stop before he has killed even once! _How dare he!_ Cloud reels, clutching his head against noise only he can hear.

Axel takes the opportunity. He makes slashing motions at the air with both hands. "C'mon, c'mon, it looked easy when he did it – ah, gotcha!" Unlike the Superior's, his movements are clumsy and unpractised. It looks like he's having a girly fight with an invisible opponent, but a portal opens nonetheless. "Hey, it worked! What the hell else can I do now that I couldn't do before? Maybe I can call my own hinky magical weapons out of thin air like the lapdog." He looks back at Cloud. "Wouldn't hurt to try, I guess." The edges of his portal waver, pulsing in and out as though they want to close. "Or maybe not."

Cloud shut shuts his eyes. _He's getting away! He is getting __**away**__!_

Axel gets up, but before he can make his escape, Cloud gives in to the screeching and attacks again. He needs to spill blood. He knows it like he knows his own name. The noise and pain won't stop until he kills someone, and if it's one of the people who hurt Kairi, then so much the better.

_No! No, this isn't right. I'm not … not …_

Axel flails, but still drives a pretty good punch at Cloud's face. Cloud lets his fist whistle past. Then he throws his left arm around Axe's left hip, holding him in what is almost an embrace. In the same instant he slams his left hand up to the other man's chin, striking with enough force to stun him. Axel staggers. Cloud hooks a leg just below his right at the knee, bringing Axel crashing to the ground.

Neither of them noticed Kairi getting to her feet and stumbling towards them, holding her head. Axel bangs into her as he falls, knocking her over again.

"Kairi!" Cloud disentangles himself reaches for her, ignoring the screech of _Nodon'tstopkillkillkill__**killKILL –**_

Kairi stares at him. Her eyes are strangely vacant, framed by blood from a deep gash in her scalp. She is aware enough to back away from the crazy bloodstained man with the wild look in his eyes, but doesn't seem to recognise him. Cloud falters. He has been feeling different while he fought. Could t be he looks different too?

"Kairi, it's me."

"Kairi?" she murmurs in confusion. She squeaks as her foot catches on the edge of the portal and she tumbles into it.

"Kairi!" Cloud dashes forward, but the unstable portal fluctuates one last time and closes behind her. He skids to a halt, hands still outstretched but grasping only air. "KAIRI!"

"Well, shit." Axel pulls himself into a sitting position. "I guess I need more practise." A shadow looms behind him. He turns slowly to look up at it. "Uh, hi boss-man."

"What. Have. You. Done?" To listen to him, you'd think the Superior was asking this question of a failed science experiment, or a scrap–book of inappropriate pictures of naked women.

"See, that's a funny story –"

"Where did you send her?"

"Well I don't know, do I? I'm still new at this."

"The Corridors of Darkness are mostly unexplored. Venture into them without a specific destination, and the knowledge of a path to it, and you could end up anywhere. You have sent such a rare and coveted creature as that child out into the Corridors without either of these things."

"Is this the part where if I say 'yes' you hit me, and if I say 'no' you still him me, but harder?"

One side of the Superior's upper lip curls. It's the barest hint of an expression, like his mouth remembers what it's supposed to do, but the rest of his face is asking 'why bother?' He grabs Axel, opens a much more stable portal, and thrusts him through it. "I shall deal with you forthwith. Saïx!"

"Yes, Superior." Saïx steps in ahead of him.

Cloud is insensible to their exchange. He sinks to his knees, staring at the spot where Axel's portal used to be. His mouth hangs open and his throat convulses like he's crying, but no tears gather in his eyes. It's as though the hot, screeching energy has dried them all up while they were still inside his body. He can do nothing but pant and stare and work his mouth around soundless words.

The Superior watches him touch the ground like it will _do_ anything. His curled lip drops. He pauses for a moment. There is nothing more for them here now. "A pathetic specimen," he says blandly, and seals the portal behind him.

Cloud stays where he is for a long time. He should go and see if Zack is all right. He should have grabbed one of the en before they left. He should check if Fenrir is alive. He does none of these.

Inappropriately, snow begins to fall, like silent little ghosts drifting over the landscape. It covers the evidence of battle, as if trying to blot out what happened here the way it blotted out the damage to Traverse Town. But here, as there, the truth lurks beneath the clean white surface.

Cloud's mind is a morass of images, thoughts, memories and feelings: Kairi trapped in that shadow world, surrounded by advancing Heartless; Kairi staring at him like she genuinely didn't know who he was; Kairi bleeding, passing out and with nobody to help her. He flicks further back, but the happy memories that come at him cut like ice. Kairi at the dinner table, crayoning a picture. Kairi aged two, snuggling into his arms. Aged four, falling asleep on his shoulder. Aged five, drooling onto his sweater and hotly denying it when she woke up. Aged six, trying to pretend she's not crying under the covers at the medical centre. And then he is back to a few seconds ago, now, and launched back into the future: Kairi lost an alone, screaming as Heartless tear her apart, wondering why nobody is coming to save her …

Kairi is gone, and he has no way of following her. Desolation sinks into Cloud like sharp teeth – and where those teeth cut in, the screeching energy bubbles up like pus from a foetid wound. Something moves in Cloud's chest in response to his sudden loss of hope. Without warning his whole body is on fire with agony. It's a pain unlike anything he's ever known – worse than the screeching noise, than being hurt in battle, than _anything_. It feels like his insides are being sliced up by hot knives. He tastes bile and something sharper in the back of his throat. Blood? He can taste blood?

Just as he thinks the pain will kill him, or at least make him faint so he can escape it, an even fiercer one clutches his heart. Cloud jumps with it, and then again. Each heartbeat hurts. He throws back his head, unable to even scream. His jaw hangs slack, eyes rolling, vision greying out. Surely a body can't stand this and survive? How is he still conscious? It hurts too much – it's _too much_! How can he stand it?

He can't. His body can't either. Through the pounding in his ears, Cloud hears a noise like tearing cloth. His world shrinks to a line of pain that blazes from his throat to his navel. He reaches blindly, not sure what to do to make it stop. He is wearing gloves, but his fingers slip on something wet. Why is his chest wet?

It doesn't matter anymore. The pain crescendos, taking him to the top and then throwing him off. He falls into blistering darkness with a voice growing distant in his ears.

"CLOUD!"

_Zack …?_

And with that, Cloud Strife dies.

_

* * *

_

To Be Continued …

* * *

.


	81. Rebirth of a Demon

**A/N: **600 reviews! Whoa, this is now officially the longest and most reviewed fic I have ever written by myself. Thank you everyone, and I hope you continue to stick with me as we now enter the final phases of this story.

* * *

**80. Rebirth of a Demon**

* * *

Yuffie lies in bed, listening. Leon has returned, but doesn't visit her room again. She can hear Aerith and Penelo talking to him in the waiting room, while outside the sun rises and the nightlights of Traverse Town become redundant. It has started to snow, but she can't summon any of her usual joy at the prospect of snowballs and snowmen and snow forts. Everything she thinks of is followed by the thought, _Yeah, but Lea won't be there, so what's the point._

Part of her is disgusted at the mammoth pity party she is throwing herself. The rest of her tells that part to fuck off. When it doesn't, and tries to point out that it wasn't her fault, she's not the only one affected, and she should be more concerned about Kairi anyway, the rest of her brain gags it, ties it up, locks it in a padded room and eats the key. Every so often she slides back the viewing window, but it shouts the same admonishments so she quickly slides it shut again.

The worst thing is, without that part to drown them out, memories of how she treated Leon keep coming back to haunt her too. She shouldn't have said what she said. She shouldn't have attacked him. He may be an asshole, but he didn't cause what happened. He's the one who worked hardest to prevent any tragedy striking Traverse Town again. No matter how much she yells it, she knows Leon's top priority was always to save people – even Lea.

She remembers her epiphany fighting by his side and snorts mirthlessly. She thought she was over him because she had Lea. Now everything is messed up, her most of all. She doesn't have Lea anymore, and it's her own fault, in a convoluted way. She's not stupid – she distracted Lea by having the gall to start _dying _in front of him – but she is miserable, and real misery makes for ridiculous ideas and explanations.

Maybe clinging to someone is just asking fate to take them away. Maybe it's better to keep your distance from everyone, like Leon does; that way it doesn't hurt so much when they leave you. She used to tell him that was dumb logic, implying that she'd never leave him no matter what, but maybe he was right and she was wrong. She hates herself for even thinking of her old feelings for Leon when Lea is _dead_ – like it's some massive betrayal – but everything squirms around in her brain, blood-soaked and spiky. She can't throw anything out without getting hurt or reminded of what she has done and what she has lost.

Would she trade Leon for Lea, if given the choice?

No, wait, what a stupid question! What is she _thinking_? This is neither the time nor the place – and while the wrong time and place for things is usually her forte, now it just feels sick and wrong. Lea died. He didn't break up with her, or cheat on her, or hurt her. She has no right to start comparing him to Leon like this. She concentrates on Lea's positive features: his sense of humour, his sardonic smile, his expertise with his chakrams … and, of course, her thoughts turn immediately back to what she _doesn't_ want to remember about him, because her brain obviously hates her and wants her to be even more miserable than she already is.

She can't get the image of his face out of her head – his astonishment and shame when he realised he'd stabbed her, and his pain when the Heartless took his heart. She also can't shake the feeling that she's to blame, even though Aerith is right, and everything from the night her Clan was killed really has been a series of unhappy coincidences and bad luck.

Well, apart from meeting her, Zack and Cloud. That was a pretty happy coincidence – hunting the Heartless and running away from her own pain and humiliation in Ragdim ended up leading her to a brand new family in Hollow Bastion, who have become as close, if not closer, than her real family. She takes comfort in the fact her family, at least, survived the attack on Traverse Town unscathed. Then she rebukes herself for not being more worried over Kairi.

Yuffie has skimmed a big fat pebble over a huge lake of emotions since the attack. Each time she bounced off the surface so far, she felt something different – desolation, bitterness, guilt, embarrassment, a sliver of hope, blazing anger – before hitting the water and sinking into blankness. Her heart, still beating thanks to Aerith, is sore in a very different way than just physical. It has been battered and bruised by a torrent of emotions she doesn't usually feel – or _allow_ herself to feel. Admitting what happened to her in Ragdim was like opening the floodgates, and all the stuff she can normally keep at bay found they way unblocked. They rushed in and overwhelmed her, and now she's all hollowed out by their intensity. The last time she told anyone about being attacked was when she told Lea. He curled his arms around her, held her close and said exactly what she wanted to hear – that she had done the right thing, that the man who raped her deserved to die, and that if he had been there he would have killed the guy slow and painful. Maybe those weren't what a therapist would recommend, but they were what Yuffie wanted – needed – at that moment. She probably started to really fall for Lea then. She did love him – still does, and tracing back her love to its origins gives her something to focus on other than the void where Lea himself used to be.

Leon's baritone cuts through her thoughts. Yuffie snaps back to reality. Leon cutting into her time with Lea – _again_. This kind of bitterness she can deal with. Being bitter with and about Leon is like putting on an old and comfortable pair of slippers. She can't make out his words, so he has probably dropped his voice in case she's listening. Either that or he think she's asleep and doesn't want to wake her. She used to think he knows her, but these days she's not so sure.

"_**If you had died, I would have grieved you as much as you're grieving for Lea."**_

What is that supposed to even _mean_? Leon isn't one for platitudes or saying stuff just to fill awkward silences. He _likes _awkward silences. He's the Awkward Silence King! That means he meant something by it, but the prospect of what makes Yuffie's head spin. Leon hates her. At the very least he severely dislikes her. Now he has to go any imply he _doesn't? _And right after Lea dies?No way!He can't go messing with people's emotions like this. He can't strike her when she's strong and try to bring her closer when she's vulnerable – the whole idea is nauseating. Likewise the fact she's even _thinking_ about this now.

"_**I hate you. I hate you, Squall Leonhart. How the hell did I ever think I was in love with you? I hate you!" **_

She doesn't hate him. She never really did. She just convinced herself of it; like she convinced herself the rape didn't affect her. She never forgot what happened in Ragdim, and she never forgot her feelings for Leon.

And that's the worst betrayal of all.

"_**Oh yeah, that's right; you killed the love of your life, too."**_

Spiked by her memories, Yuffie winces her way out of bed and closes her eyes. _Shinobi-iri_ leaves her woozy, but gets her into the hall and then to the bathroom just before the waiting room, where an emergency medical kit is stashed in the corner. They keep all sorts in those kits, from band-aids and bandages long enough to be cut to fit any shape to insulin and fire blankets in protective plastic.

She doesn't hate Leon, but she kind of hates herself for not hating him. Her mind is still choked with grief, which doesn't make it easier to think straight about normal stuff, let alone big stuff like love, life, death and everything in between. She is lucid but trancelike as she stares into the mirror above the twin sinks.

The girl looking back is a shrunken, pathetic thing, washed out and with that clammy-pale look of the terminally ill. Is this what heartbreak looks like? No wonder women go on make-up buying sprees when they get dumped. Yuffie has never worn make-up before. Lea once pinched her cheeks to make them red like Aunt Sarah's, until she threw a fork at him – Yuffie, that is, not Aunt Sarah. He caught it and grinned at her, twirling it between his fingers.

"It's a good thing I have such fast reflexes. You could have killed me with this."

"Never. Lightly maimed, perhaps, but it'd take more than a measly piece of cutlery to kill you."

"I dunno. Remember what Reno said about coffee spoons and eyeballs."

"Sicko."

"Baby-face."

"I do not have a baby face!" She hurled more forks and spoons, and even a couple of blunt butter knives. He dodged them all, laughing, until there was nothing left and they had to pull everything out of the wall and rearrange the picture frames to cover he worst damage before his dragon of a landlady came home.

Pain clasps Yuffie like a pair of hands wrapping around her throat from behind. She raises her own and devotes them to quick, decisive movements that let her concentrate on something other than freaking _crying_ for once. Everything is messed up. Inside, outside, everywhere and everyone – they're all messed up. She's no exception. She fights back in this tiny way, trying to stop her mixed-up feelings from spreading, and hanging on to Lea with every twitch of her fingers.

"Yuffie?"

Uh-oh. Busted.

"Yuffie, where are you?" Aerith calls.

Yuffie works faster, not trying to be neat. She should have done this ages ago. She convinced herself she liked it. Perhaps that was the traitorous part of her heart still showing an attachment for Leon.

"_**I hate you. I hate you, Squall Leonhart. How the hell did I ever think I was in love with you? I hate you!" **_

"Yuffie?" A tap at the door. "Are you in there?"

Yuffie finishes and stares at herself. Not taking her eyes from the mirror, she says loudly, "There are two toilets in here if you're that desperate. I can't use both at the same time."

Aerith pushes the door open and gasps. Yuffie can see her reflection over her shoulder in the mirror.

"Oh, Yuffie…"

"You like it?" Even Yuffie thinks her smile is abortive, like dead babies and triple bypasses for missing hearts. It hangs off her mouth like a breathing mask. "Since I died and came back to life, I figure my image is due for one of those 'rebirth' things. I'm thinking a bit of reinvention might be good for me – forget who I am and all this shit. Just be someone else."

Aerith gently takes the scissors from her hands. Yuffie allows it – she has done enough for now. Aerith doesn't comment at the hanks of long hair crisscrossing the sink like wire netting. The haircut isn't quite Yuffie's old style, but it's not long like Rinoa's anymore, either. The face in the mirror is no longer some little kid playing make-believe, but a girl with hard eyes and uneven dark spikes sticking up all over. One tuft hangs over her left eye like a piratical eye-patch, slightly longer than the rest but not long enough to be tucked behind her ear. Aerith reaches to smooth it off her forehead with a look of tender concern. She is still acting so nice, even after Yuffie was foul to her. Yuffie appreciates that. She does. It makes her feel like her suspicions over getting close to people are wrong: her family _won't_ leave her, and she can count on that truth, at least.

"_**I'm this giant bad luck charm – keep away from Yuffie, if you get too close to her and she starts to care about you, you'll wind up dead. Aren't you worried you'll be next, Ponytail? Or how about Hero, or Cloudy, or Small Fry? Everybody I get attached to buys it eventually. It's better if I just fuck off now so you guys have a fighting chance."**_

Yuffie's cheek aches with Aerith's phantom slap. Reinvention isn't just cutting your hair, she knows. She has done it before, but that time she didn't have anyone left to hold her back in her old life as princess of the Wutai Clan. Now she has these precious people – reminders that even though her heart aches with loss, she's not alone; there are still people who care for and about her, whom it's okay for her to care about in return. It's the only thing keeping her from teetering right over the edge into depression so deep she never even knew she was capable of it.

Aerith's hand suddenly stills. Her eyes go wide. She lets out a strangled cry. "Oh!" She jolts backwards, crashing into one of the sinks and gripping it with both hands like it's the only thing keeping her upright. "Oh … oh no …"

Yuffie goes to her, clean fresh worry wiping away her own confusion for a moment. "Ponytail?"

Aerith's breathing is fast and shallow. Though she looks at Yuffie, she obviously isn't seeing her. "No, oh please, no …"

"Ponytail, what is it?"

"Cloud. Zack." Tears fill her eyes. "Kairi."

"What about them? Ponytail? Hey, whoa, keep your knees straight or you'll bang your butt on the floor."

Aerith doesn't reply, just opens her mouth and lets out a thin, despairing wail that slams all the atmosphere out of the room and summons Leon and Penelo like mourners to a funeral.

* * *

Obviously Zack is missing something here – rather like starting a book and then flipping to the final chapter without reading the middle bit. When he first regains consciousness he is assaulted by several pressing matters at once: to make sure Cloud and Kairi got away, to see he's still in one piece, and to get that fucker with the claymore and shove it up his –

"KAIRI!" Cloud's desperate shout rips him back to the present without time for health checks or orientation.

Zack pushes himself onto his hands and knees. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fug. The fight has obviously moved on from him, since he can't hear more than the faint murmur of voices through his pounding ears. He is also still in one piece, which, coupled with hearing Cloud and, more importantly, what Cloud is shouting, tells Zack that probably the only reason he's still around right now is because Cloud didn't leave him behind. Zack may not be a detective, but he can read the clues and come up with one conclusion.

_Cloud, you're an idiot._

Stumbling to his feet, Zack feels whorls of the Buster Sword's magic under his fingertips. He realises the weapon is still in his hand. Despite all the things he _should_ be thinking of, he can't help feeling a little insulted. Was he such an insignificant threat they could leave him armed and still not be worried about what he'd do to them? What that promises for Cloud and Kairi doesn't bear thinking about.

_If those fuckers have hurt them, I'm gonna …_

The thought stays unfinished, because at that moment Zack actually sees Cloud.

Cloud is on his knees, touching a spot on the ground that shimmers with the same residue Zack and Reno found once before – the residue of a world briefly allowed access to this one. Beyond, one of the men in black disappears into a similar portal. There is no sign of Kairi anywhere. Zack's blood runs cold.

_They didn't take her with them. Don't tell me they took her someplace we can't follow._

He starts towards Cloud, but before he can call out, Cloud suddenly arches as if stabbed through the back with a spear. He doesn't make any noise, but his entire body goes rigid and his mouth opens in a silent scream. He jolts once, twice, three times, all the while leaning further back until his legs are folded awkwardly under him and the crown of his head almost touches the ground.

As Zack watches in horror, the centre of Cloud's chest _stretches_, like a piece of taut rubber jabbed from behind with a finger. It flexes, waving from side to side in a way that makes Zack's stomach turn over. The fabric of Cloud's thick woollen sweater stretches with it, but tears suddenly and violently when something sharp and pointed bursts out of his chest. Gouts of blood spray into the air, splattering over the rocks, snow and Cloud's rigid face. His expression is one of absolute agony, as his ribcage is prised apart from the inside and an impossibly huge wing, bigger even than his entire body, works its way free.

Zack finally finds his voice. "CLOUD!" This is unbelievable. It's _impossible_. He must still be dreaming.

Snowflakes land on his face and in his hair. The smell of gore blows to him on the breeze. Zack's muscles refuse to work. His gorge rises as the rest of him becomes numb with shock and incredulity. It's too impossible for words.

A grown man pulls himself out of Cloud's body like a chick emerging from an egg – no, like some basilisk, cracking through leathery shell and pushing its lizardine body into the world in a wash of umbilical fluid. The man steps out, stretching. His foot catches one exposed lung. He kicks it free, causing Cloud's slumped body to roll sideways. Zack catches sight of his blue eyes, wide and unseeing. Blood soaks his front and turns the snow a horrendous crimson.

_NONONONO__-! _Zack is in motion without any thought beyond this. If he was thinking, he would have recognised the blue wing and silvery hair even through the gore. He would have at least sketched a plan first.

Yeah right.

He swings at the man, intending to cleave his torso in two. The man leaps lightly away and lands on top of an outcropping. He balances like it's nothing, despite the tiny space, and stares down at Zack with an imperious look in his basilisk eyes. Zack growls at him. He actually _growls_.

The man gives a small, humourless smile, and says, "Well, well, if it isn't Angeal's nephew."

Zack finally registers who this is. Impossibility heaps onto more impossibility, but nobody could pull off an impression of this guy. Nothing else could be so … so _evil _with only a glance.

"Sephiroth!"

* * *

Axel wonders when it will stop feeling weird to be called that. He also wonders when the other shoe is going to drop and Xemnas – or 'Superior' as he apparently wants to be known now – will get around to 'dealing' with him like he promised.

He can't figure that guy out. Xemnas was so gung ho about recruiting Axel after finding him wandering around in the wilderness. Axel was miles from anywhere and had no clue what was going on, or what to make of the chaotic memories he clutched at like the last pips in a hollowed out fruit – all the shape was still there, but none of the emotional core. He didn't know who he was, where he was, even _what_ he was – not at first. Even the idea of walking around naked in the snow didn't strike him as odd.

Xemnas didn't think it weird. Then again, to Xemnas, weird is probably relative. Or _a _relative. Poncy weirdo. He just stepped out of one of those super-duper portal things, arms open, head bowed, like some priest descending on the undeserving masses to dispense largess. What he spouted about Nobodies and Others sounded like nonsense, but he also brought nifty clothes he was willing to give freely, told Axel his 'true' name, and showed him things that made it impossible _not_ to believe his story. It didn't hurt that listening to him made something slot together in Axel's, like the universe was just waiting for someone to give him a clue. The aching emptiness in his chest helped, too.

Axel. Lea with an X. Not Lea anymore, but something less – his mortal remains given the power to move again, despite the blatant impossibility. Not-quite-zombie Lea, since he isn't rotting, can speak in full sentences and has no desire to eat brains, but still with a whiff of the undead about him. X, as in extra – a body without a heart and, thus, no real connection with life aside from the push and pull of air into a pair of lungs. Who needs a creature like that hanging around, cluttering up the place? Superfluous. Unneeded. Unnecessary. Yeah, that'd just about cover it. No-one can ever accuse him of being slow on the uptake.

Lea was the one who was needed, and even then only by a few people. Traverse Town has lots of warriors to defend it, but Reno and Yuffie – those are the two who needed Lea alone, needed him specifically, as a human being and not just for what he could do for them. Even without his heart to hammer the feeling home, Axel knows their deaths make him unnecessary.

It's the most bizarre thing in the world to _know_ you're supposed to be grieving and not be able to do it. He grieves in his head, but it's a dull grief, concerned mainly with practicalities and 'insert appropriate emotion here' blank spaces. He knows he should be wracked with guilt over what he (no, Lea) did to Yuffie, knows he should be eaten up with sorrow for his (no, Lea's) brother and the terrible ways they both died.

Xemnas said he survived (after a fashion) only because he was strong enough to produce a conscious Nobody. When Axel demanded to know whether Reno also produced one, Xemnas just shook his head. He didn't bother asking about Yuffie. Bleeding to death doesn't produce a Heartless or a Nobody. She was probably the lucky one, if being stabbed to death by someone you love can ever be counted as lucky.

The amount of new information crammed into the day and a half since Xemnas found him has left Axel reeling, but because of the disconnection from emotional responses, it's easier. He can process and come to an acceptance that might otherwise have been stymied by his heart's insistence that he needs to mourn before he can think about gigantic existential dramas. Maybe it's a good thing he can't feel anything except boredom and a constant, vague mystification. The depth of the emotions he is missing would probably kill him all over again.

That Saïx dude seems to think he's better off without his heart, though the puppyish dedication with which he follows Xemnas seems almost like adoration. It'd be creepy, if this whole deal wasn't already so far _beyond_ creepy it's charting new maps into Really Fucking Disturbing. Axel hasn't met anybody else from this 'Organisation' they talked about, since Xemnas whipped him right back to the world they found him in after he mentioned how Kairi once said he (no, Lea) had a stronger heart than Reno's.

Xemnas doesn't think they're better off without hearts. He seems to know a freakish amount about hearts in general, and Heartless, and everything else Axel would prefer to sweep under the rug and never think of again. The walls of his chest where his heart used to nestle feel funny when he thinks about Xemnas's melodramatic insistence that not having the highs and lows of proper feelings, as opposed to the memories of feelings, is no way to live. Maybe that's why Axel led them to Kairi and helped them take her – or _try_ to take her. If the kid could keep him from a half-life of always thinking he's missing some vital part of himself, then snatching her was fine by him. After all, he (no, _Lea_, for fuck's sake) did far worse in his life than just kidnapping some little girl. Even a little girl he used to know and like.

Except that he screwed up, and now he's in the dog-house big time. Less than forty-eight hours into his new (almost) life and already he is pissing off the bigwigs. That sounds about right, too. Although … can these bigwigs even _get_ pissed off?

"You are thoughtful."

Axel doesn't show surprise, though the way these guys get around, slicing up reality and stepping between the cracks, strikes him as freakish in the extreme. Getting jettisoned from your world is one thing. Having the power to move yourself between dimensions … it should be such a rush, but the only ones with the power to do it are the only ones unable to appreciate it. Reno would love it. Yuffie too. They'd each come up with their own devious means of using the ability. Lea would probably enjoy it too, but Axel is waiting for a rush that never comes. It's a disappointing kind of afterlife.

Disappointment? The walls of the hollow in his chest twinge with phantom emotions, but they're pale imitations of the real thing. It's like an amputee trying to scratch an itch on a limb they no longer have. One day, though he doesn't know it now, he will follow these phantom feelings as zealously as he followed the chance of recovering his heart, and at the last he'll question whether they're really as phantom as they seem, and whether it's possible to regrow at least a piece of your heart from them. For now, though, they're just twinges with no weight behind them, except to emphasise what _isn't_ there.

Axel remembers he is supposed to be showing deference or something. Feh. "Not much else to do now but think."

"The thoughtful man is the survivor. The survivor writes history. History tells of the thoughtful man as a hero."

Axel snorts. "A hero? Me? I guess you didn't hear how I screwed up today."

"The Princess of the Heart is only one option. It's a poor researcher who considers a single experiment as an entire project."

He cuts his eyes at his visitor – little more than a kid, but wearing the same black coat as himself, Xemnas and Saïx. Is his another not-quite-zombie (Nobody – might as well get used to the terminology) Xemnas found wandering in some distant world? The boy keeps his arms folded, distancing himself through posture and averted gaze. One thing Axel is learning fast around these people is that everything is about politics and power-play. You don't have to feel anything to be a manipulative bastard. In fact, _not_ feeling anything makes you even better-suited to it.

"The Organisation is devoted to its task," the kid says.

"I noticed." Axel shakes his head. "It's all nucking futs to me."

The kid slides a sly sideways glance at him. "Crude. You are a layman."

"A what?"

"I thought so. I suppose it will take all sorts to give us the best chance at a successful result. A page is but a blank sheet before a variety of words are imprinted upon it in a variety of different combinations, thereby making it unique." He nods, but Axel thinks it's mostly to himself. "Your rank is Number Eight. Saïx informed us of you. No doubt you will be visited upon shortly and interrogated by the others in their turn."

"I'm L- Axel," he is quick to say, not sure he likes ranks and numbers. Faceless armies give him the willies. Or, at least, they did. Man, that's weird. He scratches absently at his chest. Xemnas is right, living without a heart is no life – no fucking life at all.

"Laxel?" The boy raises an eyebrow. One eye is hidden behind his hair in a typically teenage style, but his voice and manner make him seem older. Teenagers without the emotions and hormones are just small adults, right? Besides which, Axel figures, Nobodies' reanimated bodies probably don't age. They are just walking corpses, after all. He may not actually be a kid at all.

"Axel." Firm. Clear. Take-no-shit-from-nobody (or no Nobody, come to think of it).

The kid nods once and turns to go. He never even bothered closing his portal, as if not deeming Axel worthy of more than a handful of minutes.

"Hey!" Axel says suddenly.

The kid pauses. "You want something from me?"

"Your name's pretty traditional in circumstances like this."

"Tradition: something that people always do, or have always done in a particular way. Habit: the way somebody usually or routinely behaves in a particular situation. I do not believe either of these applies to us anymore." He again turns to go.

Axel shoots out an arm. For some reason, finding out this kid's name is suddenly and inexplicably important. "What is you name?"

The kid glances at the hand gripping his bicep. Axel could get really tired of that blank look. Xemnas and Saïx use it all the time, too. It's already shredding his nerves like a cheap cheese-grater. It's like they have forgotten faces are more than functional tools for speaking through.

Axel will follow Xemnas because he knows stuff Axel _wants_ to know – chiefly, how to stop the emptiness and regain his emotions, his _heart_, even if it means the weight of his grief comes crashing down on him as a result. Better that than hungering for a dish of fresh-baked feelings that will never come. He doesn't want to be picking at mouldy ghosts of emotions for the rest of his unlife.

As if in response to the kid's look, Axel summons the smirk he always exchanged with Reno, which would send Aunt Sarah into apoplexy about what these two hoodlums were planning in her guest house. It has no effect on the kid, but it feels better than a down-turned mouth and wilting cheeks. Axel resolves right then to paint his face with emotions, even if he can't feel them. Maybe, with enough time and luck, he can convince himself the same as the world that looks at his face.

The kid doesn't pull away, just places a hand on Axel's and removes it like a dirty tissue after wiping up a spill. "I am Number Six."

"Not what I asked for. Name?"

Aha! A narrowing of the one eye. "You're very presumptuous for a beginner."

"I have many faults and flaws. I'm sure we'll get to know each others' plenty, if boss-man doesn't kick me out."

"He won't."

"You sound pretty sure of that."

"Nobodies are not a widespread occurrence. Millions of Heartless have consumed and propagated using millions of hearts. You are the latest in our Organisation and you are only Number Eight."

"Only? I'd feel special, kiddo, if I could fucking well feel."

Evidently something in his voice resonates. The boy tips his head to regard Axel critically. "I am not 'kiddo'. I am Zexion," he says, and then leaves without looking back.

Axel doesn't try to follow. He just sits and waits to see what happens next. Metaphorically, it's all he'll be able to do for a long, long time. Physically, it's what he's doing when Xemnas arrives.

He doesn't get up, but does allow him the psychological height. Xemnas says nothing for a long moment, hands linked behind his back. He reminds Axel of an old schoolteacher he and Reno had in the orphanage, who used silence tactics to get naughty boys to confess what they'd done wrong and punish themselves before taking a strap to them himself. Lea learned patience as a Turk and Axel uses it now, with no restless brother next to him to interrupt. It's a stalemate of no talking. Very loud no talking.

"Do you wish to return to your world?" Xemnas asks at last.

Axel gives this some thought. It's not what he was expecting to be asked. "Nah, nothing left there for me except bad memories." Lea's life. Memories of Lea. And Yuffie. And Reno. Going back there would mean confronting all that and feeling … nothing. It's not something he wants to experience in case it taints the emotional memories attached to the place. "Besides, I think I burned my bridges."

"The two knights who guarded the Princess of the Heart? They did not see your face, and I believe they now have other matters to concern them above your presence."

Axel's not sure what to make of this cryptic comment, except to take it as a reference to Kairi going bye-bye to parts unknown. He lets it slide in favour of asking a question of his own. "You gonna toss me out on my ear?"

"The Organisation is a select company."

"That a yes or a no?"

"Do you wish to leave?"

This time Axel gives his answer no thought. He has already treated it to a brain-lashing and made his decision. "No. I want my heart back."

Xemnas nods, not self-satisfied, but close. "You will have to make up for your blunder today."

"That figures."

"And devote yourself wholly and fully to our cause. Your Other and his life are no longer of any importance. What matters is the future."

"Is that how you coped when you first got this gig – forgot whoever Xemnas used to be when he had a heart?"

There's a pregnant pause.

"You will address me as Superior," Xemnas says quietly. "Now come with me. You need to be taught how to open and close stable portals before you begin your quest to locate the Princess."

"_My_ quest?"

"In addition to the same duties you will undertake as everyone else, yes." Xemnas raises his brows, as if daring Axel to say more.

This, then, is to be his punishment: to spend his time in this group searching for what he lost them while he was still wet behind the ears.

"The witch is also in search of Princesses of the Heart, and she has begun gathering allies to help her. It will take a long time, as true Princesses are rare creatures, but in this the witch is both our ally and our rival. As long as we have but one Princess we will be successful in taking one more step towards our goal, but she seeks them for another purpose and she is ruthless. The awakening of the Keyblade Master and the return of the keyblades from the void would be a huge advantage for us."

"Witch? Keyblades? Keyblade _Master_? Me no speaky the lingo, pal." Axel catches Xemnas's eye. "Superior," he corrects, keeping the habitual bad grace out of his voice.

Xemnas inclines his head. A smile would not look out of place at this point, but none emerges. "Indeed, you do have much to learn, Number Eight. Come now." He turns to leave, beckoning for Axel to follow. "It is time for your first lesson."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

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	82. Death and Resurrection

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81. Death and Resurrection

* * *

Zack can't believe it. _Sephiroth_, Angeal's once-closest friend along with Genesis. The man who became possessed when he was given the heart of the demon Jenova, and for whom Angeal abandoned his position as an Elite Soldier, too wracked by guilt to train another generation in the art of killing. Angeal and Genesis died to protect the world from Sephiroth. He's _dead._

Except that he's not.

And he just murdered Cloud.

Zack can't even comprehend how Sephiroth came to be _inside_ Cloud in the first place, fully grown and looking exactly as he did the day he died, all those years ago. The logistics are impossible. Cloud can't be dead. Sephiroth can't be alive. That didn't just happen.

But it did. Kairi is gone, Cloud is dead, Sephiroth killed him; and frankly that's all Zack needs to know.

"Bastard," he snarls, launching himself.

Sephiroth isn't armed. When he dances away, unfeasibly agile with that giant, blood-sodden wing, he flexes his left hand as if he expects to find a sword in it. "Hm," he murmurs. Balling the hand into a fist, he knocks Zack back so hard he leaves a crater where he bounces in the snow. "Masamune? You've forsaken me? I thought you would follow me into death and beyond."

There's a bright flash. The outline of a hilt shimmers in his hand. Sephiroth smiles, but unlike the smug smirk Zack might expect, it's a tender expression, like a man waiting for his lover to slide into bed next to him.

The way Zack and Aerith both look when Cloud does just that. They always leave him to turn out the light. It's easier to see blond hair bobbing through the shadowy bedroom, so you can be ready with a two-pronged tickle-attack. Cloud protests every time, but never seems to mind enough to stop being last into bed.

The long, slightly curved blade of Masamune winks into existence. Sephiroth grips it, giving it an anchor. It becomes even more solid at his touch, as if it can't exist without him. Zack has never actually seen it before, but Angeal's stories don't do it justice – Masamune the albatross of swords, colossal and elegant. Sephiroth whips it through the air a few times, experimental. His smile widens.

"Ah, I should have known better. Please forgive me. Your magic binds you to me as closely as Jenova's heart bound me to that boy. I should not have doubted you, Masamune." The air crackles with unseen energy.

"What?" Zack says. Jenova's heart? What's that supposed to mean.

Sephiroth looks down at him. Zack can see how he could be admired and respected more than any other Elite. Sephiroth exudes confidence and, smiling like that, you could almost believe he'd fight to the death to protect each and every person weaker than himself, whether he knows them or not.

But that Sephiroth died decades ago. All too soon the expression slips away. "Cloud Strife has been mine for years, and also Jenova's."

"_What_?"

"His death is payment for my rebirth. Jenova can return life that has been lost, but she demands sacrifices for her miracles." His smile becomes hard-edged and cruel like Masamune's blade. "His corpse pleases her."

It's as if Zack has forgotten all his training and experience. He attacks again with a wordless shout. This time, instead of merely shrugging it off, Sephiroth meets the charge. Masamune rings against the Buster Sword and the stink of foetid memories fills the air. They remember the last time they met in battle. They remember whose blood was spilled last time. Zack can almost feel the dark magic of the katana spiralling like smoke around the point of connection.

Hot anger turns the Buster Sword's presence in Zack's mind from green-gold to reddish. The change in its magic suits him. He is furious as well. He channels everything into his rage because if he doesn't he'll have to focus on the fact that Cloud is _dead_, and then he may just sink to his knees and never get up again – not the best plan when facing the greatest warrior who ever lived. Sephiroth was formidable even before he became part demon. Afterwards, those skills were sharpened to a razor-edge that he kept constantly whetted right up to the day he died.

_Died_. Sephiroth _died_. Zack saw his body – and it happened in _Hollow Bastion_. How, then, can he be here? How is any of this even _possible_? The word keeps circling his mind: _impossible, impossible, impossible …_ Zack shakes it away. Impossible is relative. Hasn't he learned that by now? Sephiroth implied he has somehow been _living_ _inside_ Cloud all this time, but how –?

"You're confused," Sephiroth says softly. "I can see it in your face. You're much more expressive than Angeal." He twists their blades around, locking them without giving either side an advantage. "You want to know about my miraculous rebirth."

"You're dead," Zack snaps, forcing his body weight behind the Buster Sword to try and break the deadlock. "Genesis killed you after you murdered Angeal!"

Sephiroth blinks. He gives a short laugh. "Is _that_ what you think happened?" His tone turns mocking. "Genesis _did_ defeat me – but Angeal was alive when I fell."

"Liar! Masamune stabbed him through the heart. You wrecked his heart for what he did to yours!" The old grief wells up like poison from infected scar tissue. Zack spent long days thinking about what happened to his uncle, and even longer nights. Part of him died with Angeal and Genesis, and he has never forgiven Sephiroth for taking them.

Sephiroth's smile is anything but pleasant. "If he died on Masamune, little pup, then it wasn't me wielding it at the time." He opens his wing, flinging droplets of congealing blood everywhere. Up close, Zack can see the wing is much coarser than he thought. Each feather is more like leather. Already they seem drier. Sephiroth takes flight, breaking the deadlock and leaving Zack glaring while he strokes Masamune with his free hand. "Yes … yes, you remember, don't you, Masamune? It's true. Masamune did end Angeal, but it was Genesis who struck the blow. She burned his hands for his impudence in murdering me and misusing her."

A memory flashes into Zack's mind. Genesis's hands were blackened and gnarled as if doused in acid. The leather of his gloves was moulded to the flesh of his palms, and his fingers were warped into stumps, like rotten teeth. He killed Sephiroth, that much is clear, but there's no way he could have held his rapier to do it with hands like that, which means the injuries came afterwards. Angeal did mention something about Sephiroth's sword, special in the way the Buster Sword is unlike any other blade. Masamune mutilates anyone who touches it except for its bonded master. Which means … the last sword Genesis could possibly have held was Masamune, and if Sephiroth died on Genesis's rapier …

Zack feels like _he _has been stabbed. All this time he has been lauding Genesis as the hero who avenged Angeal, when really he was the one who murdered him. Angeal was betrayed by the man he trusted most, and it cost him his life – and Zack his only blood-family.

An extra layer now added to his fury, Zack comes at Sephiroth with a rain of blows and inhumanly high jumps. Sephiroth grunts once, when Zack first leaps to his height, but meets every strike with a parry, every attack with a better defence. His eyes widen along with his smile. Zack can see his pupils are catlike slits.

"You've bonded with his sword even better than he did! Perhaps this battle will be interesting after all."

"Murderer! You damn _monster_!"

"Yes, I am these things." Sephiroth breaks through Zack's defence and catches him a glancing blow with the butt of his katana. "But I'm also much, much more."

It seems bizarre to be in such a vicious fight while snow falls softly around them. It makes visibility poor, but Zack is operating on a combination of instinct, adrenaline and magic anyway. He feels the Buster Sword's warnings when Masamune is near, allowing him to swing and meet every strike. He guards well after recovering from the glancing blow, but after a few minutes it's clear he has switched to solely defensive movements, while Sephiroth presses his advantage. Zack falls back, pausing to catch his breath behind a formation of rocks shaped like an open parasol on its side.

It took Genesis, Angeal _and_ a platoon of armed soldiers to defeat Sephiroth before. Zack is just one man. The absurdity that _he_ could defeat the mighty _Sephiroth_ when even Angeal couldn't do it alone makes him shiver almost uncontrollably. He knows he has to tamp down on all panic reflexes if he wants to survive this. He can't let himself be distracted. He has to remember why he's fighting and use that to keep himself focussed. He thinks of Cloud, sprawled on the floor, his entire chest and torso a gaping wound. Zack's resolve tightens into a knot. Fuck absurdity. Fuck impossible. He and his friends have pulled off miracles before. Even so, his hands tremble, and not with fear or fatigue.

_Cloud_…

"Angeal thought I was a demon who took over the body of his friend and subjugated his personality," says a voice above him.

Zack whirls to meet Masamune before it can slice him in two. His arm scrapes heavily against rock to avoid the sword-tip, opening a bloody gash in his elbow. He shakes off the burst of pain and begins another deadly dance.

Sephiroth goes on like they're having a regular conversation. "He didn't understand that Jenova's heart doesn't take over a body that way. She lives through her heart, lives in whoever possesses even a piece of it, and unlocks their latent potential – the impulses and desires usually kept suppressed by out-dated concepts like morals and ethics. She liberates those she bonds with and broadens their horizons."

"You mean she fills their hearts with darkness!"

"An interesting interpretation."

"You're worse than the fucking Heartless!"

"Heartless?" For a moment Sephiroth actually looks confused. Zack feels a bleak kind of satisfaction. Sephiroth doesn't _know_ about the Heartless, though what kind of advantage that could give, Zack doesn't know. Short of summoning a legion of the things to mob the guy, it's just a titbit that shows his ignorance. "Hardly. I only gave a portion of it to the boy."

"What?" Again with the cryptic comments. There's no time to concentrate on that as Masamune jabs forward, opening a cut along the side of Zack's waist. Zack cries out, back-flipping away. He lands in a crouch, holding his side. It's not deep, but it could have been. Is Sephiroth … playing with him? For some reason the thought makes him angry.

"What a fine warrior you've grown into. Angeal would be proud." Now the bastard is _taunting_ him.

"Don't you even talk about him!" Zack barrels forward, a blur of motion. He leaps twenty feet in the air, sword hacking high and then low. One of Sephiroth's feathers slices off from the tip of his wing. He watches it fall, disinterested. Zack attacks again, only to find his blows met and his slashes shrugged off like the snow.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" Sephiroth says. "Did I hit a nerve?"

Struck by inspiration, Zack uses a version of a move picked up from Leon. He twists one leg around Sephiroth's and hooks their knees together like links in a chain. As Zack goes into his descent, he drags Sephiroth down with him, holding their bodies close. Taken unawares, Sephiroth's sword arm trails behind him. Zack takes the opportunity to slice sideways with the Buster Sword. The close proximity makes it awkward, but he does manage to bite the blade deep into Sephiroth's side.

Slitted eyes flare with pain and irritation. Before he can truly process that he has finally scored a hit, Zack slams into the ground with a heavy weight on his chest and something sharp against his throat. Okay, so maybe he didn't follow this great idea through to its conclusion – keeping Sephiroth close has now given _him_ the advantage, putting Zack at a distinct _dis_advantage as he struggles for breath. The window to fix his oversight is small and shrinking fast.

On instinct he raises his legs and, spine screaming from being folded nearly in half, punts Sephiroth in the back with the toes of both feet. The move is pure Turk – sneaky and dishonourable, but it gets the job done. It doesn't shift Sephiroth, but again he seems surprised – enough for Zack to drag his sword arm up. He can't swing the blade at this angle, but he smashes the bottom of the hilt into Sephiroth's face, repaying the same move used on himself before. One high cheekbone crunches. Zack likes to think he gets a few teeth as well. It's a good hit, in that it makes Sephiroth release his throat, and that's all the opportunity Zack needs. Black spots crowd his vision, but he is empowered by his rage and grief. He smashes the top of his head into Sephiroth's face in a down-and-dirty head-butt Lea would be proud of. He even aims for the side he already struck, for maximum pain. The cry Sephiroth gives is satisfying to hear.

Sephiroth spreads his wing and shoots into the air. Zack's scalp is wet with blood, melted snow and sweat. He gags, remembering the last time he smelled someone else's blood. Even if there was time, he can't bear to look at Cloud's body. The fight has moved away from that area, the corpse shielded by rocky outcroppings, but Zack knows with painful precision where it is.

Sephiroth is going to pay for what he has done, of that Zack is certain. His small victories give him hope – despite Angeal's stories and his miraculous rebirth, Sephiroth is not infallible. He can be hurt. He can be _killed_. He knew how Angeal and Genesis fought because he worked with them, and would recognise any of the things Angeal taught Zack, but Zack has learned a lot since Angeal's last lesson when he was sixteen. Sephiroth has never faced a Royal Guard, or a ninja, never been pummelled with Zangan-Ryu or set upon by Turks. These are the things that can swing the battle in Zack's favour.

Suddenly it's as if the light and dark halves of Zack's nature are perfectly in balance and yet contradicting each other at the same time – he knows killing people is wrong, and yet he is going to kill Sephiroth. He knows his friends are with him, but he also knows he is entirely alone now. He hears laughter and looks up to see Sephiroth floating above him, wiping blood from his face.

"Angeal trained you well, but it seems you've learned a few tricks of your own, pup."

"Don't call me that," Zack snaps unthinkingly, remembering how Genesis called him 'puppy'. Even hearing Sephiroth say his name is better than being reminded of the man who betrayed Angeal. "My name is Zack Fair."

"Very well. Since your part in today's events is more crucial than probably even you realise, I'll give you the honour of addressing you by your name, _Zack Fair_." Again with the creepy smile. "Respect for strong warriors is my speciality, after all."

"_Respect_? You murdered all the strong warriors you ever met!"

"What greater sign of respect than to give them the honour of death on the blade of an even stronger warrior? That's my quest, Zack Fair, as it was Jenova's quest before me – to seek out the strongest warriors in the world and prove that I'm stronger. That's why I called Angeal and Genesis to fight me – so I could prove my strength against theirs."

"Well that sure went well for you – Genesis," Zack spits out the name, "stuck his rapier through Jenova's heart and _ended_ you both."

"Killed, but did not end," Sephiroth corrects. "And Genesis still died from the wounds I inflicted. But unlike Genesis, neither I nor Jenova _truly_ ended that day. We lived on in your friend. That makes me the true victor because, unlike Genesis, I actually survived our encounter, so I'm actually _able_ to claim victory. History, as Angeal would constantly tell me during the Ogre War, is written by the survivors. He wanted to make sure the survivors only told the truth, even if it was unpleasant." Sephiroth shakes his head almost affectionately. "Sentimental, trusting fool."

"What the hell are you talking about – lived on in Cloud?" Perhaps not the best idea ever, to be having a conversation with the guy trying to kill you. Zack knows he should be renewing his attack, but he _needs_ to know what happened to Cloud. That's his focus. Plus, how is he supposed to go home and tell Aerith their lover is dead, that Zack failed to protect both him and Kairi, and not be able to explain _why_?

Oh, gods … _Aerith_.

She's still waiting patently for them to bring Kairi home. Even if _he_ survives this fight, Zack knows neither Kairi nor Cloud will ever come home again.

Sephiroth beats his wing – how the hell is he staying aloft with only one? – and folds his arms so Masamune just from his other side like a skeleton second wing. The wound in his side doesn't seem to bother him too much. Neither does his smashed cheek. Actually, Zack squints, it's looking a lot less caved in than before. But that's probably a trick played by snow flurries in the air between them.

"I told you before that Cloud Strife has been mine for years," Sephiroth says. "I wasn't lying. I'm many things, Zack Fair, but a liar is not one of them. I didn't lie to Angeal about my true nature, I didn't lie to Jenova when I said I'd make her quest my own, and I didn't lie to you. When I saved the boy from falling off that rope bridge the first time you ventured into the mountains near your home, I gave him the gift of life that Angeal once gave me. Jenova's heart can give life for the price of a life. The boy was dying. I gave him a piece of Jenova's heart – also _my _heart now – and it revived him, while at the same time incubating a piece of me for if the impossible should happen and I was defeated."

Which he was. Which would mean … Sephiroth has been growing inside Cloud since Cloud was fifteen years old, using him like an animal, or an object, something less than human, just waiting for the day he wanted to return –

"Jenova demands sacrifices for her miracles," Sephiroth continues. "As long as their heart remains intact, she can return life to the dead and dying and unlock their potential at the same time. The life of his own pet was needed to affect Cloud's recovery, and his life was needed to resurrect me today, when the dark feelings in his heart finally became greater than his lighter half."

All this time … and they never knew … all this time Cloud has been living the life of a time bomb, a ticking explosive in his chest waiting to go off with the specific purpose of killing him and bringing back this man and his poisonous demon heart. Bile rises in Zack's throat. He forces it down and tightens his grip of the Buster Sword. "Really fucking miraculous."

"You will soon be personally acquainted with the miracles of Jenova's heart," Sephiroth says enigmatically.

"I'm looking at one right now."

"True."

"Except I'd say 'twisted' instead of 'miraculous'."

That cheek is looking a _lot_ better than before, Zack's sure. Stupid snow, making everything indistinct – whoagetouttatheway!

"Constantly ducking and avoiding me won't avenge Angeal, Zack Fair."

"How did you know –?"

"My eyesight, like everything about me, has been far improved by Jenova; and you _do_ have a very expressive face. You want to kill me for the deaths of Angeal and your friend. You fight with your emotions. I can read your intent in the shape of your swordplay more easily than if you scratched the words in the ground with your blade." Sephiroth banks around and flies at Zack again, skimming the ground. "Without me, Angeal would still be alive. Without me, Cloud Strife would not be –"

"I thought I told you not to talk about them!" The rawness of what he has learned sluices through Zack. Any one of these things – Genesis's betrayal, Sephiroth's resurrection, Cloud's death, Kairi's disappearance – would be enough to send him reeling, but all of them at once make him feel like each of his limbs has been torn off and used to club him over the head. Zack has always been prey to his emotions. It makes him fun to be around when he's happy, but at times like this they make him reckless. "Don't you fucking _dare_!"

"_Much_ more expressive than Angeal." Sephiroth doesn't laugh, but there's something like laughter and it drives Zack into an even wilder frenzy. "You fight much harder when you're provoked, Zack Fair. You may use much more colourful language, but you and he have that characteristic in common. Did you know that the key to his defeat was when I threatened to kill you? His emotions clouded his reasoning and made it possible for me to get behind his defences."

Zack didn't know this, obviously. However, he _does_ know Sephiroth is just trying to rile him, to fool him into making a mistake so he can cut him down.

"I'm not trying to trick you into making errors in judgement, no matter what you might think. Making you angry seems to make you stronger, but not, I'm afraid, strong _enough. _You may be a powerful and skilled warrior, and more than a match for ordinary enemies. If I'd met you at this level before I died, you would've made a magnificent opponent. I would've been honoured to add your life to those I've bested. However, now there's someone else, and your skills pale in comparison. I only fight those I think will be a challenge for me, to test and prove myself and my skills. While you _are_ strong, you -"

"Shut up and fight me!" Angeal never mentioned Sephiroth was such a talker. In fact, he implied the exact opposite.

Sephiroth frowns and backhands him into a boulder. Zack leaves an imprint and crumples to the ground.

"I did try to warn you," Sephiroth says, almost _wearily_.

It makes Zack want to rip his throat out just to quiet him, but he's too busy hurting and feeling the Buster Sword wrap around his mind the way its magic wrapped around his body. Something inside squishes unpleasantly, like a punctured water balloon. He's pretty sure he tore some muscles and broke some bones. He grunts, telling himself pain is just what his nerves interpret, a series of electrical impulses just like pleasure. He also tells those nerve endings to take a vacation for the next however-long it takes to shove Masamune up Sephiroth's ass, mutilated fingers be damned.

Boots land beside him, the sound softened by snow. Zack waits, not having to fake his fight for air. His ribs ache and his lungs hurt like his ribcage decided to change its career and become a bear trap. Though the Buster Sword has been cushioning every knock he takes, he has still sustained enough damage to make moving painful. Sephiroth, on the other hand, seems to be in good condition despite everything. He isn't even breathing hard. He really is inhuman.

"Is that all you have to offer? I'm sure Cloud would be very disappointed at you giving up instead of trying to avenge him."

Sephiroth obviously didn't learn a thing abut Cloud while inside his heart. If Cloud could see Zack right now, he'd probably be screaming at him to run away, horrified at Zack endangering his own life just for revenge on the man who killed him. Zack can almost hear him yelling, and knows he should probably be taking that advice, but knowing something and feeling it in your gut are two different things. Both gut and heart refuse to let him leave. If nothing else, he argues with the Cloud in his head, he can't let Sephiroth loose on this world the way he was allowed to run rampant through theirs. If the guy makes it to a big place like Mosey City it could be Esmeralda who dies next, or the Thief King and his court, or Quasimodo, or Captain Phoebus – or, Zack thinks, envisioning a face he hasn't thought about in years, it could be an innocent kid like Elena dangling off Masamune. The whims of a madman are unpredictable at best. Zack can't let that happen. He _won't_ let it happen. Sephiroth has to be stopped, and he's the only one around to do it.

_Sorry, Cloud, but I'm the hero, remember? And the hero doesn't let innocents die when he has the chance to save them_.

Cloud was an innocent. Zack couldn't save _him_. Vision flickering in an out, Zack's mind is tossed back through the years.

"_**Zack-"**_

"_**All my training, all the things I've learned, what good are they? What good are they really? Did they help Biggs, or Wedge, or Jessie? When he started teaching me, Angeal said it was a warrior's duty to protect those who can't protect themselves. Did me knowing what oi tsuki is stop those Bugganes from putting their big, grubby hands inside that tree-house and … and … damn it, there's something in my eye …"**_

_**Cloud and Aerith exchange a look. Zack can feel it over his head. Then something touches his hand. He whips his arm away before registering that Cloud was trying to comfort him. **_

"_**You can't be everywhere," Cloud says softly. "Just because you know this stuff doesn't mean you can use it all the time to help everyone."**_

"_**But I'm not helping anyone. I'm just … playing pretend! I'm still just playing pretend at being a hero!"**_

"_**You've kept us safe," Aerith says, voice as soft as Cloud's. "When that goblin tried to attack us near Dark Forest, you fought it off. Even when it took your sword, you still saved us using what you've learned."**_

"_**I guess …"**_

"_**You're **_our_** hero, Zack." Cloud hits it home. **_

_**Zack twitches, almost flinches, and this time when Aerith touches his hand he doesn't pull away. By the time Cloud takes his other hand – hesitantly, because boys aren't supposed to hold hands and after being ragged on by his schoolmates Cloud is acutely aware of this – Zack is almost grateful for both the contact and the reassurance. **_

"_**That was so cliché."**_

"_**So what?" Aerith demands. "It's true. What happened to Biggs, Wedge and Jessie was tragic, Zack, but it wasn't anybody's fault."**_

"_**I won't let it happen again. Never again." **_

Memories swim to Zack through the miasma of pain and scrambled thoughts that come from being batted about like a piñata. He can almost feel the cool air of his room in Hollow Bastion, and the press of Cloud and Aerith's hands.

"_**You're **_our_** hero, Zack."**_

Heroes save people and protect those weaker than themselves. So far Zack has messed up deeply, unable to protect those he cares about, but at least in this he can succeed. Cloud would approve of that. Yeah, Sephiroth is stronger than him, but stronger doesn't always win. After all, Genesis beat the guy, and he was the weakest of the three Elites. Whatever he might have tried to achieve by killing his friends, his legacy is still that of the third of three. Zack defeated Big Daddy and the army of Heartless, and sealed a rift in space and time only a few days ago. He can do this. He _can_.

He has to. The alternative is unthinkable.

Sephiroth raises Masamune to finish him. Zack explodes into action. It's as if the memory of his two lovers has given him extra resilience to fight through his injuries. He brings the Buster Sword up. Sephiroth moves so quickly that Zack can't counter. No surprise there, but this time Zack is ready. When Sephiroth drops down beneath the arc of Zack's attack, Zack responds with a sideways tackle Tifa spent a week teaching him until he got it right. His elbow connects with Sephiroth's gut and his shoulder meets his throat, creating a contradiction of air whooshing from his lungs and a blocked windpipe holding it all in.

Sephiroth's eyes bulge – _Not nice to lose your breath by being smacked about, is it? _– but he doesn't give Zack a chance to celebrate. He kicks out, catching his foot in Zack's abdomen and cracking another one of his lower ribs. Zack staggers backwards, but swings his sword down just in case he can slice something off. He regains his balance in time to block the follow-up attack and get back into guard position. He pushes away his hatred and anger and grief, and focuses entirely on Sephiroth, on combat, on surviving. All he knows from now on is the tension, the moment between him and the man he's fighting, and the heartbeat before they'll clash again.

Zack launches a high kick taken straight from Reno's repertoire, connecting with Sephiroth's chin. Sephiroth takes to the air, snarling, but Zack is on him in an instant. He literally leaps onto his back, twirling the Buster Sword to cut the wing off at the joint as their combined weight bears him down. Sephiroth goes into a barrel roll to throw him off, but Zack hooks his ankles around the other man's belly like Yuffie used to throw herself onto Leon's and then Lea's backs to surprise them. Zack clings on with the grim doggedness of a pit-bull with a locked jaw, one hand in Sephiroth's long hair the way Cloud always grips Fenrir's neck feathers when the chocobo tries to bolt.

Suddenly he doesn't feel so alone out here. Moves learned from his friends come back to him in a rush, urging him to use them. It's as though everyone is here beside him, willing him to win. Sephiroth doesn't understand about trusting in others anymore, and that's his weak spot.

"Insolent whelp!"

"Is that really the best – nggh! – insult you can come up with? You really _have_ been dead a long time."

Struck by another bout of inspiration, Zack briefly lets go enough to unhook his cloak. Several buttons tear, leaving the collar ragged in places, but that's unimportant when he casts it over Sephiroth's head and yanks. Sephiroth's neck ratchets back as he is effectively blindfolded.

"I'll rip out your spleen and feed it to you!"

"Now who's getting emotional and expressive? Actually, I turned vegetarian when I got to this world. If it ain't soy, it ain't for this boy."

"This _world_?" Sephiroth echoes, but then goes into a controlled fall, aiming to crush Zack between himself and a particularly sharp rock he spotted before his face was covered. It's a case of abandon ship or get impaled.

Zack hurls himself into a risky somersault, since for the time he's actually turning head over heels he can't keep his guard up. He trusts that the cloak covering Sephiroth's eyes will give him enough margin to defend himself. Sephiroth back-beats blindly, catching Zack's legs, disrupting his path and turning it into an awkward plunge.

_Shit! _

Desperately, Zack tries to get his feet under him, but another beat of that powerful wing keeps him flailing. It's all he can do to keep from landing on his head and breaking his neck. It helps even less when the cloak goes fluttering away and Sephiroth can see his hand to grab it. He tears the Buster Sword from Zack's grasp and snaps his wrist, flinging the giant blade away. Then he swings Zack around like a giant shot-put to increase his velocity, before letting him fly at the snowy ground.

Zack tries to save himself by grabbing on to the outcropping, but two of his fingers snap, his left thumb all but completely tearing off, and his wrist screams. He lands with a thump and a resounding, sickeningly loud crack. Agony erupts up his left leg. It's a clean break, but no less excruciating. It can't take his weight and he collapses onto his side. The bottom of his spine feels weird. His entire lower half alternates between blinding pain and total numbness.

_Shit! Shitshitshit –_

Sephiroth floats to the ground. He's back to the faint smile that doesn't reach his eyes. At some point during their fight the snow has ceased. Zack can see his face as he advances with slow, measured steps. Though bloody, his damaged cheek is entirely healed.

Something new washes over Zack, lancing through the pain like lemon juice in milk. His buoyancy fades with the increase of pain. For the first time since seeing Cloud die and having his worst fears made reality, Zack is afraid. _Properly_ afraid.

_Not like this. I can't go out like this. I can't leave Aerith alone now Cloud's gone …_

"A valiant effort, Zack Fair."

"Yeah, yeah," Zack rasps, teeth gritted so hard he's going to dislocate his own friggin' jaw. "Ten points for effort and enthusiasm, ten for style, but zero for actually taking care of the homicidal demonic scumbag."

Sephiroth tips his head to one side contemplatively. "So you share characteristics with Genesis as well. He refused to say anything more personal than he was 'taking care of a dangerous threat' when he came to your home with the express wish of killing me." He shrugs. "And Angeal, of course. Don't think he wasn't planning that one when you opened your home to him."

The bastard doesn't _stop_. "Fuck off." Zack's heart thunders in his chest. His mind searches frantically for a way out. It'd be easier if he had the reassuring weight of the Buster Sword in his hands, but he doesn't even know where Sephiroth threw it. The wicked blade of Masamune hangs loosely from his grip, not ready at all. Evidently Sephiroth doesn't want to make this quick. Fine by Zack. That gives him more time to formulate a plan.

However, his brain keeps being distracted by his injuries. The pain is unbearable. He can stave of actually throwing up by keeping his broken leg still, but the rest of him feels like he's been stuck all over with needles dipped in acid. Every so often there's a horrible slurping sensation in his middle that makes him twitch and jolt, which in turn jolts his leg. His gorge rises. He can taste blood and bile. Yeah, real heroic.

Sephiroth regards him and his sorry state, and touches his own cheek. "I would give you a piece of Jenova's heart if it were possible, Zack Fair. You could have been such a great challenge for me if you had her augmenting your formidable skills even further. She could heal you as quickly and easily as she heals me, instead of you being forced to cower in a broken heap like this."

Zack's spine straightens. Throwing up be damned, he won't cower. "Like I'd take it? I'd rather die."

"Fortunately for you, then, the offer can't be made. You have another purpose."

A chill goes down Zack's damaged spine. He wants to spit in Sephiroth's face, but doubts he'll get that close. Masamune is so long he could stab Zack from where he's standing without having to fully extend his arm.

But Sephiroth doesn't stab him. Instead, he comes closer, keeping Masamune averted so he can crouch beside Zack and Zack can get a good look at his face. If he weren't about to hork up a lung, he'd try to punch him again and ruin his pretty face, even if it doesn't last. Sephiroth really is a handsome guy. It would even be appropriate to use a feminine adjective like 'beautiful', but it's a cold beauty, like the snowy landscape around them. Pretty to look at from a distance, but wander too far into it and it'll kill you.

Cloud is – was, Zack excruciatingly corrects himself – beautiful in a much warmer way. Where Sephiroth's is the magnificence of an ice sculpture, Cloud is a sunny day, friendly and bright, but with the odd cloud scudding by to draw shadows over his face that Zack and Aerith blow away.

And Aerith … Aerith is the fragile prettiness of a flower growing in tough surroundings. A smile from her can make a whole room light up like a thousand-watt light bulb. She can instantly clear Cloud's expression and make Zack's heart sing.

Heh, the pain is making him into a poet. It'd be funny if he weren't so friggin' unoriginal.

"You do look a lot like him," Sephiroth says. "You don't have Angeal's eyes, though. There are things in yours that weren't in his. Still the same attachment to truth, justice and honour though. Very tiresome, the pair of you."

"Observant motherfucker, aren't you? Just take Jenova's heart and cram it up your ass, already. Your voice is giving me a migraine."

Sephiroth's free hand shoots out, striking him full in the chest. Zack yelps and bites down so hard he goes through his bottom lip.

"I'm the one with the advantage here," Sephiroth says softly.

"So use it. Why are you drawing this out? I thought you were a warrior who finished things quickly and moved on to the next challenge. Or am I just not challenge enough for you and your high standards anymore?"

Sephiroth tips his head again, as though listening for something Zack can't hear over the blood pounding in his ears. He smiles in a way that says something unamusing has nonetheless pleased him. "I was waiting."

"For what – a gilded invitation?"

"Not many people have ever appreciated the full scope of Jenova's gifts. She heals, gives life, _improves_ on life and rids it of defects. And the powers she instil! Skill with a sword is only a tiny fragment."

"I know; unless you mugged a griffin and cracked open a million fountain pens for that wing."

"You have no idea of what I can do, Zack Fair." Sephiroth stands up and moves aside … and Zack's laboured breathing stops altogether.

"… Cloud?"

It _is _Cloud, stumbling towards them through the snow. His cloak is gone and his sweater tattered and bloody, but the torso showing through it, although bloodstained, is whole and intact. Zack recognises him instantly, though it _can't_ be. Cloud is dead. You can't survive what he went through. It's _impossible_.

There's that damn word again. What is impossible anymore? As impossible as a dead Elite regrowing his body inside someone else's, including clothes, wing and demon heart?

The heart! The thought comes to Zack sharply. Sephiroth gave Cloud a piece of his heart – _Jenova's_ heart.

"_**As long as their heart remains intact, she can return life to the dead and dying and unlock their potential at the same time."**_

"Cloud…" Zack breathes again, unable to say anything else. Everything is in that small exhalation.

Sephiroth's laughter brings him back to reality. Zack glares. This has to be a trick. He has to have some angle Zack hasn't figured out. Sephiroth is harder to predict than Yuffie, Lea and Reno put together. The regular rules just don't apply to him – impossible isn't just possible, is _probable_.

Sephiroth's teeth show in his smile this time. "I hadn't realised your feelings for him ran so deep. You're in _love_ with him. Is he in love with you as well?" He tips his head as if searching for a half-forgotten memory.

"Sephy – you don't mind if I call you Sephy, do you? Well, Sephy, how about a nice cup of Shut the Fuck Up?"

"He _is_. That will make this all the better. He's not a natural warrior, so he'll need proper incentive to hone his new skills."

"What have you done to him?"

"His psyche was damaged by my rebirth. You could say he shut his own mind down to cope with the stress of regeneration. He's still technically dead, but not for much longer. In fact, he may be on the road to reawakening soon, but he's not fully conscious yet, so I've had to use another one of Jenova's gifts to give him the final push so he can complete his recovery."

His psyche was damaged? That would explain the way he's walking and why he hasn't talked yet. Zack concentrates as Cloud comes closer. Cloud's eyes are unfocused, his pupils dilated and unseeing. His movements are jerky, like a marionette's, though his progress is steady and unerring.

_Cloud is alive,_ keeps thrumming through Zack's head, blocking out several incredibly important things he should be thinking about. He tries to focus on them, but his heart just keeps yelling, _Cloud isn't dead. Cloud is alive. Oh, thank fuck, Cloud is __**alive**__ … and, wait, he has a wing too?_

Something leathery and bat-like flutters over Cloud's left shoulder, a mirror of the birdlike wing protruding over Sephiroth's right. Apparently sealing up his fatal wounds and getting him back on his feet wasn't the only 'gift' bestowed by the piece of Sephiroth and Jenova's shared heart now inside Cloud.

Sephiroth's eyes and smile pull in very small, like a cat just before it bites.

The grate of metal over earth draws Zack's attention to Cloud's right hand, where the hilt of the Buster Sword is clutched in a vice-like grip. Its tip drags along the ground behind him, furrowing the snow in a wavy line to show his path. It's as though Cloud only has the thought to bring it with him but not _how_ to carry a sword properly. Sephiroth waves a hand and his grip alters, becoming much more practised.

_He's controlling him_, Zack thinks abruptly. _That bastard is controlling him – after all he's done to Cloud already, he's controlling his __**mind**__ now? _"Let him go, Sephiroth!"

"Jenova's heart can give life for the price of a life," Sephiroth says like he hasn't heard Zack. "She demands sacrifices for her miracles." He waves his hand again. "Cloud will thank me for this later. Nobody is ever ready to die, and they'll do anything to survive when it comes down to the wire."

Cloud approaches Zack like he doesn't even know him. Sick fear rises in Zack's stomach again.

"Cloud!" he yells, trying to sit up. He yelps, jarring his leg, and then suddenly flops over, completely unable to move. His spine flares white hot, then cold. Then he can feel nothing at all from the waist down. His face is pressed uncomfortably into the ground. It takes an effort to right himself with his just his damaged arms. "Cloud, snap out of it! Cloud, I know you can hear me!"

"He can't," Sephiroth says.

Zack ignores him. He's lightheaded, but he can't let himself pass out. "Cloud! Cloud, wake up! Cl – ooooof!" The breath leaves his lungs as Cloud reaches down and, with preternatural strength, hauls him up by his collar to slam him against a boulder. "Cloud," Zack croaks. Spots dance across his vision. "It's me."

Cloud stares blankly at him.

"It's Zack. Think, Cloud. Fight him. Fight him!"

Cloud's grip on his collar shifts. His other arm comes around.

"Cloud, _please_!"

Cloud falters. For an instant, Zack sees something in his eyes.

"Yes! C'mon, Cloud. Come back to me. Fight Sephiroth. Fight Jenova! Don't let them control you."

Cloud seems frozen. Zack gets the sense that a war is being fought somewhere far off. The light behind his eyes dwindles.

"Cloud!" Zack yells. He hangs onto hope with a death grip. He already lost Cloud once. He won't let him go again. "I swear, if you give up and let them control you, I'll never kiss you again. Neither will Aerith. A life without smoochies, Cloud. Imagine that and _fight_!"

The hand holding his collar relaxes ever so slightly. Zack allows himself to think he's getting through. Is that a spark of recognition? It has to be. Ha, stick _that_ in your pipe and smoke it, _Sephy. _

"It's no use, you know," Sephiroth says from above. He's standing on the boulder above them, still looking at smug as ever. "You're a compelling performer, Zack Fair, but it's too late. Cloud isn't yours anymore. He's Jenova's."

Zack opens his mouth to argue, but his jaws clack shut as Cloud's grip turns hard and he wrenches his arm around, tossing Zack onto the floor. Zack rolls over, coming to rest on his back. He tries to push himself up onto his elbows, but one won't support his weight properly. The boot pressing into his stomach doesn't help, either.

Cloud stares down at him, even more expressionless than before.

"Cloud?" Zack tries one more time.

Cloud raises both arms above his head, holding Zack still with his foot.

"No, don't –!"

Zack doesn't even have chance to scream as Cloud brings the Buster Sword down.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	83. The Curse of Jenova

.

* * *

**82. The Curse of Jenova**

* * *

_The God of death does not give notice of His arrival to take hold of you. He is not like the photographer who says, I am clicking, are you ready?_ - Sri Sathya Sai Baba

* * *

"Chicha?"

"_What_, Kuzco?"

"You're baking."

"Very observant. And?"

"No, I mean … you're really _baking_." Kuzco stares at the trays, plates and pieces of kitchen roll covered in cakes, bread and other treats.

Considering they came from a world where fire was light, source of warmth in each home, and also the primary way to cook food even if an oven was involved, Chicha adapted remarkably well to modern kitchen appliances. Kuzco still thinks the blender is the descendant of one of Yzma's more unlikeable experiments, but Chicha regularly produces mini feasts, so he's willing to let it go unkicked. But this … this is something else.

Rye sourdough loaves compete with muffins and brownies on the countertop. Bagels tower precariously on the table. A spear of rice-crispy bites have tumbled into a pile of doughnuts oozing jam, which drips onto yet another plate of flapjacks. Millionaire's shortcake; giant cookies studded with chocolate chips, raisins, dried cherries and berries of varying colours; Victoria sponges; tins of potato bread; oat farls smeared with honey; the list goes on and on. The floor is awash with baked goods. Kuzco nudges the bagels before they fall on the floor, which only dislodges the mountain of seeded baguettes behind them. Poppy seeds and pieces of walnut go up his nose when he sneezes. He dives to the floor, covering his face with his hooves so he doesn't get snot all over the goodies.

"'Scuse me."

Chicha takes her hands away from the lump of fresh dough she has been pounding like it insulted her. "I needed something to do," she says lamely. She doesn't even try to sound convincing. It's just words, and both of them know it.

Kuzco looks around again. "It's barely nine in the morning. How long have you been at this to bake so _much_?"

She doesn't answer. Her eyes are distant. "I just … needed something to do," she says again. "I couldn't sleep. I came down to make a drink without waking you or Pacha, and I saw …"

Kuzco is immediately alert. It takes a lot to get Chicha to that level of I'm Not Frigging Frowning, Okay? On the heels of the Heartless invasion, his head automatically fills with images of their friends being served on silver platters to the Spirits of Really Sadistic Fate And Fortune, And I Mean _Really_ Sadistic – We're Talking WayBeyond Cling Film Over The Toilet Bowl Or Slipping Laxatives In Your Chocolate Cake Here, Buddy. He moves closer to Chicha and bumps her elbow with his nose. She reaches absently to scratch behind his ear the way he likes but would never admit. She realises what she's doing and stops.

"What did you see?" he asks.

"Leon. He was patrolling. I invited him in to warm up with some cocoa, but he wouldn't, so I took some out instead. A slice of fruit loaf, too. It seems silly now, but it was bitterly cold out there. He wouldn't come in." She shakes her head. She is obviously exhausted. "When I came back to the house he was just … just standing there in the street. He looked so lonely. And sad. He looked lonely and sad even though he wasn't frowning or making any kind of expression really …" She trails off once more.

Kuzco clears his throat. "Leon being a miserable butt-plug made you go on a crazy bake-a-thon?"

"No." She takes a breath and lets it out between her teeth. "Kairi's missing."

When Kuzco has finally stopped running around in circles, and Chicha has shoved a bagel into his mouth to shut him up, she continues telling him what happened. Kuzco munches his way back to speech. As he swallows the last of the bagel, he feels better, and not just because Chicha is a great cook.

"She'll be okay, if Strife and Fair are on her tail. They're hella scary guys, but they're okay."

"Scary?" Chicha raises one disbelieving eyebrow. "You think _Cloud_ and _Zack _are _scary_?"

"Way to go overboard with the emphasis there. And sure, of course they're scary. They're both built like brick outhouses and know how to cut things up with big swords – have you _seen_ them when they spar? It's like two windmills on a cut-'em-up rampage. Scary guys. Leon's a pretty scary guy too."

Chicha wilts. "He's not scary. He's just withdrawn."

"Withdrawn, scary – same difference."

She frowns and shoves a baguette sideways into Kuzco's mouth. He spits it out. "You do know Llamas aren't supposed to have bread, right? We're like hedgehogs."

"You eat slugs and roll into a ball when threatened?"

"No! It makes out stomachs bloat and go kaplooey."

"Is that why I saw you sneaking the last of that focaccia I made last week?"

Kuzco is saved by a small voice in the doorway.

"Mommy?"

They both turn to see Pacha rubbing his eyes, dressed in the cute little pyjamas Aerith and Tifa helped Kuzco shop for last birthday. He will maintain until his dying day it was just so he could be alone with two beautiful girls, but his face when Pacha opened his gift spoke for itself.

"Good morning, honey." Chicha rises and goes towards her son.

"Is it true Kairi ran away from home?"

Chicha pauses, and then sweeps her son into her arms. She sits him on her knee. Kuzco, using only the tip of one hoof, pushes a fairy cake at him, but Chicha replaces it with a much healthier raisin roll. Pacha ignores all attempts at breakfast – he doesn't even comment on the stacks of baking crowding in on them from every angle – and looks at his mother, awaiting reassurance that his eavesdropping was mistaken. Kairi is his friend. She can't be gone without him knowing about it.

Chicha sighs. "She hasn't run away the way you think, Pacha. She just … took Cloud's chocobo for a stroll."

"Is she allowed to do that?"

"Not really. That's why Cloud and Zack have gone after her."

Pacha looked sombre. "Is she gonna get in trouble?"

"Well I'm sure they're not very pleased with her for going off alone like that."

"Where'd she go?"

"Leon said it looked like the mountains."

"Oh, _there. _That's okay then." Pacha begins nibbling the raisin roll.

Kuzco and Chicha exchange a confused look. "Why is that okay, honey? Did Kairi say something about this before?"

"No, but she's probably gonna find the people who went away when the Heartless came. You _know_ – that story she's always telling, about the big crystal."

"Big crystal?" Kuzco is nonplussed.

Pacha gives him the kind of withering look only a child can pull off. He tuts. "You _know; _where people who've gone away go away _to_. Kairi was upset because everyone else is so upset, so she probably went to get those people to make everyone stop being upset."

Kuzco blinks. "That … weirdly, makes a lot of sense. Hey!" He braces himself as Chicha gets to her feet and plonks Pacha unceremoniously on his back. He doesn't mind carrying the kid around – another thing he will strenuously deny if pressed – but a little warning would be nice. "Hey, where are you going?"

"To Doctor Sweet's to see Aerith. She's probably frantic with worry. This might help calm her down."

Personally, Kuzco just thinks Chicha wants something to do apart from bake. "Shouldn't you –?" he starts, but Pacha leans forward and plunks the last of his raisin roll in Kuzco's mouth like a pacifier, allowing his mother to escape out the door without comment.

* * *

Chicha is red-faced and huffing by the time she reaches Dr. Sweet's. Everything is in chaos, replacing the dourness of the past two days. She is surprised to see Yuffie not only up and about, but stomping around and scowling like Pacha after the cookie jar goes onto the highest shelf, which not even Kuzco can reach without falling off the hoof-unfriendly countertop. Aerith would usually have grabbed Yuffie and ordered her straight back to bed by now. Yuffie winces when she turns too fast, but of Aerith there is no sign.

"What's going on?" Chicha grabs and asks the first passing body.

"Huh? Oh, uh, Kairi's missing," Penelo says distractedly, following Yuffie with her eyes, clearly wanting to go after her instead of talking to some woman she barely knows.

Chicha lets her go when she spots Dr. Sweet. "Dr. Sweet, what's all the fuss about?" She gets the feeling this isn't just about Kairi, though she can't say why. Some sixth sense jangles noisily in the back of her head. She looks to Dr. Sweet's natural dependability to dispel it.

"I thought I done told you to call me Joshua," he says instead of replying.

Chicha's cheeks get hot. She still feels like she should be formal with Dr. Sweet. His body shape and height remind her too much of her husband, and she wants to keep a certain amount of distance so that doesn't stop feeling odd. She worries about what would happen if it ever did. Standing next to him, eyes on the floor, it's all too easy to remember being at the sink in the little home she was so happy to help build when she first got married. It's too easy to summon up the way she used to wash dishes, worrying about the future now that selfish emperor had his sights on their mountain, and then be distracted by a pair of square hands wrapping around her pregnant belly from behind. She can almost lean her head back into the crook of a familiar neck and smell llama fur, a hint of the bran mash he always prepared for the new mothers, and that ointment for hoof-rot he made from a recipe passed from father to son since the very first herder in his family …

When she was nearly hysterical with worry about Pacha during the Heartless attack, Dr. Sweet talked her down by telling her things about himself and his life from before his world disappeared. She supposes he intended the cadence of his voice to calm her, so it didn't much matter _what_ he said. He talked about the first thing that came to mind, and it probably didn't mean all that much to him, but she feels like she knows him a lot better and isn't sure whether that's a good or a bad thing. It's hard to keep a distance when you know a man used to have a dog named Bubba and misses his momma's cooking more than anything else in the world.

"As for what's happening …" He trails off for a moment, glancing around. "I don't pretend I understand how she knew, but then I don't pretend to know a lot about how that girl works."

"Aerith?" He couldn't mean Yuffie or Penelo, since they went in the opposite direction to his gaze.

"Yeah."

"How she knew what?" Honestly, this is like pulling teeth. Chicha feels bad for thinking this, however, when she sees his expression. Dr. Sweet faces every crisis with a quip and a smile. Now he has neither. Her neck prickles as the hair there starts to rise.

"Apparently something done happened to Cloud. Aerith was getting outta control and Leon called on me to come in quick, since she was the resident healer and everybody knows she can't use her powers on herself. I done –" He pauses. "I hadda sedate her." He says this with such regret that Chicha lays a hand on his arm to comfort him, even as her mind spools like a typewriter with a newly snapped ribbon. She completely forgets about distance and keeping it, as what he said sinks in.

"Aerith was hysterical? _Aerith_?"

"As near as made no difference." Dr. Sweet frowns. "It's real unusual for her to go to pieces like that over any-dang-thing, which inclines me to believe she weren't just imagining it. She actually _felt_ something happen to Cloud, but I couldn't get no sense outta her before I had to give her a shot of something. She was gonna hurt herself, the way she was going …" He sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as her. His accent sharpens the more concerned and distracted he is. His words blend together, and the phrases medical school beat out of him work their way back into his speech. "She didn't give no dried-apple-damn about herself, just kept yelling 'Zack' and 'Cloud' over and over, when she weren't calling for lil' Kairi. I don't mind saying, I felt about the size of a goober-pea with guilt, knocking her out when she was so frantic about them."

Chicha squeezes his arm. "She'll understand. Aerith is reasonable."

"Most of the time," he replies with a sigh. "Right now I'm agreed with Leon – what in tarnation could've happened to make that reasonable girl act so fierce mad?"

The pit of Chicha's stomach sinks. Several possibilities spring to mind, but when she opens her mouth to answer she's cut off by an implosive whooshing noise from outside. The windows rattle in their frames. Instantly, Leon is beside them, as if summoned by a spell. His brow is lined in a recognisable '_now_ what?' frown.

"Now what?" he mutters on cue, gunblade in hand.

Chicha steps sideways to make sure she's out of range and bumps into Dr. Sweet. He catches her, not in a tight grip, but with one hand around her elbow and the other pressed flat against her back. Her cheeks flame again.

_For goodness sake, I'm a grown woman_ _– a_ _**mother**_ – _not some blushing teenage girl who can't keep her runaway hormones in check._

"Sounded like one of them robot fish when the crystal's first inserted," says Dr. Sweet

"A what?" Leon asks.

"Never mind."

Obviously rattled, and probably with too much to deal with already, Leon nonetheless refuses to shirk his duties as the town's self-proclaimed protector. He marches out onto the street to see what fresh hell needs a conversation with a gunblade. Chicha makes as if to follow, but Dr. Sweet holds her back.

"But anything could be out there!" she protests.

"Exactly. We don't need no more orphans in this here town, sweetheart."

Chicha blushes to the roots of her hair, and then is swamped with guilt, because Joshua Sweet smells of antiseptic and coffee, not llamas and ointment.

* * *

Cloud is cold. It's the first thing he registers as he comes back to. The second is that he's on his side. His head feels heavy and thick, like the world's worst hangover. It eases slightly when he takes a deep breath. The air stings the inside of his throat, and he gets a whiff of a funny smell and a sour taste in the back of his throat, but he's too busy trying to remember where the hell he is and what he's doing here to pay them much attention. He was fighting and then …

Information drips back to him: Kairi going missing, the mad dash to the mountains, the strange men and their portals, despair at losing her and then … pain unlike anything he has ever known. Cloud frowns. He must have passed out in the snow, which would account for the cold soaking into his clothes and hair – although it's far colder than it should be. A breeze hits the bare skin of his belly and he realises his shirt is in tatters, huge chunks completely gone. He touches the skin instinctively and finds it sticky, like the counter after sugary drinks have been spilled and left to dry.

_What the hell happened to me?_

There's something covering him like a blanket. When he cracks open his eyes he sees red cloth. Zack's cloak? Zack must have found him unconscious and covered him up – possibly injured as well if he had to tear Cloud's sweater to tend to him. It's the kind of thing Zack would do. Cloud rolls onto his back to look for him. Maybe Zack already knows, but if not, he has to tell him about Kairi.

Something sharp jabs into his back. "What the – ?" Cloud sits up, reaching behind to find out why it feels like his shoulder-blade is now on the _outside_. His hands freeze mid-grope and he stares straight ahead, the discomfort instantly forgotten. His throat closes. His breathing stops. The whole world grinds to a halt at what he sees.

Zack, propped against a boulder, a gaping wound in his chest.

The funny smell is blood. A dark red smear shows where he was dragged and positioned to be the first thing Cloud saw when he woke. Zack's eyes are wide, fixed in an expression of surprised horror. His mouth hangs slightly open, as if caught midway through a word. A thin dribble of blood has leaked from the corner of his mouth. It's still wet. It hasn't had time to dry, and Zack's skin is too cool to help it. His entire body looks battered, as though he's been in a tremendous fight. One leg is bent at an appalling angle and his waist juts like a marionette's at rest.

Cloud's throat works, but no air goes in or out. He can't believe what his eyes are telling him. He scrabbles to rise. His fist tightens instinctively around something hard. He looks down. The world in his peripheral vision starts to crack like a piece of glass bearing too much weight. He can see it, but it's beginning to fragment, a spider-web of cracks blurring everything except the bloody Buster Sword.

Time seems to slow down and speed up at the same time. He has obviously kept hold of the sword while unconscious. Its magic curls through his scattered thoughts, weaving sorrow and accusation between them, like putting the shaken-up pieces of a chess game in a shallow container and then pouring acid to fill up the spaces between them. Its meaning is clear even though it has no actual fingers to point.

_Your-doing-you-did-this-you-you-you-yours-yours-you-did-this-did-this-did-this-you-you-you …_

Cloud reels, half-convinced this is a dream. Yes that's it. He's dreaming. Or rather, he's trapped in a nightmare, probably brought on by the intense pain of whatever knocked him out. It's too improbable to be real. Zack isn't hurt. Kairi isn't gone. Cloud himself isn't in bloody rags or holding an even bloodier blade. He isn't covered in Zack's cloak, Zack's blood, holding Zack's sword, while Zack himself is … is …

"Admiring your handiwork?"

Cloud whirls, but there's nobody behind him. He turns back, gaze inexorably drawn to Zack – and startles. Someone is now on the boulder above him, silhouetted from behind so he appears utterly black. Cloud squints, but the sun's rays seem to die where they touch. It's a man; tall and with a voice that strikes a chord. He spreads one massive wing.

Cloud is instantly drawn into the memory of falling off a rope bridge, seeing that wing come towards him, right before he smashed against a rock face. Phantom pain hits him. He gags. He had forgotten. No, he had blocked out those memories. Now they rush back like an inlet after its dam has been torn down and it has been allowed to flow over a dry riverbed, picking up and carrying debris long-buried by time.

His mind is caught between two conflicting but huge concepts, nether of which seem entirely real, just like losing Kairi doesn't feel real: Sephiroth is alive. Zack is dead.

"This isn't a dream, Cloud."

Sephiroth is alive.

"Pinch yourself if you really want to."

Zack is dead.

"It will be far easier if you accept the truth."

Sephiroth is alive.

"You did this to him. Understandably you don't remember, but I can assure you that you did."

Zack is dead.

"It was a necessary step for you to achieve your full potential."

Sephiroth is _alive_.

"Although I admit, even I was a little shocked that you maintained enough of yourself to, as you saw it, protect his heart from me."

Zack is _dead_.

"Ironic, since I didn't actually want it. He was just a mean to an end."

_Zack_ is –

"And what an end –"

"NO!" The scream rips from Cloud as though his throat has been cut and the word pulled out through the slit. It couldn't sound any more agonised – or disbelieving. "You're not real! This isn't real! Oh gods, Zack…"

"Swearing by the old gods, or just looking for something to say?" Sephiroth asks mildly, face still cast in shadow. Cloud doesn't care, he's too bust staring at Zack's terrible expression. He almost looks heartbroken through his agony. But no, that's not real. None of this real. It _can't_ be real!

Cloud doesn't want to believe it, and yet … Sephiroth's words don't matter to him, but Cloud has wielded the Buster Sword and felt its magic clench around his mind before. He knows it's incapable of lying. The shape of the green-gold presence in Cloud's head is like a cat, arching its back and hissing at the other sword in Sephiroth's hand. It's warning Masamune to keep away. It knows Zack is dead and howls grief and reproach silently into Cloud's mind.

Zack is dead.

And Cloud killed him.

"I … I …" Cloud's stomach lurches. "Please no …"

He falls to his knees and coughs up bile. There's nothing else for him to bring up. His stomach is empty. And why shouldn't it be? A sliver of memory returns – his chest bulging, his flesh tearing, bones cracking, the excruciating pain of tendons giving way to something that didn't belong inside him. His stomach ruptured and his body split open, spilling his vital organs and fluids onto the snow. Cloud's thoughts turn thicker and darker than the blood that came with them, as something powerful tries to connect with him using this terrible memory as a bridge.

Sephiroth's voice contains a smile. "I can see you _do_ believe it. That's good. You may not accept it now, but it will make things much more straightforward in the end. You've taken your first step on the road to greatness, Cloud."

Greatness? _Greatness?_ Suddenly Cloud is flying at Sephiroth, venting the sick feelings inside him in a drawn-out scream. He doesn't understand how any of this is possible, but is consumed by such a powerful rage that he can no more resist than he can stop breathing.

_I died_. The thought slams into him like a missile from a catapult. _I was dead. I remember dying. _

He is literally flying up to Sephiroth. The strange thing on his back beats the air intuitively, propelling him upwards despite the lack of counterbalance on his other side. Cloud raises the Buster Sword, wanting to slice Sephiroth's head off. The screeching energy that helped him in his fight against Kairi's kidnappers rushes into him once more.

Cloud chokes. Green-gold magic washes through him, beating back the screeching energy. Only the Buster Sword in his hand allows him to fight off the evil influence trying to take over his thoughts. He falters in mid-air.

Sephiroth launches off the boulder and body-slams him back to the ground. Cloud cries out, but it hurts less than it should. His vision is strange. Sephiroth looks like he is still in silhouette even with his face pressed close. Cloud is seeing the darkness in him, he realises. It's like being able to see auras; Sephiroth _radiates_ darkness.

Something knots in Cloud's chest and _pulses_, just like a heart, but not like a heart at all – more like a small animal trapped and scrabbling with sharp claws.

"Let her in, Cloud," Sephiroth murmurs. "Just let her in. She's already inside you. Just let her into your mind as well. Don't try to fight her. You're stronger than you were before, but you're still weaker than you could be. She'll make you stronger. Let her in so she can unlock your hidden potential."

The Buster Sword flares with anger. It tries to surround and eradicate the thing inside Cloud with its magic, like a pack of hounds with a cornered fox; but like a fox the thing is wily. It slips free, ducks under the attack and lances up into Cloud's mind instead, injecting knowledge like a hypodermic full of vinegar.

The moment is swift as an eye blink; a dislocation in which everything seems suddenly wrong. He's a fraction out of step with the universe. His mind is filled with static. Bright light threatens to devour him. Then the aftermath comes. His nerves fizz, an unpleasantly tinny sensation. He has been scoured through by chaos and it has left a terrible residue behind for him to absorb.

And he knows. More than he knows his own name, he knows what happened. He knows about Jenova, about the piece of her heart – _Sephiroth's_ heart – that is now a part of his own. He knows especially about the deal he made when he was fifteen and dying on a mountaintop, which the evil heart blocked from his memory so he wouldn't kill himself to prevent Sephiroth's eventual rebirth. Cloud remembers every time he came close to complete despair or hatred and anger so terrible the darkness in his heart nearly tipped the balance and released Sephiroth. All the times he acted unlike himself were times when the darkness slipped free from Jenova's heart and poisoned his thoughts and actions. When he nearly killed Leon at Rinoa's grave and felt no remorse until Aerith was hurt. When he hurt Tifa's father. When he fought Kairi's kidnappers.

Above all else, he knows what Jenova is offering him and how eager she is to spread through him. She did it before, when Angeal cut out her heart and placed it in Sephiroth's chest to save his dying friend.

Cloud opens his eyes to find Sephiroth looking at him the way his mom used to when he did something that made her feel better about moving to Hollow Bastion. On her it looked gentle, but on Sephiroth it's perverse.

"She told you of your true nature," he purrs. "You're not a mere human anymore. You're more than that. You're _better _than that. She told me the same thing on the battlefield when I received her heart. I killed my Second in Command as the sacrifice she needed to save my life – a young lad named Kunsel, not much older than you actually. A pathetically simple human boy who idolised me and swore more than once that he'd die for the great Sephiroth. I took him up on his offer. He was more useful to me dead than alive. But you, Cloud, gave her something far greater than just a subordinate or admirer."

_Jenova demands sacrifices for her miracles_, Cloud's fifteen-year-old self tells him. _A life for a life. _

What remains of Jenova thinks she is keeping the universe balanced by taking away from it what she's putting back in. When the universe demands a death, it doesn't matter whose life it is, just that something fills that quota. And if she chooses to shift that balance, to take a different life so she can use the expelled energy to for one of her chosen – her _children_ – then that's only her right.

"We're brothers now, Cloud," Sephiroth says with relish. "You're going to be my greatest challenge ever. What greater opponent could there be than someone else touched by Jenova's greatness? I've been unparalleled until now, but now she has created a mirror for me."

_A life for a life_.

Zack's life for Cloud's. Zack was the sacrifice. Zack died so Cloud could come back from the dead.

_No, this can't be happening. _Cloud holds his head with his free hand. _This can't be happening. _

**Mine**, whispers a subtle voice. A dying eagle on its last flight over the mountains might sound like that voice. **Mine. Mine now. Mine always. **Jenova is staking her claim on him.

Defiant green-gold bursts behind his eyes. He jabs his elbows into Sephiroth's chest and turns over into a backward-roll with the Buster Sword still in hand. This he holds out, ready to use if the man comes near.

Sephiroth frowns. "You're still fighting her, even after she told you all she can do for you – all she can give you. Why?"

"Because she killed Zack."

"No, _you_ killed him _for_ her – and for yourself. You took his life to preserve your own. It was pure survival. He was here and Jenova needed a sacrifice. You were stronger and he couldn't get away after you broke his spine. She accepted your offering and completed your rebirth." He sounds vaguely irritated, as though he finds Cloud's slow acceptance tiresome.

Did it take him less time to come to terms with his own monstrous nature after he killed Kunsel? Or was it all much of a much to him? Did his mind snap when faced with the true magnitude of death? Did being confronted with his own mortality erase all he used to be and make him forget things like dignity and honour?

Cloud's head buzzes. Anger seeps through him. It isn't just his own anger, but also Jenova's. Her darkness is infecting him. He can't fight it. There's so much darkness, so much hate and rage coming out of his heart, and nowhere for it to go but the rest of his body. She has finished nurturing her first son. Now the part of her inside Cloud pumps solely for him, keeping him alive. Cloud was never meant to survive falling from that bridge, but Jenova and Sephiroth saved him. Now they want payment – Jenova in service, living his life for her goal the way Sephiroth dedicated himself; and Sephiroth …

"Why?" Cloud demands brokenly. At least he can still cry. Jenova can't stop him mourning, even as she pours poison into him. "_Why_ did you do this to me?"

"I needed a host –"

"Not that. I'd served my purpose as soon as you came back to life. Why not just leave me dead?" If he had stayed dead, Zack would be alive now. Sephiroth would have had no reason to kill him.

On a deeper level Cloud knows this isn't true, but it's what he clings to as Jenova grinds away at his mind, looking for a way to get past his stubbornness and infect the rest of his thoughts. She whips his guilt into even higher peaks, encouraging it to overwhelm him so he gives himself over to her just to make the hurting stop. She can fill him with nice, cushioning darkness and take away the pesky feelings crushing him. She can make him stronger, better, _more._ She can make him forget why he thinks it was bad to take the life of that worthless human, and set him free from his weaknesses and frailties –

_He's not a worthless human_, Cloud thinks ferociously. _Zack. He's Zack, and I love him – loved him. I didn't want to kill him. It'll never be right, __**I'll**__ never be right after what I've done. What I did to him. Go away. Leave me alone!_

**Mine, **Jenova's persists. **Still mine. Eventually. Always. Forever. Mine. **

_Not yours. I don't belong to you. I don't even belong to myself. I gave myself to Zack and Aerith a long time ago. I'm Zack and Aerith's, not yours. _Cloud feels himself weakening. _Zack … Aerith … _He calls to them even though they can't hear him. _Help me …_

The burst of green-gold magic is familiar now, but this time is carries something so determinedly _Zack_ that it takes Cloud's breath away. Jenova and her screeching energy fall back under the weight of the Buster Sword's soul-bond, which settles in Cloud's mind over the existing connection. It bolts this down, passing on the sword-master union to him and reforging it so that Cloud can feel, smell, and even taste Zack every time his mind brushes the link.

The Buster Sword is bitter against Cloud for taking Zack away, and for using_ it_ to do it, but that doesn't stop it rescuing him from Jenova's evil influence. It knows Cloud is one of the most precious people in the world to Zack. Loyalty to its favourite master compels it to protect what he no longer can. It may not forgive Cloud, but it will fight for and with him until the day it's melted down into slag.

"No!" Sephiroth shouts, sensing that Jenova is being beaten back. "You're hers! She's going to make you into my greatest ever opponent!"

Cloud draws a shaky breath. He feels stronger, but not in the way Jenova intended. He feels … actually, he feels a lot like Zack. Maybe that isn't surprising, since part of Zack is now a part of him. "Sephiroth …" he grits. "Fuck off."

Sephiroth attacks. Stronger or not, Cloud is still delicate from being killed and resurrected. Soon he is pinned again, Sephiroth's free hand around his throat. Sephiroth snarls, but his face smoothes as a thought occurs to him.

"What do you feel when you look at me?" he asks.

_Hatred_, Cloud thinks too quickly. _Hatred of what you've done – what you did to me, violating me all these years, making me dangerous for those I love to be around, what you're still trying to do to me, what I did to Zack. Hatred of me. Hatred of … everyone. _He stops, wanting to shake his head but unable to. _No, no, wait, that's wrong. Just hatred of you. And me. Because I … because of what I did … Oh, __**Zack**__._

The emotions bursting out of Cloud are so tangible they invade the landscape. With his new, strange vision he can see it, discharging around him like a glutinous liquid. It trickles over the surface of the rocks, the snow, clogs the air, flows over Zack's body, which has no aura – no light, no dark, just … nothing. Because Zack is dead, and the dead have no energy signatures.

In whatever direction Cloud or Sephiroth move, the hatred spreads. Cloud's hatred. No, Sephiroth's. No … Jenova's. The name appears again in Cloud's mind, sick and purple-black as the bloated face of a drowning victim. She muddles up his thoughts despite his defences. Her magic locks with the Buster Sword's, setting up an endless conflict, with Cloud between them as the prize, until all he can do is hang on tight to the sword hilt and will the darkness to go away.

"She's still inside you. You'll never be free of her," Sephiroth says silkily. "You will be hers eventually."

"I'll kill _myself _before I let her take me. I'll stab myself through the heart to make sure I can't come back."

"Do that, or refuse to fight me, and I'll find and slaughter everyone you have ever cared about."

Ice shoots down Cloud's spine.

"Well," Sephiroth corrects himself with a small, sharp smile, "aside from the obvious. There will be nowhere they can hide from me. I will keep coming for them until you accept your fate."

Cloud curses and kicks, but Sephiroth just laughs, opens his wing and flies back to his boulder. His wing bends when he lands, trailing feathers across the surface. Their bright blue stands out in the snowy, blood-strewn landscape like an oasis of poisoned water. Watching them, Cloud realises that each individual feather is alive. Restless, swaying in a breeze of their own making, they yearn for the skies. Or is it their master who yearns, kept too long confined, and they're merely anxious tools ready to take him wherever he wants to go?

Cloud's wing twitches in response – another sign of Jenova's unwelcome legacy. If Cloud cuts it off, would his accelerated healing grow it back, or just heal over the stump? As long as his heart remains intact, he is practically immortal now. It's a horrifying thought, especially with the price he had to pay for it.

"I will wait for you, Cloud," Sephiroth promises. "You can't hold back the darkness in your heart forever. You'll never be able to let go of your past, and that will be your undoing. Even with Angeal's old sword helping you, Jenova will win. You _will_ become hers eventually."

"Over my dead body."

"An interesting choice of words." He glances down at the top of Zack's head and flexes the wing he used to burst through Cloud's chest.

Cloud snarls at him. Just this morning, when he saddled Laverne, he couldn't have snarled if he tried. Now it slides easily onto his face. Only a few short hours, but he has changed. He isn't the same Cloud Strife he has been since he was fifteen. He has been living a lie since then, a dead man walking.

The Buster Sword reprimands him with a jolt. It clasps his scattered wits as if in a hug, willing him to come back to himself. He is loved. His life wasn't a lie. He has people who care about him, who _love_ him. Cloud straightens. A dead man walking he may be, but he can make his unnatural life count for something. He can make Sephiroth pay, and rid the world of Jenova's heart for good. He owes Zack that much.

"I'll kill you," he says. "I swear, Sephiroth. I will kill you Sephiroth."

Sephiroth's smile widens. It's a horrific, unnatural thing, like a frog's mouth stretching almost off its head. Sephiroth doesn't have a mouth built for smiling. "Wonderful. I look forward to you trying; but not yet. You and I both know that you're nowhere near the level you need to be to fight me now. You're no challenge as you are, but when Jenova takes you –"

"I'll never give in to Jenova. Never!"

"We'll see. You may have been pure of heart when I first met you, Cloud, but now you're tainted. Don't forget, you took the life of your own lover while he was injured and unable to escape. He needed your help, and instead you betrayed him. You didn't listen when he begged you to stop. You stabbed him with his own sword and held his hair to keep him still while you carved out his heart. He was alive when you ripped it out of him. You didn't stop even when you made him scream, or when he told you he loved you. Think on that when you say you'll never give in to the darkness, and remember that you already have."

Cloud's gorge rises. He doesn't remember any of it, but he must have done those things. They sound too true. Zack would try to stop him. He would have tried to reason with Cloud, and tried to remind him that he loved him.

"You're lying," he said hoarsely, desperate for it not to be true.

"Even your attempts to keep his heart from me were drowned in darkness," Sephiroth said. "Or did you think the blood on your lips was your own?"

Cloud dry heaves into the snow before he can stop himself. He ate Zack's heart?

The sword twitches, trying to tell him the truth of what happened and how he was _made_ to do those things, but Cloud's grief and guilt are too strong. They dull the message to a series of rapid-fire energy pops in his head.

"I'll kill you. I'll kill you. I'll kill you." The vow is all he can hold on to. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you –"

"Get stronger, Cloud." Sephiroth turns away. "Find me when you're strong enough to be a real challenge. Learn. Grow. Then we'll fight. You can have your chance at revenge then – that delicious dark desire. As I said, I'll wait for you." He sounds like a lover extracting a promise from a soldier to come home as he marches off to war. "When you accept the miracle of Jenova's powers, you _will_ let her in."

"I won't. Never. I'll kill you without her help."

"You don't understand what you're denying yourself, Cloud, but I'll show you."

Sephiroth bends at the waist, stretching his wing above him. He grunts with pain. Slowly the rounded joint bulges and rips. A jagged barb spears its way out, glistening with blood and something black and viscous. Cloud sees the dark aura rolling off this more than any other part of Sephiroth's body. It becomes clear why when he arches back, dragging the barb through the air and using it to tear an opening in the fabric of reality.

"Zack mentioned this is not the world we were born into. Jenova can compensate for anything. I will travel these new worlds until the day you're ready to face me, Cloud. I will find new opponents on whom to test my skills in readiness for your challenge. They won't be you, but they may prove an entertaining distraction while you come to your senses."

"No!" Cloud shouts. He can't let him go off to kill more innocent people. Cloud starts forward, but Sephiroth throws a handful of pure dark energy, knocking him back.

"Another new gift from Jenova after I found the residue from that other portal. She is magnificent, is she not? Her powers are limitless!"

"Bastard!"

"I'll wait for you, Cloud." Sephiroth jumps through the doorway into the Corridors of Darkness and closes it behind him.

"No! Come back! You can't … I won't … I …"

It's no use. Sephiroth is gone. Cloud is alone with the evidence of what they've done.

"Zack … oh gods, _Zack _…" Suddenly weak, he falls to his knees and crawls awkwardly, still dragging the Buster Sword and trailing Zack's cloak. The heel of his free hand lands on the fabric. He sprawls face-first into the snow, but he pulls himself up and keeps going. "Zack … I'm coming … I'm coming, Zack …"

Zack's body is cold now. Cloud cradles him, holding Zack's head to his bare chest like they used to sit on the couch, Aerith's head nestled in Cloud's lap while Zack played with her hair and made her giggle, and Cloud just watched them both.

"Zack." He starts to sob. The judders wrack his whole body, becoming so violent and uncontrollable that he doesn't register the wing shrivelling into his back, or the tear where it used to be sealing over with new skin. He doesn't hear the roar of an approaching engine, or even fully register the hands trying to pull his hands away.

"Let go, Cloud. There's nothing more you can do for him."

"This looks pretty bad, Merlin."

"I know, Mickey, but we have to take them home. It may be too late for Zack, but not for Cloud. The lad is probably suffering from hypothermia or somesuch and needs to be healed."

"It didn't look to me like that healer friend of Minnie's is up to much right now."

"That's neither here nor there. We can't leave them out here like this."

Cloud ignores the voices, too lost in his misery to be touched by anything or anyone He fights to keep hold of Zack's body, all the while crying brokenly. "Zack, I'm sorry. Please don't be dead. Wake up. Zack! _Zack_!"

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_I killed my Second in Command as the sacrifice she needed to save my life – a young lad named Kunsel, not much older than you actually._

- Kunsel is a character from _Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core._

….


	84. Goodbye Is the Hardest Word

.

* * *

**83. Goodbye Is the Hardest Word**

* * *

In her life, Aerith has met many different people – more than she ever imagined before coming to Traverse Town, where the leftovers of worlds beyond imagination gather. She has learned about wizards, talking animals, talking animals who walk like humans, humans who talk _to_ animals, humans who turn _into_ animals_, _friendly dragons, unfriendly dressmakers, assassins, bodyguards, mechanics who make flying metal birds, explorers who have been to their world's core, and even more besides. Come to think of it, even the most fertile imagination couldn't come up with half of those.

Yet nobody has ever talked about being connected with something larger every time they use their powers or special skills; something vague and important and strange. Grandmother Willow spoke of everything being connected, but Aerith already knew that. It isn't the same as feeling you, alone, are part of something bigger that the people around you can't feel. It's at once the loneliest and least lonely thing ever.

When she wakes from Dr. Sweet's sedative fronds of something green and glowing release her mind. She doesn't want them to let go, even though she's not sure what they're doing there. They feel like the Green Dreams she used to have, and she misses that comforting touch of her ancestors. Strange; she hasn't even thought of them in years.

"Aerith?"

She turns her head on the pillow, meeting Chicha's eyes. Beyond her, Cloud is being placed in a bed by Dr. Sweet and Leon while Yuffie stands at the foot.

_He's alive!_

But … she felt him die. It was just like Angeal, only more powerful, as though someone tore her heart right out of her chest and showed it to her, still bleeding and trying to beat.

_Something's wrong. This is wrong._

Cloud stares without seeing, muttering to himself. He's also covered in blood. He snarls when Leon tries to take his sword away.

"He did that all the way back in the Gummi Ship," says a voice. Aerith can't look away from Cloud, but she recognises it. But how could Merlin be here? He left years ago.

Zack is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Kairi. Are they in another room? Cloud looks terrible. Something is so very, very wrong here.

"C-Cloud?" Yuffie stammers. She doesn't use his nickname.

He looks at her. His eyes are flat and dead. He' staring straight at her, but it's obvious he can't see her.

Aerith tries to sit up. "Cloud?"

The effect of her voice is electric. He swings his head around. Panic floods his face, and pain, and dread. Something snaps in Aerith like a brittle bone. She knows, even though she wasn't conscious to feel it like she felt his spirit go out. Zack and Kairi are gone.

"I'm sorry," he falters. "S-Sorry. I'm sorry. My … my fault. I couldn't … I didn't … s-sorry. So much … so loud … I'm trying to … to …" He winces and lets his face fall into his open palm. "Sorry," he mutters. "Sorry, sorry. Sorry. Mine. Sorry. Can't …" He is broken inside. Something is gone. He isn't her Cloud anymore, she can tell. Something happened out there, and it has broken him.

Chicha strokes Aerith's hand as the tears come.

* * *

"The Queen is quite adept at magic herself," says Merlin. "And she has a particular interest in this world for some reason, despite never actually visiting it herself. She has been keeping an eye on it through a secretive combination of clairvoyance and scrying. I remain unsure why she kept her interest secret, and can only surmise she was trying to protect my, uh, feelings. At any rate, she made herself public after she discovered you were recovering from an attack by so many Heartless. She, ah, she … well, she marched into my chambers and gave me a stern talking to about abandoning my friends and allies. Called me a spoilt child and wagged her finger like an old school marm. She said I'd had far too much time to brood already, and since Mickey wasn't going to talk any sense into me, she would." Merlin grimaces. "The Queen can be a very forceful mouse, despite her very, ah, pink appearance."

Tifa remembers Minnie and her core of strength surrounded by pink frills and rose petals. "So you came back."

"Actually, no. Not at first." Merlin's expression is mostly covered by his beard. It has been cut since she last saw him. It's still long, but you couldn't lose a cat in it. Around its edges he radiates embarrassment. "I am … talented at holding grudges. I think that's an understated way of putting it, though perhaps not one I deserve. Rather too talented for my own good, or for the good of those I claim as friends."

"Oh." Tifa doesn't know what to say. If he wants her to shout at him, he has come to the wrong person. She feels too drained to do anything except watch the kettle boil for the third time without pouring herself a drink.

"If I had only surmounted my wretched pride and come back then, when she scolded me. Instead, she berated Mickey into helping her and he readied the Royal Gummi Ship while his head guard and court mage - who, incidentally, is my own student and used a variety of dirty tricks to keep me from using my magic to smack him in the chops – put a bag over my head and bundled me inside. If I had acquiesced to the Queen's wishes and been here earlier, perhaps I could have prevented this tragedy."

Tifa doesn't trust her voice. It's irrational, but she knows what he means. At first, when she went to work and heard from the moogles that Kairi was missing, she was livid at being left out of the loop. When she went to Dr. Sweet's to give everyone a piece of her mind, however, and found them bringing Cloud inside, her anger cooled faster than an overheated engine doused in liquid nitrogen. She is mortified to think she could get mad over something so petty when Kairi and Zack are … damn it, she can't even trust herself to think the words without crying. The whole situation has an unreal feel to it. She keeps expecting to wake up and throw Cid's favourite stinky cheese in the garbage so it never gives her such awful nightmares again.

"I feel quite ashamed of myself," Merlin admits. "Zack was my friend. I was … very fond of the boy." He sighs. "It was for that reason I felt so betrayed to discover he was keeping secrets that could have aided my research against the darkness. It all seems rather petty now. I overreacted and allowed my injured pride to make my decisions for me. I never should have left Traverse Town."

"You didn't know this would happen."

"That is beside the point. I ran away with my toys and kicked over the proverbial paddling pool so no other children could play in it. If I had been here, I could have helped. Things may have been different all around if I hadn't been such a blasted fool."

Tifa is still sketchy on a lot of the details herself. Cloud has only spoken once more since he was brought in; when he sat bolt upright in bed to say, "I'm a monster. I should've died when I fell off that bridge in Barren Region. It was my time. Zack would still be alive if I had died when I was supposed to." When asked what happened he just stared. When questioned about Kairi, he replied, "She's gone. She's not in this world anymore. She's somewhere else, and I don't know where." He has said another word, and that is even worse than if he were ranting and raving.

Merlin studies the top of his staff. "I considered myself a champion against the darkness, but when it came down to the wire, my own foolish pride made my heart just as dark in its own way. Minnie told me of the Heartless attack. I knew there might be another, and that I might be able to help, but it took a pair of scheming mice, a dog in a hat and a duck who barely passed basic mage studies to make me come home. If I had been here _yesterday_ things could be so much different –"

"Merlin," Tifa says evenly, with great effort. Her temper finally uncoils as the kettle clicks off again, "if you try to blame yourself for this, I refuse to be responsible for my fist sending your false teeth down your throat."

He blinks at her. "Oh?"

"There has already been too much bad feeling and guilt today. You brought Cloud home. You brought Zack's … you brought them both home. That's good enough."

He looks unconvinced, but grateful. "Thank you, my dear. All the same, I will probably never forgive myself for not being here." His voice has been in Tifa's memory for so long that it's odd to hear it for real. He sounds so _old_; like any other old man, not a powerful wizard who knows more about how to fight the darkness than practically anyone else.

Dr. Sweet comes into the little kitchenette. It instantly seems cramped. Tifa wonders where King Mickey is, and whether he finds these simple buildings strange after the opulence of Disney Castle. She turns to face the doctor.

"How is he?" She does need to say who. It certainly isn't the king.

Like Merlin, Dr. Sweet also looks more tired than she has ever seen him. Even when he was injured by a collapsing building, he never looked this drained. Now he seems worn-down as a sandstone cliff after a storm. "Not good." He knows not to pull his punches. Tifa wouldn't thank him for it. "Physically, Cloud is finer than frog's hair. I can't find a scratch on him. Mentally, on the other hand …" He shrugs.

Tifa's heart lodges in her throat. Her unspoken love for Cloud makes each word burn. She hates the thought of him in pain. Knowing he was there when Zack was murdered, and that this attacker may also have taken Kairi, makes her want to run to Cloud right now, throw her arms around him and promise she'll make everything okay. She only doesn't because Aerith is already with him, she doesn't want to intrude on their private grief, and she learned a long time ago not to make promises she can't be sure she'll keep. Nothing could make this better except Zack and Kairi coming home, alive and well, and that's not possible.

"He was there when Zack died," she murmurs. "It's no wonder he's not acting like himself."

"Situation's a lil' more complicated than just not acting like himself, girl. Last I was in there, he tried to stab himself with a scalpel to prove some insane idea that he can't die."

"He could … he could just feel guilty." She is grasping at straws. Cloud would never self-harm like that. It's just not him. Sacrifice himself for his loved ones, yes, but not just hurt himself to prove a point. "You know, survivor guilt?"

"Do you have a prognosis?" Merlin asks.

Dr. Sweet scrubs the back of his head like he is embarrassed, but he meets their eyes. "Since I don't got a dang clue _which _complaint he's suffering from, I couldn't say when he's likely to recover. It might be post-traumatic stress; it might be delusions; it might just be plain old grief. Mental disorders ain't my field of speciality. I'm a surgeon; I sew bodies back together and know what makes them tick when they up and decide they'd rather tock instead. When you get into that fiddly psychiatry stuff, I'm flying pretty blind. I'm inclined to say the poor guy's just suffering from the same as Aerith, only a dang sight more fierce."

"And that is?" says Merlin.

"A broken heart."

Both Tifa and marline fall silent.

"But …" Dr Sweet goes on.

Tifa snaps to attention. "But?"

He strokes his chin like he isn't sure he should say anything. "This sounds incredibly unprofessional of me, being a trained-up, qualified, certified, licensed medical practitioner and all. Ever since I got to this world I've been finding stuff that gets me outta my depth on a wet sidewalk – magic, the supernatural, living darkness, the _works_. Pretty much all of it gives me the willies, just some parts more than others after what I done seen back home. Based on all of that, I got me a bad feeling in my guts that there's more to this than Cloud just being in shock. _Something_ about the way he looked when he came in gave me the heebie-jeebies."

"A dark magical presence?" Merlin sits straighter. "You sensed it too? I thought as much myself when we were in the Gummi Ship, but I couldn't be sure. Darkness gathers in every heart because everybody has it, and the levels of darkness and light within each heart can be an indicator of the innate risk a body has of transmogrifying into a Heartless, or at least attracting them. Cloud's felt different. I thought it was just the intensity of recent grief, much like Leon when Rinoa died. I'd have to run a few tests of my own, but it's possible that inference was incorrect –"

"Wait, what?" Tifa looks between them. "What are you talking about?"

Merlin at once looks uncomfortable, as if wishing he hadn't spoken so freely with her in the room. Far more of Dr. Sweet's expression is bemusement. He isn't used to being talked to like he knows anything about magic beyond glowing blue crystals and sunken cities.

"Merlin? What dark magical presence?" Tifa asks.

"I have come across such auras before. I cannot be sure it is the same case with Cloud, since he _is_ grieving for not one but _two_ very precious people, both of whom have been lost to him suddenly and tragically –"

"_What_ aura?" Tifa's voice is nearly a growl, unease making her short-tempered.

Merlin dips his head. "The individuals I encountered before were … possessed."

"Possessed? You think Cloud is _possessed_?"

"I'm not sure –"

"Possessed by what? An evil spirit? A ghost?"

"Tifa," Merlin says sharply. "Calm down."

"You're telling me to calm down when Cloud may be possessed by an evil spirit and all you can talk about is doing _tests_? Isn't being possessed a really, really bad thing?"

"Sometimes, yes, but not always. Not all spirits are malevolent. Most are simply benign."

"But you said you sensed _dark_ magical energy. We've got to help him. We've got to exorcise the spirit or something. We have to –"

"Girl, siddown!" Dr. Sweet orders.

Tifa perches on the edge of a chair, still buzzing with a frantic need to _do_ something. This is what has been bothering her since she arrived; feeling helpless in the face of tragedy. This extra information stirs up her nervous energy. She needs to vent it by doing something physical. The day Tifa Lockhart sits back and does nothing in a crisis is the day they lay her in a wooden box. "But –"

Dr. Sweet holds up a finger to silence her. "Merlin, talk straight: is Cloud being possessed by an evil spirit? Keep it simple now, on account of some folk ain't got the same know-how as you and can't follow what you say when you use words of more than seventeen syllables."

"I don't know whether he has been possessed or not. It's possible."

"Should we be panicking?"

"Not until it's verified. I could be wrong."

Tifa blinks. Merlin admitting he could be wrong? He really _has_ changed.

"Is delaying an exorcism gonna hurt Cloud in the meantime?" Dr. Sweet goes on.

"Actually, trying to exorcise something we know nothing about is more likely to hurt Cloud than help him."

"Then what should we _do_?" Tifa interrupts, unable to contain herself.

"Nothing."

"_What_?"

"Clearly my skills at summarising my internal monologue are lacking. I meant _you_ are to do nothing. _I _will test Cloud and discover whether he is, in fact, being possessed by a spirit. If the situation is thus, I will ascertain the nature of this spirit and take proper action. If not, then he is just suffering from the effects of grief and -" Merlin looks at Dr. Sweet, enunciating each word as if it's from a foreign language; which, Tifa supposes, for him it is. "- Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome?"

Dr. Sweet nods. "Sounds like an acceptable action plan to me. Maybe we can get him talking so we can figure out what actually happened out there, too. What do you say, girl? Tifa?"

A ghastly thought has occurred to Tifa. "If Cloud _is_ possessed," she says quietly, "could it … could he … could that be how Zack died?"

Merlin's face dims like a light-bulb starved of electricity. "It's not impossible. Those who are possessed by ghosts and spirits can often be controlled by them, sometimes against their will if the spirit is indeed malevolent. Though _why_ the spirit would wish harm on Zack, I couldn't say; and it doesn't explain what Cloud meant when he said Kairi is no longer in this world."

"Could it be a euphemism?" Dr. Sweet ruminates. "Back home, my Momma used to say people were no longer of this world when they passed on. And passed on instead of bit the big one. And bit the big one instead of … well, y'all get the picture."

"Cloud didn't strike me as in any fit state to be thinking of social niceties," Merlin replies. "It's more likely the child truly _has_ been removed from this world. She is possibly a Keyblade wielder, after all, so the transfer between worlds may have been of her own doing. That has happened once before, has it not? Or, alternately, it cold be that the Heartless were drawn to her while she was alone and vulnerable, and _they_ snatched her. The Gummi Shield is in flux after the attack. It would be simple enough for them to slip through unnoticed."

Tifa bows her head, struggling with her own emotions.

Merlin slaps his knees and gets to his feet. He cricks his back, working his fingers into his lower spine with a groan.

"I'll take a look at that later, if you like," Dr. Sweet offers. "I may not be too savvy about psychiatry or headology, but I do know something about osteopathy and I'm a qualified chiropractor. There ain't a backache alive these hands can't relieve."

"How very kind of you – nrrrgh. For now, however, it would be advisable for me to take a look at young Strife to establish exactly what we're dealing with." Merlin's voice becomes serious. "I may not have been able to do my duty by Zack, but I can certainly help those he loves, to make up for my failure as his friend."

* * *

Tifa isn't sure the door will ever open. She is just turning away to retreat down the path when someone draws back the bolt and a key rattles in the lock from the inside. Security is tight here, though she wonders why when the owner has always maintained the town's worst thieves and criminals regularly gather inside, leave their dirty laundry on the floor and have their own keys.

"Yes?"

Tifa gapes. "Aunt … Sarah?"

"Who else would it be?" The normally neat chignon is askew. Wisps have escaped and dangle around her face. Her eyes are red and her large nose draws even more attention thanks to broken capillaries. She narrows her eyes accusingly. "You're the girl who works for Cid Highwind. What do you want?"

"I was, um, wondering if I could speak to you –"

"No." The door starts to shut, but Tifa jams her foot in the way.

"Please," she says, more polite than she feels able. She's only here because lingering at Dr. Sweet's became too much. Merlin kindly came up with something to do away from the bleak faces there. Or so she thought. Aunt Sarah looks just as bleak, even though she has never looked anything but hatchet-faced before.

She tries to shut the door again.

"It's important."

The fight goes visibly out of her. "I-I'm in the middle of some very important spring-cleaning."

_In Winter?_

"There are things everywhere. This really is a most inconvenient time. Just say your piece and leave me alone."

Tifa bites down on her retort. "You've lived in Traverse Town all your life, haven't you?"

"Why ask questions for which you already have answers? Get to the point."

"Has anyone ever died out in the mountains?"

Aunt Sarah narrows her eyes. For a moment Tifa wonders whether, by some supernatural force of gossip-mongering, she already knows what happened to Zack, Cloud and Kairi, and why Tifa wants to know whether there may be restless spirits out there in search of bodies to possess. Merlin always said knowledge is power. Knowing who or what might be have possessed Cloud may give them an advantage in exorcising it.

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm running an errand for Merlin. He wants to know. For a research paper he's working on."

"That flea-bitten wizard is back?"

"Uh, yeah. He arrived this morning."

"And he already has his harem running around at his beck and call. How typical. Well then, in answer to your question, to the best of my knowledge only three people have ever died out there in that inhospitable place, and they were all outsiders. Native Traverse Towners have more sense than to go traipsing off and getting themselves killed on a collection of glorified rocks."

A large crash resounds from inside. Aunt Sarah looks and shrieks, darting away. The door creaks slowly open in her wake.

"Uh…" Tifa says, and then pauses in her second double-take in as many minutes.

She stares at the kitchen table, since Aunt Sarah only opens the front door to paying guests and insists everyone else – even her own friends – use the rear 'servant entrance'. She has piled things on the table, has obviously been going through them – and _crying_ over them. If the idea of this austere creature crying at all isn't bizarre enough, Tifa's boat is further rocked by what inspired it.

"Those are Reno and Lea's things," she says before her brain kicks in.

Aunt Sarah, holding a damp Siamese cat to her chest with one hand, a broken teapot in the other, advances with a thunderous expression. "I'll thank you not to come bothering me without proper reason in future. I'm a very busy woman, and I simply cannot abide time-wasters, shilly-shallying or preposterous questions with no good purpose. Good day to you, young lady." She kicks the door shut in Tifa's face.

Tifa stares at the dark wood for a moment. She almost knocks again, determined to get the answers she needs. Grief and a desire to help Cloud blaze within her, but at the last moment she lowers her hand.

Aunt Sarah was embarrassed when Tifa saw that table, and wouldn't thank her for interrupting a second time. She is a proud woman, but not, apparently, a completely unfeeling one. Tifa leaves her to mourn in peace, wondering whether _anyone_ in Traverse Town is happy anymore.

* * *

"I wouldn't go in if I were you."

Leon spins on his heel. "Yuffie?"

She detaches herself from the shadows of the open broom closet, where she retreated when everything got too much and she needed to be by herself for a while. Wanting solitude without having to actually be alone, somehow she gravitated here, where the pall of human suffering is strongest. Guarding Aerith and Cloud's privacy was a major factor for her choice of hiding place, too. She looks at Leon like a pit-bull whose chain snapped three days ago, but rather than mention it, has instead been waiting for the return of the cat that likes to taunt it by sitting on the roof of its kennel.

"She's still in there with him. Or he's still in there with her. I'm not sure which."

Leon looks at the closed door. "Is that wise?" He was there when Cloud got hold of the scalpel. So was Yuffie.

Her lip curls. "He'd never hurt her. He could be a total raving lunatic, and Cloud would still never hurt Aerith or Zack."

Leon frowns, but it's not directed at anything; more a natural way for his features to settle. She expects it to make him look stern, like usual, but he just looks tired and confused. She tips her head on one side, regarding him through slitted eyes. Like everyone else, he has the taint of loss about him, but he's also trying to be a pillar of strength as well. She can imagine him psyching himself into the task. Idiot. The strain is beginning to tell in ways most people wouldn't notice. It bugs her a little that she does.

Her chest aches for Zack and Kairi. Pining for Lea, Reno and Cait Sith was bad enough, but now she has these new losses to deal with. She didn't think she could feel any worse than she already did. As ever, she was wrong, and the universe is taking a sadistic pleasure in proving it in glooooooorious detail.

She feels like she's clinging to a cobweb, asking it to support all the weight of her desperate grief. The only things keeping her sane are the friends who are still alive, but this new blow threatens to topple her. Zack was someone who took her in when she needed a home. He opened his house and his heart to a scrappy ninja kid he didn't know and gave her a place to _belong_ again. In all her happiest memories, he's there. The idea he's not there anymore is inconceivable. Zack is a force of nature, and you can't stop a force of nature by breaking its spine and carving out its innards.

Grief spikes through her. "Where is he?" she asks suddenly.

"What?" Leon says.

"Zack. Where is he? Right now?"

"He's …" Leon's frown deepens. "I don't think it's a good idea for me to tell y- hlllk!"

Yuffie tightens her grip on his collar. Once upon a time she would have loved to bring his face this close to hers. Once upon another time she could only have imagined trying to choke him. Now her face remains cold as she stares into his eyes and enunciates, "Tell me where he is. _Now_."

Shutters come down over Leon's expression. "Let go of me."

"Tell me where they took him."

"Yuffie –"

"Tell me where my friend is, Leon!"

He doesn't say anything for a moment. "He was my friend, too."

"Don't pull that shit with me. I'm tired, I'm pissed off, my tummy muscles hurt and I'm only just stopping myself from clawing your eyes out. Tell me where Zack is."

Leon searches her face, looking for whether she's telling the truth. She doesn't know what he sees, mainly because she's not sure herself. She feels like she _could_ rake him with her short nails, but the idea of more violence is repulsive. There has been far too much lately – more even than she, Yuffie Kisaragi, Great Ninja and Champion Ass-Kicker, can handle.

Still, she _needs_ to know where Zack is. She needs to know he hasn't just vanished too; that there is still some physical evidence of his passing, unlike Lea, Reno, Cait or Kairi. Perversely, his corpse is the only calming thing about this entire bag of crap. At least he won't become a Heartless. He would hate that more than anything.

Well, no, probably Zack would have hated _dying_ more than anything, and dying in front of Cloud even more. Zack has always been so protective of his lovers, wanting to take their hurt into himself and burn it to ash with the brilliance of his personality. If he had known what this would do to Cloud, it would have driven his smile away with pitchforks and rabid dogs.

Because this? This has royally fucked Cloud up. And no, there is no better way of putting it. Cloud is one fucked up puppy. More than once while being checked over, he tried to do himself an injury, sometimes silent and blank-faced, sometimes making terrible noises that might have been words. He scratched his own skin, gouged, yanked and pulled out his own hair. Aerith seemed to understand what he was saying, though Yuffie never could. After her initial weeping, Aerith held back her own tears to hold him tight and murmur that he mustn't feel guilty about being the one who survived.

Finally, Dr. Sweet had to give him a sedative to keep him from slashing his own wrists just to make sure his blood hasn't been 'blackened by darkness'. Cloud honestly believes he should have died, though his ramblings veer between today and some accident he had when he was fifteen that 'should' have killed him. Yuffie, like everyone else, thinks this is survivor guilt because whoever murdered Zack left Cloud alive and unhurt. Possibly Cloud even thinks he's bad luck, like Yuffie screamed at Aerith about herself only a few hours ago. Inwardly, she cringes to remember that conversation and how cruel she was, like she was tempting fate to spit in her friend's face.

"_Have you ever lost anyone you loved, Ponytail?"_

"_Do me a favour, Ponytail? Don't act like you understand what I'm going through right now, because you don't." _

"_When you lose Hero or Cloudy, then you can come back to me and tell me you 'understand my pain'."_

Did she really say those things to Aerith, who has only ever wanted to help her? She all but askedfor Aerith to be put through the same pain, and got her wish. Nobody should lose someone they love, not ever, but especially not like this. Yuffie feels hollowed out and raw, like she has been scoured until nothing remains but anger and the ache of grief.

"_I'm this giant bad luck charm – keep away from Yuffie, if you get too close to her and she starts to care about you, you'll wind up dead. Aren't you worried you'll be next, Ponytail? Or how about Hero, or Cloudy, or Small Fry? Everybody I get attached to buys it eventually."_

Everybody she loves dies. Or gets hurt. Or loses someone they care about. Or leaves. Or -

"Yuffie?"

She comes back to reality and Leon's penetrating blue eyes. "What?"

"I said I'll take you to him, as long as you promise not to do anything stupid." He hesitates. "So you can say goodbye."

She could say she should do 'something stupid' just to spite him, but just mutters, "Okay."

He nods and she falls into step behind him. She answers his questions about Cloud and Aerith as they walk.

"Who the fuck would do a thing like this?" she growls. "Who the fuck _could_ do a thing like this? Zack is … was … nothing was ever supposed to take him down. He was too good for that. He beat all those Heartless, and he used to fight monsters! I've seen him fight Bugganes and manticores, and once he even took on a rogue griffin – and he won! Just … how could this even happen?"

"I don't know," Leon admits, before realising what he's admitting. "Whoever it is, we'll find them."

"I want first dibs on crushing his gonads and feeding them to him if it's a guy. If it's a girl, just give me a knife and five minutes together in a locked room. That's all I'm asking, just five minutes."

"You don't mean that."

"I fucking well _do_." Yuffie dips her chin to her chest, marshalling her tone away from aggressive. "Listen … about before. I didn't … I didn't mean what I said."

Leon doesn't stop or look at her.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"What do you want me to say?"

She doesn't know. She doesn't know anything anymore.

All too soon they reach a set of double doors with a tinted round window apportioned between them. Each side has a semi-circle of dark glass like they're sharing sides of an eclipse. The word 'Rose Cottage' is written above it in ornate letters. When the practice was extended a while back, several parts were moved and re-outfitted. Though this room didn't move, the entrance was given a facelift. Yuffie helped paint that sign. She knows it's just a euphemism for mortuary. The project summons memories of Lea and Reno working together with everyone else, making further inroads with the community after helping rebuild the Survivor Centre.

Leon puts his palm against one door. Finally he looks at her. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

A hard lump rises in her throat. She nods. Leon's face flickers, momentarily sympathetic. Unexpectedly he takes his hand off the door and puts it on her shoulder. Yuffie freezes, but he doesn't remove it and she doesn't push him away. The contact is grounding, especially when she know what is on the other side of these doors.

"I'm okay," she says hoarsely.

"No, you're not. This was a bad idea. I never should have brought you down here -"

Yuffie wants to yell at him that this is the only thing he has done _right_, but what comes out instead is, "Leon, please … I need to see him. I need to say … I need … please."

He nods, though uncertainly. Anybody else may have sighed, but he doesn't. "Like I could really stop you if you tried to get past me?" It's a ridiculous thing to say, but strangely soothing. She couldn't kick anybody's ass right now, let alone his.

The room is tiny. Zack is even tinier in it when they find him. It's also freezing. Yuffie can almost believe the white sheet is for warmth. She hesitates, hand hovering above the obvious lump of his nose. Is she as sure about this as she was outside? Not really.

The thing under the sheet is so _still_. It can't be Zack. She thought maybe it would look like he's playing a practical joke, like he could leap up with a cry of "Boo!" at any moment. Even without the bloodstains, the sense of stillness is too much to even hint at life. It fills the room like syrup, thick and glutinous. She feels like she's breathing the air in chunks, which burn the back of her throat with cold.

A hand closes around her wrist. She allows it to pull her own away from the sheet.

"I wasn't sure you'd hesitate," Leon says softly. "I sort of hoped you wouldn't go through with it, but I knew I couldn't force you not to. You don't want to remember him like this. Trust me. You need to keep hold of him in your head and your heart as he _was_."

"Is that …" Yuffie is about to ask whether that's what he did with Rinoa, until she remembers that Leon was the one who killed her. His memories of her are forever tainted by that last act of mercy, and of the terrible, uncontrollable thing she became in the end.

Yuffie looks directly into Leon's eyes and sees shadows of grief there, both old and new. He has been in this room before, in another life. Probably it holds as many awful memories for him as it will for her from now on, but he still came down here with her. She would've found her way down here eventually. He knew that, and brought her so she wouldn't be alone. He knows Yuffie hates to be truly alone, and he was thinking about her even through his own grief for his friend.

And then she's crying, shoulders trembling and throat raw. She doesn't move any closer, just leaves Leon holding her wrist as the tears slide down her face. They drip off her chin. A couple, about to drip off the tip of her nose, instead go up it when she takes a rough breath. She coughs and holds her stomach.

Leon doesn't hush her. Without asking permission, he puts his arms around her and draws her close, letting her tears soak into the front of his jacket. Yuffie brings her other arm up to her chest, as if to push him away, but it stays trapped between them, her hand opening and closing into a desperate but useless fist.

Leon holds onto her even tighter as she empties her misery onto him – for Zack, for Lea, for Kairi, Reno, Cait and everybody else torn out of her life. For the comfortable life they built together, now lost and ruined, and also for those left behind whose sorrow she has to witness, knowing she can do nothing to fix this like she's worked at fixing past problems for them. She feels helpless and lost. For a moment she can forget her mixed feelings and history with Leon, because he is here with her and, for the moment at least, his touch is the only thing tethering her battered heart to a reality it can cope with.

* * *

"Miss Finster, please don't turn me away. I have something really important I need to ask you and I'm sure you're really busy with something else, but please, I don't know who else to ask, so if you could just spare me a few minutes of your time I'd be really, really grateful - " Tifa runs out of breath.

Miss Finster arches both eyebrows. "Why would I turn you away?" she asks gruffly. "Idiot girl. Come inside before you catch your death in this\cold."

Tifa is stunned. "Er, all right." She steps into Miss Finster's house and looks around, finding it completely normal. No demons under the stairs, no tortured children strung from the rafters, and no sigils on the floor or walls to the gods of education and discipline. It's just an ordinary house, laid out like Chicha's – which would make sense, since they're neighbours. The houses were probably designed by the same architect.

"This way." Miss Finster directs her into the kitchen. "Sit." She shoves Tifa at a chair. Bemused, Tifa topples into it. "Eat. Hurry up, girl, pick one. I haven't got all day to stand around offering you food."

She gingerly picks out a wholemeal biscuit from the tin of brown lumpy things. She stares at it in her hand, not because she doesn't trust it, but because she has absolutely no appetite, despite not eating since breakfast and traipsing around town all day. Shock and other emotions have robbed her of her ability to tell when her body is running on empty, but it responds appropriately when Miss Finster plucks the biscuit from her hand and unceremoniously wedges it sideways in her mouth.

"Now," she says, sitting heavily into her own seat. "Something has happened, and I'm going to ask you to tell me what it is. Don't try to lie or dodge the facts, or there will be consequences. I have no time for liars. If you want my help with something then I expect payment."

"P-payment?" Tifa splutters through a mouthful of crumbs.

"Yes, but not in munny. I will be paid in the truth, thank you very much, and ugly as it may be I expect the _whole_ truth. I've had a bad feeling in my gut all day. If teaching small children has taught me anything, it's to trust my gut when there's the potential for chaos. Something is amiss in this town. I think you know what it is."

Tifa swallows a gluey mouthful, throat aching for a drink to wash it down, but none appears. Miss Finster is not used to playing hostess. Judging by her stare and the way she is leaning forward on the table, 'interrogator' would be more her calling if she weren't a teacher. She has a mind like a buzz saw hiding behind winged spectacles and a face like cheese left too long in the sun. Though she came here expecting an even more formidable battle than at Aunt Sarah's, Tifa is bizarrely reassured by Miss Finster's brusqueness.

She draws herself up. "You've lived in Traverse Town your whole life, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"So you'd know who the people who died in the mountains were, right?"

Miss Finster narrows her eyes to laser points. "That depends. Why do you want to know?"

Tifa spends a half-second wondering whether or not she should divulge what has happened, but everything will come out soon anyway. You can't take away a prominent figure like Zack and expect nobody to notice, and Miss Finster has been Kairi's teacher since she went up to her class at the beginning of the school year ...

"Well?"

Tifa draws a breath and starts talking.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	85. Too Late For Apologies

.

* * *

**84. Too Late For Apologies**

* * *

Aerith only realises she has fallen asleep when she opens her eyes and her lids are almost too heavy to lift. For a moment she luxuriates in the feeling of stretching out, head and arms pressed against a warm body.

Cloud jolts under her as if electrocuted, rolls sideways and jumps off the bed. Aerith's head tumbles onto the mattress, since it was pillowed on his chest. She props herself up to see him in the corner, the now-clean Buster Sword in his hands. He doesn't hold it like he wants to attack anything, but there's something desperate in his grip. His knuckles are white and his arms tremble.

"Cloud?"

"Keep back," he snaps. "Keep away from me. It's not safe."

Reality crashes over Aerith like a tidal wave. One hand flies to her mouth. She can already feel a fresh surge of tears. How could she have forgotten, even for a moment?

The clock says it's evening. The day has passed in a haze, too fast and too slow at the same time. She has been with Cloud the whole time, no matter who comes in or out of this room. Zack's cloak is folded on the side, as if he just put it down for a second. She couldn't bear for it to be taken away with Cloud's ruined clothes. While Merlin and Dr. Sweet performed barrage after barrage of tests on Cloud, checking whether he suffered any long-term after-effects of his ordeal, she held the cloak in her lap and just stroked the fabric, fingers running over the stains and rips like they could tell her what really happened out there. She is surprised she fell asleep, but she was bone-weary and her spirit is like a lead weight in her stomach.

No, she can't let herself to break down. Cloud needs her now. The sedative Dr. Sweet administered seemed to calm him for a while – long enough for her to climb into bed with his twitching, whimpering figure and fall asleep on him. It was a selfish thing to do, but she needed the reassurance of his heartbeat. It thumped strong in her ear, never tiring or weakening. She can't tire or weaken either. She has to be strong now, even if she hurts on the inside. Her grief may be painful, but Cloud's is violent and has opened into a form of self-loathing she has never seen in him before. It scares her. It also makes her desperately afraid of losing him too.

She slides off the bed. "Cloud –"

"Shut up." He takes a hand off the Buster Sword and clutches the side of his head. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!"

"Cloud?" Aerith is in front of him in a second. "What is it?"

"Trying to get in," he says distractedly. "The darkness … so strong …"

She doesn't understand what he means. He has been saying this kind of thing ever since he found his voice again. Only touching the Buster Sword calms him, but now it doesn't seem to be helping at all.

"Cloud!" She grips his head, covering his right hand with her left. "I'm here. Talk to me. What's the matter?"

Her magic reaches out, looking for injuries, but he's in perfect health. His lungs inflate, his heart throbs with life, in fact everything feels healthier than usual. Ironic, since his mind is in grief-stricken pieces. Her powers can't do anything about that. It's up to her, Aerith, not Aerith-the-Healer, to pick them up and put them back together so he can mourn without punishing himself.

"Let go," he says.

She can't even contemplate it; not now. She holds him still, willing him to look her in the eyes.

"The darkness," he says instead. "It was … I saw … I _felt_ her … so loud … she was so loud … in my head … she was … and you were gone … Aerith, you were gone too, and I couldn't move – I couldn't _do_ anything except watch him …"

"Cloud, calm down. I'm here. Whatever it is, I'm here, I'm fine, and I'm not going anywhere."

"I saw _you_." His eyes finally focus on her. "I saw you die. And then I woke up, and you were here and you're alive, but all I could hear was her telling me you weren't real because I killed you like I killed Zack -" He is babbling. Aerith interrupts him for his own good.

"It's not your fault, Cloud. You didn't kill Zack. You can't keep blaming yourself."

"You don't _understand_." Cloud's eyes are helpless and pleading as a child's. Words tumble out of him, the most coherent he has been all day. "It _is_ my fault. It's all my fault, Aerith. He's dead. Don't you get it? Zack is _dead_, and it's because of me, because _I _had to live."

"That's not true -"

"He literally died so I'd go on living." He shakes his head as if trying to banish an unpleasant thought. "He … sacrificed … for me …"

Aerith's heart aches. Sacrificing himself to protect Cloud's life? That sounds like Zack. The details are so sparse, and Cloud has been in no fit state to explain what happened, but that sounds _so much_ like Zack. Her throat closes, but she keeps talking. She has to bring Cloud back from the edge somehow. "If he sacrificed himself, it was his decision. You can't blame yourself for what he chose to do –"

"No!" Cloud shoves her away. "You still don't get it! He didn't get a choice! He didn't go willingly! It was because of this heart inside me. I died out there, Aerith. I really did die. You said you felt me go. You didn't imagine it. I was dead, but I came back. Sephiroth brought me back!"

"What? Cloud, you're not making any sense."

"Sephiroth is alive. He was here, in this world."

"Th-that's not possible. He died years ago."

"Haven't you learned there's no such thing as impossible for us when it comes to bad luck?"

"But –"

"Sephiroth killed me, but he left part of his heart inside me. Jenova revived me, but she needed a sacrifice to work that level of magic. Don't you remember what Angeal said about the demon heart he put in Sephiroth? It made him immortal, and when I fell of the bridge … I … made a deal with him." There are tears in Cloud's eyes. "I didn't know. I didn't _know_. I was a stupid kid who was afraid to die, and I didn't understand what making a bargain with him until today when I … I killed Zack. Jenova gave me life, but she used Zack's life as energy to do it, just like Sephiroth used mine. It was me. It was all my fault. _I_ killed Zack, Aerith. I did it. I …" He sinks to his knees as though just saying the words has broken what little is left of him. "I used his own sword. It was me. I did it."

Every molecule of air is suddenly sucked from the room. Babbled though it is, an undeniable ring of truth clings to Cloud's confession. Aerith's ribcage constricts like a steel trap over her heart. She takes an involuntary step backwards, but stops herself before she can take another.

_No. _She clenches her fists. _This can't be true. Let this not be happening. Please, just let this not be happening. _

Sephiroth? As in, the man who killed Angeal? But Genesis destroyed Jenova's heart. Without it intact, Sephiroth could never have healed his wounds, much less _resurrected_ himself. There was nothing left. His body was taken away and burned. Anyhow, that was years ago, and this isn't even their _world_. He _can't_ be here.

_He's mad. _She aches at the realisation that insanity would be better than this truth. She swallows the lump in her throat. "You were hallucinating, Cloud."

"Am I hallucinating this?" His gloves were taken when he was washed and put into new clothes. He drags his fingers across his cheek, nails gouging deep furrows. Blood runs down to his chin.

"Cloud!" Aerith's power immediately coalesces above them, but he grabs her hands with one of his and holds them down, shaking his head.

"Just watch. You'll see. I'm not hallucinating now, and I wasn't then."

She gapes when the scratches seal up on their own, leaving his skin smooth and pale. Only the red dribble indicates they were there at all.

"See? Sephiroth gave me a piece of his heart – of _Jenova's_ heart – that day I nearly died up in the mountains outside Hollow Bastion. Do you remember? It was right after Tifa's mom died. Do you remember when the bridge broke with me still on it? I fell. Do you remember? You do remember, don't you? Don't you, Aerith?" he demands feverishly. "I'm not making this up, am I? It really happened, right? Do you remember it?"

Aerith swallows again. She can barely speak. "I … remember." Swallow. Choke. Swallow again. Speak. "W-we were going to find Lucrecia's crystal. Tifa went to say goodbye to her mom."

"That stupid legend has caused so much trouble," Cloud snarls, then flips back to desperate. "I should've died, Aerith. I was mortally wounded when I fell. You'd all be better off if I'd just died when I was supposed to, but Sephiroth saved me. He gave me a piece of his heart so both of us could go on living. As long as any part of him is alive, he can come back. He was inside me all this time, growing and getting stronger, just waiting for the right time to come back. Today he _did_, and it _killed_ me. Jenova takes a life whenever she saves a life. Sephiroth gave her _me_ so she'd bring him back, and I gave her Zack. I was still … still dead, but somehow I got up and … and I … sh-she'd healed me enough that I could move around, and to finish the magic I … I-I … I took the Buster Sword and I …" He shakes his head and whispers, "I didn't hear the sword telling me to stop …" He starts to sob, one hand covering his eyes, the other wrapped around the hilt on the floor next to him. He looks so odd, so shattered, so … pathetic.

Aerith breathes in and out. It takes all her strength just to do that. "You wouldn't do something like that."

"But I _did_," Cloud howls. "I woke up and Zack was dead, and I had the Buster Sword, and his blood was all over me. I did it. I killed him!"

"But if Sephiroth … if he was able to come back, he could have done it while you were …"

Cloud shakes his head.

"Cloud, please say you're making this up." But one look in his eyes tells her he isn't. Cloud has been through so many traumas, his mind is hanging by a thread, but in this he is telling the truth. "If Sephiroth _is_ back, maybe he did it and you tried to fight him off to save Zack, and that's how his blood got on you –"

"The Buster Sword told me I did it!" Cloud yells. "You have to accept it, Aerith. I killed him. I killed Zack, and nothing you say or do is going to change that. I killed him because I'm a selfish, worthless coward who thought more of his own life than saving the guy he loved. I don't deserve to be here. I shouldn't even be alive right now –"

Aerith can only stare, her whole body electrified by confusion and horror. The depth of her grief plummets even more, scraping the surface of despair. Cloud has already sunk past that thin surface. It's a dark, cloying thing, despair. Looking into it makes her feel numb, but she can see Cloud being swept away. Without a thought, sticks her hands in to pull him back. No matter what he says, she can't lose him. She _won't_ lose him too.

She drops to her knees and takes his head in her hands again. "Listen to me, Cloud. You are alive. You are not dead, and I'm glad you're not. Zack would be too. I don't for one second think you did what you say you did because you wanted to. Just looking at you tells me that much. I know how much you loved Zack because I loved him just as much. You can't fake the years we spent together. You loved him and wouldn't hurt him on purpose, no matter what you think. You're not to blame for what Jenova and Sephiroth made you do."

It had to be Sephiroth who forced Cloud's hand. She needs to believe that, and she needs Cloud to believe it too.

"You don't understand!" Cloud's eyes shimmer in and out of focus. "It was the darkness in me. I have to get rid of the darkness in me before it makes me kill again. It _was_ me. _I _was the one who killed Zack. I'm a murderer. I'm a failure. I lost Kairi and I lost Zack, and now Jenova keeps promising I'll lose you too. She's talking to me right now. She's telling me what I'll do to you."

Aerith takes a steadying breath. "I don't care."

"You can't forgive me for this, Aerith."

She shakes him, trying to force his eyes to remain on her. "Don't tell me who and what I can forgive." She keeps her tone strong, but feels like she might blow away in the force of his shuddering breaths. "You loved him. You love me. You'd never hurt him or me on purpose."

"Why don't you hate me? How can you still stand me after what I've told you? You loved Zack!"

"I love you, too, and so does Zack." Her breath hitches. "So did Zack." She had to keep it together. "You think he'd be happy about you doing this – saying stupid stuff about wanting to die and how you should be dead? Of course not. He'd yell at you until to let up on yourself. He'd never want you to die."

"He didn't want to die either! He was screaming! I held him still and didn't stop, even when he was screaming and struggling. His leg and spine were broken so he couldn't get away. He must have been in agony even before I carved out his heart –"

Blood pounds in Aerith's ears. "You said you weren't conscious when it happened."

"Sephiroth told me –"

"And you believed what that monster said?"

"I'm a monster too. I have demon inside me, and all this darkness that won't go away. She -" He shakes his head to correct himself. "_It_ keeps talking to me. So loud … keeps … she's … I mean, it … it's so loud …" He shakes, shudders, and collapses in on himself. "Help me, Aerith. Please, help me."

"I will, Cloud. I'm here. I don't care about any of that. I'm here. I'll help you."

"Please," he whispers. "Help me. Just let me die this time …" Cloud's gaze turns inwards again, like he's daydreaming, but without the pleasantness. It makes Aerith jolt because she realises what's been bothering her about his appearance – Cloud's eyes have changed. They're still blue, but there is something else in them now. It lurks in the dark of his pupils and makes her shiver.

_If you break now, he'll break too, and if he breaks you may not get him back. You already lost Zack and Kairi. You can't lose Cloud too._

"You're not a monster." She enfolds him in a hug, burying her face in his neck and shoulder. "You're still Cloud. You're still the man I love."

He shoves her away so hard she sprawls. He appears taller than usual when he stands, even though he hasn't actually increased in height. His expression is unreadable. He waves his arms, accidentally cutting into the bed and pillow with the Buster Sword. Feathers shoot into the air and drift down around them.

"I _am_ a monster! I'm full of darkness – Jenova's darkness, and Sephiroth's, and mine. He wants me to fight him. That's why he brought me back. He thinks I'd make a _good challenge_," he snarls. "Zack is _dead_ because Sephiroth wants a _challenge_. You'll never be safe around me again. I don't know if I can hold Jenova off forever, and if I can't … she'll come for you, Aerith. I'm going to hurt you. Jenova will find a way through, and I'll hurt you, maybe even kill you too. I couldn't live with myself if … if I … I couldn't – aaaargh!" He throws back his head and screams.

"Cloud!"

His spine erupts out of his back – or that's what it looks like, until the leathery membrane stretches, splattering the wall, bed and cupboards with blood and torn sinew. A gobbet lands on Aerith's skirt. She doesn't notice. Her eyes are fixed on the wing.

Breathing hard, Cloud braces his hands on his knees and sways. "You see? I'm not even human anymore. You see what I've become? I can't control it, Aerith. I can't control it and I can't stop it. It's going to make me like him – like Sephiroth. I'd rather die than be like him –"

"Cloud, no!"

Realisation dawns on him. "But if I kill myself, he promised to come after you. He said he'd do to you what I did to Zack. So I can't die yet. I have to kill him first. Then I can kill myself. It's the only way anyone will be safe; we both have to die."

"No!"

"This is my mess. I made the bargain with him. It was my body he used to resurrect himself. I'm the one who made that deal because I was afraid to die. It's my fault. I have to fix this. I can only make the darkness in me go away if he's gone. I need to keep the promise I made."

"Promise? To who?"

"To Sephiroth."

"What?"

"I promised to kill him."

"Cloud, you can't!" Aerith can feel herself sliding, as though the ground is shifting under her. She grabs for Cloud's hand. He shakes her off.

There are feathers in his hair and on the shoulders of the turtleneck he borrowed from the spare clothes box. People donate clothes for if someone needs something other than a scrub to wear. Whoever owned the turtleneck was slightly smaller than Cloud. The wing has torn a hole, but the fabric is still pulled taut across his chest muscles. In contrast, the pants he borrowed are loose and held up with a belt. It should look silly, like a kid wearing hand-me-downs in a pillow fight, but there is nothing silly about Cloud's expression, or what he does next.

"What's going on in there?" There's loud knock at the door. "Miss Aerith? Are you all right?"

Cloud takes a step away from Aerith, towards the window.

"Cloud!" She ignored the voice, focussed totally on him.

He hesitates, and then snatches up Zack's cloak. He puts it on in one quick movement. Half the buttons have been torn off, so he pulls up the collar and folds it over, rolling the whole thing up by a few inches. It covers the lower half of his face with bunched red cloth, shielding half of his expression and muffling his voice. "I can't stay," he says.

When he turns around Aerith is standing in front of the window, arms spread. "Well don't think you're leaving."

"Stand aside, Aerith."

"This is stupid. You can't go off like this. You can't face Sephiroth by yourself."

"No."

Her chest eases.

"Not yet. I have to get stronger first. I have to make sure I can beat him. I can't do that here. I won't risk you or anybody else I care about."

"Cloud, no! You can't leave!"

"What's going on in there?" Penelo shouts from the corridor. "Miss Aerith? Are you okay?"

Cloud lowers his head. "You can't stop me, Aerith."

"Try me."

"Dr. Sweet," Penelo yips. "Something's happening in there and I can't get the door open.

"Dang it!"

The handle rattles.

"Cloud, please," Aerith begs. "Don't leave me. Not now."

"Aerith, girl? I'm coming in." The whole door thumps. "Hey, who locked this from the inside?"

Cloud moves so fast, Aerith doesn't even see him until he's right in front of her. The grotesque wing quivers, as if it has a mind of its own and is eager to be gone. Before she can protest, Cloud yanks down the collar of the cloak and pulls her into a fierce kiss. It's passionate and anguished and apologetic, and over far too quickly.

"I'm yours," he says hoarsely. "Forever and ever, I'm yours. I love you. Please don't forget that. Don't ever forget that I love you. Even if Jenova wins and I forget who I am, you have to remember how much I love you and Zack."

"Cloud –"

"I'll make this right, I promise."

"You don't have to do this –"

"Goodbye, Aerith." He shoves her onto the bed, smashes the window with the Buster Sword, and dives out into the snowy street. Aerith leaps to her feet but, impossibly, Cloud is already flying over the rooftops, getting smaller and smaller.

There is a whooshing noise, like one of Merlin's spells. The door blasts open and hits the wall. Aerith doesn't even turn around. She thinks about climbing out the window to go after Cloud, but he has already vanished behind the church steeple. A streak of blood dribbles down the jagged glass where he caught himself. She stares at it, cold breeze kicking up her hair and adding snow flurries to the feathers taking flight again around her.

"Miss Aerith?" Penelo rushes up to her. "Are you all right?"

"What in the blue blazes happened here?" Dr. Sweet demands.

"More to the point, where is young Cloud?" asks a high-pitched voice.

"He's gone," Aerith murmurs disbelievingly. A massive weight falls, floor by floor, through the planks of her heart. "He left." She looks sideways, focussing on the little mouse-man beside her. This is Queen Minnie's husband, the famous king who knows more about the darkness than anyone except Merlin – and now Cloud. She is actually in the presence of royalty – but all she wants to do is fall to her knees and cry.

So she does.

King Mickey hugs her. His arms don't go all the way around her shoulders. He calls for the others to help him. Chicha appears in the doorway, saying something about Merlin going to his house for supplies, Tifa being out, and neither Yuffie nor Leon being missing. Dr. Sweet curses so much that Penelo's face turns the colour of raw steak.

Aerith wants to tell them there's more to it than they know, but she's suddenly so tired she can barely hold her head up. It comes on abruptly, an almost preternatural fatigue. Heaviness tears at her limbs and her eyes fight to close even though she wants them to stay _open_.

"Miss Aerith?" King Mickey says, as her thoughts go from under her like stepping too fast on a rug laid over a waxed floor. "Whoop – someone catch her! I think she's fainted!"

Aerith has the sensation of sliding again, slowly at first, and then faster, against her will. Green fronds wrap around her, warm and comforting, but still unwelcome. They tug her into a darkness she doesn't want to enter. She fights it, opening her eyes.

"It's okay, girl." Dr. Sweet sweeps her into his arms. He has big, strong arms, but they're not the arms she wants.

"No, it's not," she murmurs weakly. "Cloud … Zack … please, no …"

* * *

Tifa is passing the buildings owned by Mr. Snoops when a dark shape glides to a second floor window. The sound of a window smashing is loud in the empty street. Her reaction is instinctive and instantaneous.

She pelts up the staircase and kicks open the door on her first try. Anything that can _fly_ up here can't be a good thing in the current situation. She remembers the winged Heartless that attacked Zack and Kairi in the square and marshals her chi in anticipation of a fight. Stealth is already gone, so speed is her only advantage if they're being attacked again.

Hearing movement from one of the bedrooms, she edges closer, first making sure nothing is waiting to jump her in the living room. Something thumps in the bedroom. She hears another jingle of breaking glass, followed by a muffled curse and a familiar hiss of pain. This door is unlocked, but she doesn't throw it open with the same amount of force.

"Cloud?"

He freezes, half hidden in shadow. "Tifa."

"What are you doing away from Dr. Sweet's? How the hell did you get up here?" The room is dark. Thanks to the evening sky outside she can't see a thing and flips on the light. She immediately recoils.

Cloud hunkers lower, as though trying to hide the monstrous wing on his back. She wouldn't be surprised to hear him yell 'Don't look at me!' Instead he mutters, "You shouldn't be here."

"Cloud, what … how …?"

"The less you know, the better it'll be for you."

Tifa shakes her head. "Cloud, what happened to you?"

"Just leave it, Tifa. Just -" Something occurs to him suddenly. He lunges for her, wrapping her hands in his. He has both free thanks to the spare sword harness he had already put on before she walked in. He is wearing it at an angle to compensate for the wing. Tifa can barely take her eyes off it. "Tifa?"

Her eyes snap to his face. "Huh?"

"Tifa, you have to promise me something."

"What?" Not 'what is it?' so much as 'what's going on here?' with a side-order of 'what am I seeing and why am I seeing it?'

Cloud's eyes are bright and feverish. "Promise you won't let me hurt Aerith."

Tifa's heart does a number of different things at once – it sinks, lifts, trembles, attempts to swap sides, constricts, and thumps against her ribcage like a prisoner scraping a tin cup across the bars of a cell. "Cloud, what's going on?"

"Promise me!" He sounds desperate. "Don't let the darkness in me hurt her!"

"You don't _have_ any darkness. Cloud, how did you get that wing? Is it real? Why are you wearing Zack's cloak and sword harness? Is that the Buster Sword? Why are you even away from Dr. Sweet's? You should still be recuperating –"

"I haven't got time. I have to go. Just promise me. Please Tifa, if you ever felt anything for me, promise me this one thing."

Tifa jolts. This is Cloud, but it doesn't sound like him. Cloud would never say something like that to her. The conversation with Miss Finster comes back to her. She alters the clasp of their hands, gripping his so tight that when he tries to pull away he can't. "Cloud, listen carefully. You're being possessed. A man and a woman died in the mountains ten years ago and I think the spirit of one or both are inside you now. You have to come with me to see Merlin; he can help you exorcise –"

Cloud's barking laughter is so mirthless and unlike him that it silences her, if only in confusion. "Someone _was_ inside my heart for a long time, Tifa, but he's gone now. But he just left me with somethingto remember him by."

She doesn't understand. "Zack would want you to get help, Cloud –"

"I wish everyone would stop telling me what Zack would want. Zack would want to be alive right now. Zack wouldn't have wanted to die like some sacrificial lamb. Zack wouldn't have wanted to leave Aerith all alone, or be beaten up by a madman before the guy he loves cut out his heart and ate it! Zack would want to be trying to find Kairi, not lying in the mortuary under a sheet. I know you and Merlin think I'm being possessed by a spirit, Tifa. My hearing is much better than it used to be. You're half right, but it's not the ghosts of any hiking couple, and I don't have any intention of letting her – _it_ – control me if I can help it. I may not be able to escape the darkness in my heart, but I can fight it every step of the way."

Cloud's wing flexes, as though disagreeing with his words. He grunts as a long black spike bursts through the joint and glimmers wetly, dripping blackish blood into his hair. Another gleam draws Tifa's attention to the floor. Pieces of broken mirror scatter the carpet. Cloud's knuckles are bloody. He has punched out the full length mirror Zack used to preen in, as though too repulsed by his own appearance to look at it, but his knuckles are whole under the blood.

She swallows. "Cloud, I don't understand what's going on, but I want to help you."

"Then promise me you won't let me hurt Aerith. Don't let my darkness harm her, or anyone else I care about."

"Why would you need me to promise that?"

"Tifa, _please_. You're one of the strongest people I know. If anyone can stop me, it's you."

Something in his voice resonates in her. Tifa finds herself nodding. Her mind still stumbles along, trying to keep up and failing miserably, so her heart takes over her higher functions for a moment. It commits her to a much bigger vow than either of them realise at this moment.

It is debateable whether Cloud would have asked her if he'd known what it would mean, but Tifa will never doubt she made the right decision. Her love for Cloud pushes past her confusion: he is in trouble and asking for her help, so she will help however she can. She doesn't need to know any more than that. Even when she does learn the whole truth, it won't shake her resolve. Cloud is still Cloud, and she has loved him too long to stop when he needs her for real.

"All right. I promise."

Cloud sags. "Thank you." He twists his hands out of her grasp, but stops when she speaks again.

"But in return you owe me an explanation."

"I'll explain everything. I will." He raises his eyes briefly to hers. For a second they flicker, becoming green. When he blinks they revert to their normal blue. "Someday." Then he steps backwards towards the open window. He is clearly planning to leave through it.

"Oh no you don't." Tifa tackles him to the floor. She pins him down, arms above his head, sword trapped beneath him in its harness. It's quite a compromising position, but there's nothing erotic about it.

Cloud snarls, "Get the fuck off me."

Shock should be an old friend by now, but his savageness still startles her. He is so different, but at the same time still the Cloud Strife she's always known. There is fear under that snarl, and pleading. "You're not getting away that easily. You need help, Cloud; or is that wing just a fashion statement?"

"It's a present from Jenova."

"Jenova?" The name sounds familiar. Tifa wracks her brain.

"She's the demon whose heart Angeal gave to Sephiroth."

Sephiroth; now there's a name she remembers. The image of Cloud limp in that man's arms will never leave Tifa's memory. Nor will the barrenness of Sephiroth's eyes, or the curve of his one magnificent but unnatural wing.

A man with just one wing and a bleak, green-eyed stare? Tifa stares down at Cloud. A lump hardens in her throat, spreading down to the centre of her chest like she swallowed a lump of ice.

"Part of Jenova's heart is inside me now. It's why I may try to hurt the people I care about, and why you have to stop me if I do. If it looks like I can't be saved, Tifa, and I'm going to hurt Aerith or the others, you have to take me out."

"Take you _out_?" she repeats incredulously.

"Kill me," he says, thinking she needs a translation.

"No." Tifa is unequivocal. "No way."

"You already promised."

"I promised to keep everyone safe from your 'darkness'. That doesn't mean I'd do anything to hurt you. That means I'd find away to turn your darkness back into light to stop it being a threat."

"It doesn't work that way."

"I'd _make_ it work that way."

"Don't be so idealistic!"

"Don't be so defeatist! This isn't the Cloud Strife that Zack would be proud of. He always told me how proud he was of you, learning to fight because you knew it was the right thing to do even though you didn't like it."

"That Cloud is dead." The bitterness is like a slap in the face, but Tifa holds on.

"No, you just think he is. You're still Cloud. You're still you, fighting the darkness like you have been for years. Remember Cait Sith's prophecy about you?"

For a moment Cloud's face twitches, as he casts his mind back.

"You're fighting the darkness just like he said; because it's the right thing to do. You just told me you have no intention of letting it beat you, so shut up about me 'taking you out' if you fail, because it's _not going to happen_. You're Cloud Strife. You can do this, and I'll be there to help you."

She actually thinks he's going to listen to her. Then his eyes flash blue to green and his pupils thin. He starts struggling again. Though Tifa tries to keep him pinned, he somehow throws her off. She hangs on to his left wrist, yanking him upright with it when he punts her backwards. She refuses to let go, suddenly afraid that if she does he'll go through that window and she'll never see him again.

"Let. Go."

"Let me help you," she insists.

"Let. Go. _Now_."

"Cloud –"

The wrist in her hand thickens. Tifa glances at it, and then can't tear her eyes away. Cloud's hand becomes shiny like metal. His skin melts into gold. His fingers curve into claws and the whole effect creeps up his arm. He shakes her off, gripping his bicep with his other hand. He squeezes so tight it's almost as if he wants to tear the arm off and throw it away from him. Sweat beads his brow. His breathing quickens. Slowly, the metallic sheen stops and reverses. Cloud makes several agonised noises, but forces his arm to return to normal.

Tifa discovers her lungs are burning because she's holding her breath. She lets it out at precisely the moment Cloud sinks to one knee. His hair is soaked with sweat and steaming slightly in the cold air from the smashed window.

"Fuck. _Fuck._" He stares at his fingers, which are still metal and hinged at the knuckles. He waves them at her. "Do you see now, Tifa? I'm fighting Jenova's darkness, but I'm just Cloud Strife. I'm not a hero like Zack; I'm just me, and I'm not sure I can win against this."

"Merlin can help, and King Mickey, they both know all sorts of magic –"

"I can't take the risk of hurting anyone. Until I can stop this," he thrusts the gold fingers at her, "from happening, I can't be around people anymore. I can't trust myself not to … not to do …" He trails off, shaking his head like he can hear something she can't. "I slept before. Dr. Sweet gave me a sedative, and when I slept, I dreamed of killing Aerith. She was always looking away. She didn't even hear me coming. We were in some sort of temple, and she was on the dais, praying like … like a sacrifice. And I kept killing her, over and over. Every time I was so happy she'd come back, and every time I killed her again. I just kept stabbing her. I couldn't stop myself. I wanted … I could hear the voice … Jenova … Sephiroth … I couldn't stop myself." He shakes his head again, more vigorously. "I never want it to be that way in real life. Never."

"It was just a dream –"

"It was a warning. Jenova was telling me what she wants me to do … or what she threatens to make me do if I don't cooperate. But that's not going to happen. I won't let it. I'm going to finish this _my _way, not hers. I have to defeat Sephiroth. I have to get stronger. Then I can rest. I can't stop fighting until I kill him." He reaches up with his normal hand to touch the spike at his wing joint. When he presses a finger against the tip it comes back with a drop of welling blood that runs into his palm. Cloud stares. Then he makes a fist, smearing it. "I have to finish what he started and make the darkness go away once and for all."

"Cloud, wait!"

"Don't forget your promise, Tifa. I'm not going to forget mine. I'll go to as many different worlds as it takes to fix this."

"Cloud, you're not making any sense. Cloud! _Cloud_!"

But Cloud has backed up and dives headfirst out of the window. Tifa rushes forward. He spreads his one wing before he hits the floor and takes flight over the rooftops, quickly flying out of town, towards the mountains. He is going back to where Zack died – to where Sephiroth came back, and Cloud's own mind started to fracture. Tifa isn't stupid. She saw the lunacy taking hold as Jenova unravels his mind to try and rebuild it in a shape more to her liking. It just makes Tifa want to follow and help him even more.

She turns away from the window, intending to leave the apartment and go straight to … where? Dr. Sweet's? The mountains? Part of her wants to go to Cid for advice. In her hesitation, the draught from the window kicks up the things Cloud has strewn across the bed in his wild search for the spare harness. It was never very tidy in here anyway, but there's a difference between clutter and this kind of frantic mess. A sheet of paper blows from under the overturned paperweight Merlin gave Aerith for her birthday a few years ago – a single daisy preserved in amber. It blows up to her face, as if telling her to read it. It's the Thief King's letter to Cloud; one simple sentence in an elegant, surprisingly feminine hand: _Next time, try harder._ It could have been written for this moment.

Tifa bunches her fists, knowing what she has to do.

There _will_ be a next time. She _will_ try harder to reach Cloud. She _will _help him win a battle he shouldn't have to fight on his own.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_I dreamed of killing Aerith. She was always looking away. She didn't even hear me coming. We were in some sort of temple, and she was on the dais, praying like … like a sacrifice. And I kept killing her, over and over. Every time I was so happy she'd come back, and every time I killed her again. I just kept stabbing her. I couldn't stop myself. I wanted … I could hear the voice … Jenova … Sephiroth … I couldn't stop myself." He shakes his head again, more vigorously. "I never want it to be that way in real life. Never."_

- Side-fling to the original FFVII game, although therein Cloud only almost killed Aerith in the Temple of the Ancients, but stopped himself just in time.

* * *

.


	86. Leaving

.

* * *

**85. Leaving**

* * *

Cloud has listened to Cid talk about the joys of flight, but he never really understood it before. Cid's wild gestures and invectives left him cold, especially when he talked about death-defying nosedives and near-disasters, prevented only by the quick-thinking of himself and his crew. Cloud prefers solid ground, especially when flight is achieved by a lump of delicately calibrated metal, with a million and one things that can go wrong and turn it into a fiery lump of delicately calibrated wreckage.

Flying without an airship is different. Cold air whips his breath away. The wing doesn't need any guidance , responding to his thoughts about a destination, but otherwise spilling and catching the wind on its own. It is as alive as Sephiroth's feathers and just happy to be in the air. In flight, the wing doesn't care about light or dark, just the journey. It has changed from a hideous growth to an almost joyous thing.

It's not, though. Every glint of his hand reminds Cloud that he can't go home again. With every part of him that changes, he becomes less human – less like himself and more like Sephiroth. Reversing the changes, like he did with his arm, is painful. Doing that has left him exhausted, but at least he proved he can do it. That gives him hope. The value of hope has gone up since it went into such short supply. Even that little bit of it is enough to keep him going.

Cloud's thoughts wander through his mind like a fragmented flock of sheep. The Buster Sword acts the part of the valiant sheepdog, trying to round them up again while fending off attacks from Jenova's wolf. Now and then the predator picks off a straggler and drags it away into the mist. She replaces each with a smaller wolf wearing the still-bleeding skin of a dead sheep, waiting to be led to the rest of the flock so it can sink its teeth into the rest of Cloud.

He clings to his most precious memories to keep her from them: Zack and Aerith, Kairi, his friends and family, the life he built in Traverse Town and the one he lived in Hollow Bastion. Jenova is trying to poison everything, turning him against all he knew, just like she turned Sephiroth against Angeal and Genesis. Her mission to make Cloud into Sephiroth's ultimate opponent is all-consuming, and in order to succeed she has to cleanse him of all distractions. Sephiroth is her favourite son, and she has all the time in all the worlds to make Cloud into a gift for him.

_No_! Cloud holds himself together. _I __**will**__ defeat Sephiroth, but not on your terms. I won't give in to you. I'll get stronger, I'll find him and I'll kill him, but I'll do it my way. I won't take any powers you try to give me, Jenova._

**Foolish**. Cloud's entire body tingles with screeching energy. Jenova's voice scrapes along his skin and janhgles in the deepest recesses of his brain. **Mine. Obey. Kill. Slaughter. Grow. Get stronger. My second son. Mine**_**.**_** Always. Forever. My child. Mine. **

Cloud thinks of his mother; of how she used to work so hard to make a life for them. He remembers the looks from their neighbours and how she held her head high so he wouldn't be shamed of her. The memory deflects Jenova like a shield deflecting a blade. The Buster Sword takes the image and strengthens it. It goes into Cloud's memories and pulls out more images of his mother: cooking dinner, then carrying him up to bed and kissing him goodnight as a toddler; holding his hands as he learned how to walk; going to work even when she was sick so they wouldn't fall behind in their rent; calling him in from a snowball fight and holding out a mug of hot chocolate that distracted him from the tired rings around her eyes.

_Mom_. Cloud doesn't often think of her. It has always been too painful to remember what he lost. Now the thoughts of her bubble up like a wellspring, and then a geyser. He grits his teeth: Jenova is a painful disease, but the cure is almost as bad. The screeching energy gets even louder before abating. Thinking of his childhood in Hollow Bastion is working. Cloud already has a mother. Jenova can't reach him that way.

**Still mine**, Jenova insists. **Always. Mine. Forever. **

_Never._ Cloud remembers what he said to Aerith. _I'm hers forever, not yours._

**Lies. Wrong. Always mine. Eventually you'll lose. Eventually you'll see. See what I am. Salvation. Escape. Freedom.**

_I don't need your kind of freedom._

**Then what kind? The only way for you. Perfect son. Imperfect son. Make you perfect like him. Make you mine. Always mine. Forever mine. Evermore. You're mine. Minemineminemine!**

_I already told you, I'll never be yours._

**Already started. Already wearing my gifts. Already thinking the right way. Already mine.**

_I'll never be yours! _Cloud screams inside his own head. The thought is so forceful, the wing flails. He careens off course. Cloud pulls up short when he spots two animals moving slowly towards Traverse Town. Sudden rage rises inside him. Jenova seizes upon it.

**Kill! Killkillkill!**

Cloud swoops. Laverne chatters, but Fenrir only makes a vague squaw, as though he can't open his beak properly. He eyes Cloud like an enemy when he lands, showing no fear of his changed master.

**…** Jenova thrums through Cloud's head and heart.

Cloud wants to fight her off, but his anger prevents him. "You!" He advances on the birds. "You brought Kairi out here in the first place. If it hadn't been for you, none of this would have happened!"

Fenrir stands tall and proud as ever. Confused by Jenova and incensed beyond reason, Cloud sees red. He wants – no _needs _– topunish this rooster needs to pay. He needs retribution. Cloud draws his blade – and stops. Contact with it reinforces the part of him that is still Cloud. The Buster Sword zings through him like static electricity.

Cloud trembles, disgusted at himself. For a moment, his mind was so filled with hatred and bloodlust that he forgot _why _he was angry. All that was left was the desire to destroy. How could he have forgotten Kairi and Zack for even a moment? Jenova purrs as Cloud's thoughts skitter from side to side. Wherever they go in his head, the darkness is waiting to take them apart, like picking flesh from dead bones. Inside, the soul that is Cloud is already half dead.

_I can't do this, _he thinks desperately. _It's too hard. I can't survive this. I'm not strong enough._

The wing twitches, eager to be back in the air. His claws flex like they want to rip and tear into _something_ - anything will do, as long as it bleeds. He backs away.

Laverne nuzzles Fenrir, checking he's all right. Fenrir pushes her away, but she comes back again and again. The parent-child bond reminds Cloud of what he has lost. This time, instead of rage he feels only misery. He takes to the air to escape them.

Kairi's smile. Kairi running out of school to meet him. Kairi's arms around his neck after a nightmare. Kairi and Grandmother Willow's stories. Kairi and Yuffie's tales of ninja princesses. Kairi and Aerith baking fairy cakes. Zack giving Kairi a piggyback ride. Kairi and Kuzco playing hide and seek with Pacha. Cloud's head fills with memories of her, but he panics when her face blurs and he can't remember details of what she looks like. How tall is she? Is her hair really red, or just a light shade of brown? What does her giggle sound like? He recalls his love for her and the brilliant light she seemed to carry inside, and hangs onto these to block out Jenova's insistence that he forget what's precious to him.

**Gone**, she says silkily.** Your light is gone. Dead. Missing. Gone from you. Turn to me. Me instead. Light is cotton – pretty but can't keep you warm. Darkness is velvet. Magnificent. Make you magnificent too. My boy. My lovely, imperfect boy. **

_No. I want … I want …_

**Me. You want me. **

_No!_

**You want to become stronger.**

… _Yes …_

**You want to fight Sephiroth. **

_I … I do …_

**You want to kill him.**

… _Kill … Sephiroth …_It's hard to disagree. _No, I want … I want to get rid of the darkness …_

**I say what you want. You want to find him. You want to find Sephiroth.**

_I want to find … I … find …yes, I want to find … _

**Sephiroth.**

_I …_

**Say it.**

_Sephiroth. I want to find …_

**You want to find Sephiroth. You want to fight him.**

_Yes. But no. The light. I want to find … my light. _

**Wrong. You want to find Sephiroth. You want to get stronger. You want to fight him in a glorious battle of . **She trails off into a morass of screeching.

Cloud pushes her away. _I want my light._ _I need to find my light._

**And Sephiroth. And strength.**

_Those too. But afterwards._

**Good boy.**

Squibs of green-gold have exploded in Cloud's mind throughout this exchange – the longest he has ever had with Jenova before the Buster Sword has pulled them apart. It finally does now, but prolonged contact with the demon's spirit leave Cloud muddled. He weaves through the sky, trying to make sense of his own head. When he reaches the mountains it comes as a surprise. He's here already? Did he want to come here, or is this more of Jenova working through him? He can't tell anymore. Why did he want to come here?

This is where Zack died. Yes, that's it. He came back here because this is where Zack – _I love him_ – died and Sephiroth – _I hate him_ – slipped out of this world through a portal he opened with the spike on his wing. Cloud has a wing with a spike, too, and he knows the place where Sephiroth disappeared.

The boulder Zack leaned against is still streaked with dried blood. It stands out like a beacon.

Maybe the location will help. Maybe it won't. Either way, Cloud intends to follow the path Sephiroth took.

**Find. Follow. Fight!**

If he ends up in the same world as that monster, he'll fight him.

**No, not ready yet. Need to be stronger. Still imperfect. Must be a proper challenge!**

If he ends up somewhere else he can still build up his strength and skills.

**Yes. Good. Get stronger!**

That way, when he does finally find him, he stands a better chance of killing the bastard.

**You can try**.

Cloud shakes his head against the running commentary. The Buster Sword only makes her fainter; it doesn't block her out entirely.

There are untold numbers of worlds out there. Merlin once conjectured there might be millions – "As many stars as there are in the sky, lad." Sephiroth could be anywhere. Cloud's light could be anywhere.

Except … didn't his light die when Zack died? Zack was his light, wasn't he? He was the light of Cloud's life. No, wait, that's not right. He's sure he left his light behind with Aerith. Or was it … like Tifa said, and his light is inside him masquerading as darkness. But that can't be right either, or he wouldn't be out here. Cloud is chasing his light. He's trying to find his lost light. And he's chasing Sephiroth. Does that mean Sephiroth is his lost light? Or does it mean Sephiroth _has_ his lost light?

This is all so confusing.

**So let** **go. Give yourself to me instead. Things will be clearer. Let me in. Let me in completely. Don't fight me. I can help. You can already hear me clearly. You're already giving in to me. **

Maybe Sephiroth does have his light. Or maybe he killed it. He has to find Sephiroth. He has to finish this. Maybe there's another demon out there he can make another deal with to get his light back – or to resurrect the light he's lost. Maybe there's someone else stronger than Sephiroth whose help he can enlist. Cloud doesn't know what he's going to find, but whatever it is he needs to do, one thing is clear: it can't happen in this world. There's too much at stake here, and too many losses already sustained.

Cloud perches on the boulder and flexes the wing. Again, it knows what to do without him guiding it. A jagged hole appears in the air, opening onto a swirling void. Cloud hesitates. What will happen to Jenova's hold over him in there?

A flash of a smile, luminous and young and just for him. It pops into his head and then evaporates, leaving an afterimage like staring at the sun. The Buster Sword curls comforting around his mind, still the protective sheepdog. It won't abandon the one so precious to Zack. This new wielder has his own terrible trials to face now. It won't let him down, just like it won't let him forget Zack, or his quest to find his light and defeat the darkness.

Cloud's resolve hardens to a diamond. Without looking back, he walks through the portal and into his future.

* * *

Tifa freezes when the light snaps on.

"I guess I don't need my Anti-Thief Special Shotgun after all.," Cid says dryly. "Whatcha doin' here so late, Tifa?"

"Um, checking the rat traps?"

"Every time you lie, a kitten dies. And while I ain't no fan of kittens, I also ain't no fan of you lyin' to me. We ain't go no traps because we ain't got no rats." He pauses. "None that don't fly, anyway. Even if we did, you wouldn't sneak back here at night to set no poor little rodents free. Try again."

"I'm going after Cloud."

"The kid's done a runner?"

"Something like that." Briefly, Tifa outlines what she learned at Dr. Sweet's.

Aerith was groggy for most of the conversation, having just woken. Tifa assumes it was a sedative-induced sleep, since it left her so weak and woozy. Aerith told her what happened in a distant voice, as though narrating somebody else's story – a friend of a friend, or characters in a book. It just about finished breaking Tifa's heart to see her like that. All her friends are hurting right now. Even Yuffie just sat quietly in a chair, a look on her face like nothing Tifa has ever seen from her before.

When Tifa walked out of the room she encountered the last person she expected to see: he looked sort of like Queen Minnie, or one of the busts in Disney Caste, and she knew immediately who he was. King Mickey was surprisingly easy to talk to, especially given the circumstances. He'd never met Cloud before today, but the sadness in his eyes when he talked about Zack left Tifa in no doubt as to his sincerity. So when he offered to help her, she trusted him, all of which leads up to the present moment and Cid's steely-eyed glare.

"He offered you this hunk of junk?" Cid inclines his head at the Gummi Ship stamped with the royal insignia.

"Cloud said he's going to go to as many worlds as it takes to find Sephiroth."

"And you believed him?"

"You didn't see him, Cid. And you didn't hear Aerith. I believe Cloud really _can_ move between worlds, and really _will_ do it. He's …" She pauses, unsure how to phrase it. "He's a little … off-kilter at the moment," she finishes with a wince. It sounds asinine even to her.

Cid is less diplomatic. "You mean he's gone batshit."

"No!"

"Which means yes."

"No, I mean no as in _no_."

"So you're tellin' me he's a hundred percent sane?"

She can';t lie; not to Cid. "He's been through a lot of traumatic stuff."

"Not what I asked. I wanna know if the kid's batshit."

Tifa scowls. Getting to the point is one thing, but sometimes she wishes Cid could be a little less no-nonsense and a little more tactful. Then again, he wouldn't be Cid if he wasn't offending everyone with truths they didn't want to here, announced in ways they didn't want to hear them. "Not completely. But left on his own, without anyone to remind him he's not some evil monster like he thinks … maybe."

Cid eyeballs her. Tifa drops her gaze.

"He said he could hear voices in his head telling him what to do. He said he killed Zack, but doesn't remember doing it. He said – " She stops, unable to say the rest.

"Sounds fucking crazy to me."

Her scowl deepens. "I'm going to help him."

"To do what – kill some more people?"

"That wasn't his fault!"

"You only got Aerith's word on that."

Tifa shakes her head so hard her eyeballs hurt. "I _know_ Cloud. I've known him for years. He wouldn't do something like that to Zack unless he was forced."

"People always got ways of surprising you."

"No." Tifa is firm. "I saw him fighting Jenova. You didn't. She's strong, but he refuses to give in again. Cloud would never hurt anyone of his own free will. You know him too, Cid. Can you honestly say he'd kill anybody, least of all _Zack_?"

Cid's toothpick switches sides. "People change."

"Not that much, and not that fast. Not without outside influences, anyway. If Cloud's hands were on the Buster Sword when it killed Zack, then he wasn't controlling them."

"You sure 'bout that?"

"I'd stake my life on it."

"Sounds like that's exactly what you're doin'." Cid snorts inward; a disgusting habit. "I dunno much about this Sephiroth guy, 'cept what I been told, but what you're plannin' sounds to me like a fuckin' suicide mission."

"I can handle myself."

"So could Zack."

Tifa goes cold all over. That was low, even for Cid. When she speaks again, her voice is small and desperate. "Then what do you suggest I do, Cid? Should I just leave Cloud to go it alone?"

"S'what he wants."

"But it's not what he needs. The _last _thing he needs is to be all alone. I made a promise to him. I can't keep it if I sit around here, twiddling my thumbs, watching Aerith pine for him and Zack when I could be doing something to make sure Cloud, at least, comes home."

"You don't think she's the one who should be making this trip instead of you?" Cid folds his arms against Tifa's look. "You ain't doing this all for altruism. This ain't all about your _pals_." The emphasis he places on the words lets her know what he's implying.

Tifa draws herself up to her full height. "Aerith is my best friend."

"So you doing this just for her? Outta the goodness of your heart? With nuthin' in it for you 'cept the smile on her face?" The edge of a sneer creeps into Cid's tone.

"Don't," Tifa says. "Stop it. Right now. You're out of line, Cid."

For a moment he looks surpruised. It isn't the first time she has ever reprimanded him., but something about this time hits home and his expression changes. "So you're leaving." Somehow he makes this simple statement sound accusing.

"Yes. I am."

"And you were gonna tell me this when? In a note pinned to the fuckin' _fridge_?" The question rises to an angry roar, echoing around his hangar, where Cid allowed King Mickey to store his Gummi Ship after bringing Cloud and Zack home. It's not the only ship in the royal fleet, so the king gifted it to Tifa, claiming he'll simply call for another to take him home when he returns to his world.

When Tifa protested that the gift was too much, the king just gave a sad chuckle and said, "You gotta follow your heart, but a heart can't fly itself where it needs to go. Believe me, I know."

Tifa's head drops until her chin is presses against her throat. "I didn't want to say goodbye."

"You thought I'd try to stop you goin'?"

She doesn't rpely. She doesn't want to.

"Fuck it all to hell and back, Tifa, I thought you knew me better than that. Sneakin' away in secret instead of telling me what you're up to … _fuck_." Cid runs a hand through his hair. His goggles fall onto his nose with a smack. He curses, and when he pushes them back he keeps one hand over his nose and talks in a nasally, slightly bunged-up voice. "If it's really that important to you, I wouldn't stop you, even if I do think you're even more batshit than Cloud."

"He's not bat-"

"I know, I know, he's just sad and misunderstood, a poor lil' baby bird who fell outta its nest an' onto its butt, all cut up about his boyfriend and that brat. Boo-hoo."

Tifa gapes.

Cid shifts from foot to foot. He obviously knows that was inappropriate, but genuinely couldn't help himself. He liked Zack was fond of Kairi and, despite everything, didn't totally hate Lea, Reno or Cait. Yet he can't grieve for them the way others do. Tifa knows this. She accepted Cid's rudeness a long time ago. Him _trying_ to be more sensitive is gratifying, but the outburst leaves red welts like a whip across her mind.

"Aw, crap."

"What?"

"Nuthin'." Cid draws himself up, still covering his face. He goes to the royal ship and kicks it hard. The clang resounds so loudly that Tifa's nerves jangle.

"Cid!"

"Fuckin' piece of trash. No way you're goin' anyplace in this thing."

"You said you would try to stop me."

"I ain't tryin' to stop you, if you'd shut up and fuckin' well _listen_ for once instead of tryin' to shout me down all the damn time. Damn nag, never giving a feller a chance to say his piece before bargin' in with the sound of her own voice."

Usually this would have Tifa at boiling point, but not now. Now she is too restless to do anything but look at her watch and mutter, "Ciiiiid." Cloud could be anywhere with that wing. She hopes he is still at the mountains, but with every passing second it becomes less likely. At the very least, she needs to try and find clues as to where he has gone before any fresh snow falls and wipes them out.

"Shut up for a minute."

"Shut up yourself. I have to go." She shoulders the knapsack of essentials she threw together at the house, when she thought Cid was asleep in bed. She doesn't know how long she'll be gone, or where exactly she is headed, but has taken a few changes of clothes, a medikit, a toiletry bag (because sometimes the only way you can cope is with a bottle of shampoo or clean teeth), enough dried food to last a few weeks, a miniature toolkit Cid put together for her a while back, and some munny. Hopefully it'll be enough.

"Not in this hunk of junk. You're headin' into potentially dangerous territory in sumthin' that don't even have guns? Not to mention a hull made of tissue paper. I could make better outta papier-mâché from toilet paper covered in piss."

"Cid – "

"You'll take the Highwind. At least you won't fall outta the fucking sky in her."

Tifa is momentarily silenced. "The Highwind? But she's … your _baby_."

"Better she's helpin' you get back that guy you like so much, rather than sittin' here, gatherin' dust. She got enough weapons and modifications to keep you safe, plus enough supplies in her belly to keep you alive longer than whatever shit you packed in that pansy handbag you're carryin'. And you know to handle her better than learning a new ship right when you need to concentrate on where you're going, not how well you can get there."

Tifa stares at Cid for a long moment. He pretends to be examining the design of the royal ship

When she launches herself at him and wraps her arms around his neck, he reacts like a pack of wild hyenas are trying to eat his leg. "Fuck on a pogo stick, Tifa, don't _do_ that!"

"Scared I was going to smack you?"

"More like scared you were gonna suffocate me with them titties of yours."

"I'm going to let that one go because of what you just said. Just imagine I smacked you. Cid … I … thank you, Cid."

"Mulch-brained fuckwit. More sense in an exhaust pipe. All you're good for is naggin' and makin' a man feel like he's being smothered." Cid tentatively returns her hug like she is a bomb that might go off if handled too roughly. "You take care of yourself out there, you hear me?"

"I hear you."

"I don't wanna hear tell that you got yourself killed over sumthin' stupid."

"I won't."

"And if the Highwind computer tells you to buckle your safety belt, you shut the fuck up and buckle your goddamn safety belt."

"Yes, sir."

"And just to make sure you don't kill yourself, you're taking the prototype tracker with you."

"The what?"

"Lil' something I've been workin' on. Figured I'd use it to finally track down that bastard wizard and drag him home by his beard, but now he's back and that mouse king has given me back my maps to his world. It ain't never run in the field before, but if anyone can make it work, it's you. You picked up all of this shit faster than my best cadets in the air force, plus you got a tenacity on you bigger than Muriel Finster's ass. The tracker's designed to pick up on the ripples in space from another ships passing between worlds, and track where they went so you can follow. Don't know how it'd work followin' a person instead of a Gummi Ship, but the ripples should still be there as long as you can find Cloud's exit point to scan. There's too many worlds out there to get lost in for you to fuck around going by trial and error."

"Cid – "

"Don't thank me. I expect you to chart all this into the computer maps and send me copies so I can update the central system – hey whoa, Tifa, leggo!"

"Cid? Shut up for once."

"Whu-aaargh! Gettoff! You better not be about to kiss my cheek! This thing's for punchin' and shavin', not kissin'."

"Stop dodging me!"

"I don't do pathetic dirty-old-man stuff like that – argh! God _dammit_. Urgh, women. So fucking overemotional."

* * *

"Time is a river, a river, a river; time is a giver, a taker as well. Time is a river, a river, a river; so won't you come sit here beside me a spell?"

"A sweet ditty, indeed. I seem to recall that one from my time in Radiant Garden. It survived the change to Hollow Bastion, then?"

"My mom used to sing it to me." Aerith doesn't look away from the window. "He's gone," she says softly.

Merlin sighs. "Yes, I'm afraid he is."

"I couldn't stop him. He wouldn't stay, not even for me. We haven't even buried Zack yet, but he wouldn't stay."

"Cloud is … troubled at the present time, my dear."

"Tifa has gone after him."

"I know that, too." Merlin holds back another sigh as inappropriate. He tried to convince Tifa otherwise, but his standing has depleted since he left this town. When he had a tantrum and went to sulk in Disney Castle, these young people were still children in his eyes. They have grown up so much in the intervening time. Even the ninja girl, whom he'd thought would always be a child at heart, wears a mantle of maturity now. They have always had their own minds, but now they are more forthright about using them without waiting for advice from an old codger like him.

Merlin has many regrets in his life. He has lived long enough to rack up his fair share, but somewhere along the way he managed to acquire someone else's share as well, and they never came back to claim it. The newest addition to his catalogue comprises the past three days, and his frankly deplorable behaviour leading up to them.

He has lost friends before. He is an old man, and a wizard besides. Death is no stranger. Even as a lad training with the High Mages, Merlin lost friends and peers to their own arrogance and haste to try out magic still too powerful for them. He lost a lot more friends when Ansem turned on them. Rinoa's death stung especially, but at least he had been able to do some good for Squall afterwards. Yet this time, not being here to help when he was needed, and all because his pride was hurt; that was unforgivable. It will stay with him forever, and motivate him to never again be absent when someone important to him needs him.

"It should have been me," Aerith says.

"Chasing after Cloud?"

"Trying to help him."

"And probably getting yourself killed in the process. Tifa is a very capable and resourceful young lady." A harsh truth, but a necessary one for Aerith to hear.

"What is she going to do if she catches up to him, though? Bring him home? He obviously doesn't want to be here."

"My dear, you mustn't misunderstand Cloud's intentions in leaving. It's not that he doesn't love you –"

"I know that, Merlin. I know he loves me. I know he still loves Zack. I don't doubt that, but …" She pauses, finally dropping her gaze to the knotted fingers in her lap. "I've lost them both now. One way or another, I couldn't hold onto them." She murmurs so quietly that Merlin has to strain to hear. She sounds so unlike herself that Merlin's heart goes out to her.

He finds himself moving towards her, taking her hand in an unusually tactile gesture. "Cloud will come back eventually," he says in what he hopes is a believable way.

Aerith's eyes are the most distressing thing he has ever had to look at. "Why do you think that?"

"Because … well, because he has you to come home to. The lad is far stronger and more resilient than he appears. Zack was forever singing his praises whenever the subject arose, though he just as often cited Cloud's crippling lack of self-confidence as the reason he fails to belief in himself to the same degree. I trust Zack's judgement. Cloud has unplumbed depths of strength that he's not even aware of, but which may serve him well when he truly needs them. I, too, believe he will not allow himself to be subjugated by this Jenova creature. After all, he has the Buster Sword on his side, and, as I know from experience after my tests on it, that is a very special, astoundingly powerful weapon. The Cetra made it, and their magic was more potent than much of what is available to us today."

"I'm familiar with Cetra magic," Aerith says, not at all chiding or irritated.

"Oh. Uh, yes. quite. Your heritage, of course. Then you, also, can put your faith in Cloud and the Buster Sword?" He doesn't intend it as a question, but somehow it comes out as one.

"I have faith in Cloud, but sometimes faith alone isn't enough. I had faith Zack would come home. I had faith he and Cloud would bring Kairi back. I had faith Traverse Town was a safe place."

"My dear …" Merlin trails off, completely at a loss. It isn't often he has to comfort people. He's not well-practised. He wonders where that Chicha woman is, or Dr. Sweet. Aerith has a much closer relationship with them. Trying to comfort her now tastes like lying. Merlin deals in truths and honesty, but he can't bring himself to be honest and agree with her that sometimes faith _isn't _enough. "Cloud will come home, I'm sure of it. Once he has conquered the things that trouble him, he will come back to you. You are what is keeping him going now."

"Are you sure?" Aerith says far too flatly.

Merlin feels like he's letting Zack down once more. It's fundamentally _wrong_ for this girl to lose faith. Then again, it was fundamentally wrong for Cloud, one of the purest souls Merlin has ever encountered, to be so filled with darkness it's begun to consume him; or for Yuffie to cry; or for Zack to ever stop smiling.

"Yes," Merlin lies. Sephiroth's fall to Jenova happened after he, Leon and Rinoa were exiled from that world, but Merlin remembers the great Elite and his formidable reputation. If Cloud really has gone to face him … well, since he can't accompany him with a well-chosen fireball spell, Merlin can only wish Cloud luck now.

"How?"

"Excuse me?"

"How is he supposed to conquer the things that trouble him?" Aerith doesn't ask like she's trying to trip him up. she's not that kind of girl. Still, Merlin is discomfited. "Even Sephiroth couldn't stand up against Jenova's darkness."

"Cloud is not Sephiroth," Merlin says at last. "Sephiroth may be more physically robust at the moment, but Cloud has a far more important kind of strength inside him, and that is why he will emerge victorious and still himself from this whole debacle." Merlin is surprised to discover he's not lying this time.

"And what about Kairi? Am I supposed to just have faith that _she'll_ be okay as well?"

"On _that_ note I can be of service, my dear. The king and I will begin scrying for the child immediately. Provided she isn't in a world shielded from scrying spells, we should be able to locate and bring her home using a Gummi Ship forthwith."

For the first time, Aerith's troubled expression eases. "You could really bring her home?"

_If she's still alive_. Merlin banishes this traitorous thought. "Indeed."

Aerith glances once more out of the window, as though searching for something. "Thank you, Merlin."

And Merlin, unpractised as he is as comforting people, is so satisfied in a job well done he completely misses the strange clamminess of Aerith's skin and the feverish paleness of her face.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	87. Home Is Where the Heart Is

.

* * *

**86. Home is Where the Heart Is**

* * *

Penelo feels one hundred percent like a spare part. Especially since Yuffie vanished on her, only to turn up again with Leon looking even less like herself than before. Yuffie is the first friend Penelo ever made unconnected with the Thief King's court. She values the friendship, but never expected it to lead to this. Penelo has been terrified out of her wits, faced down savage beasts and monsters, and got up close and personal with grief that reminds her of her own parents' deaths. Part of her wonders whether any friendship is worth all this – until the rest of her sits on it. It's an unwelcome question, but has been getting louder with each new disaster, until it was either go for a walk to clear her head, or explode messily over everyone from the pressure of being a stranger in the middle of someone else's tragedy.

"You're not going out alone," Chicha said, which is how Penelo has ended up tromping through snowy streets with Leon and his gunblade by her side.

She doesn't know what to make of Leon. He is such a bundle of contradictions that he makes her long for Quasimodo's sweet honesty, or Esmeralda's directness. The level of subterfuge, mixed signals, hidden agendas and undercurrents of rivalry in Traverse Town leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

"Thank you," Leon says suddenly, startling her. He hasn't said a word since they left, except to ask why she wanted to go out and nod when she blurted she just wanted to get away from everything for a while.

"Huh?"

"For being there. For Yuffie, I mean."

Is he kidding? "When I could _find_ her. She's been avoiding me ever since … well …y'know." Having your own tragedies tucked under your belt doesn't equip you any better to deal with other people's. Yet another awkward thing she never thought she'd have to handle. How are you supposed to react to someone when they not only nearly die, but also lose the love of their life and several close friends? Equally, how are you supposed to react to the other guy your friend is probably still in love with when he talks about the whole thing? Not for the first time, Penelo wishes she could be more like Esmeralda. Esmeralda would know exactly what to say - and then actually _say it_. Penelo just fumbles around for words that don't sound like she stole them from a tacky song.

"You've still been a good friend to her," Leon says awkwardly. "I … appreciate that."

"You do?" Penelo frowns. "I thought you didn't like her?"

"It's complicated."

She snorts. "When isn't it?"

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing, just ignore me."

Leon frowns slightly – or rather his frown deepens slightly – but does as she says. He does it in spades. It's a little off-putting. When she said 'ignore me' she didn't mean to literally pretend she's not there. She stares at the back of his head, but he keeps his face averted.

"Where are we going?" she asks at last. "I just picked a direction. I don't know my way around very well."

"To the edge of town."

"Really? How, um, interesting." _Lame!_ "I was just walking aimlessly." _Even lamer!_ "Pretty dumb, huh?" _Lame cubed!_

Leon doesn't reply. Well, why would he? He's a man with more on his mind than the idiotic babbling of an outsider who _shouldn't even be here for this_. She isn't just a sore thumb; she's a gangrenous sore thumb the size of Mosey City.

As ever when stuck for something to say, Penelo feels the pull to slip into the soothing pattern of a dance. Dancing always calms her, but it felt too weird to dance surrounded by so much grief and pain. Hesitantly, she hop-skips a little, but Leon's serious presence makes even her feet whimper. She reverts to a boring walk.

"It's pretty dangerous to just go for a walk in Mosey City, especially if you're on your own, but that's because of muggers and stuff. I'm okay if someone from the Thief King's court sees me, because I have this special immunity thing, but for anybody else I'm fair game. Usually I can take pretty good care of myself, but it's still unnerving to go out alone, y'know? Not like worrying about _Heartless_ or anything, nothing as big as that, but still kind of intimidating in a really human, mash-your-face-in-before-taking-your-purse kind of way."

Leon doesn't respond.

She's babbling. She knows it, but she can't stop. She is also emulating Yuffie's speech. It's a comforting cadence. She can see why Yuffie talks so rapidly when she's anxious. Which musty mean she's anxious a lot of the time, actually. After all the loaded silence, Penelo can't face _not_ talking. Silence would be like the grave. If Leon doesn't want to answer, that's his problem. If Yuffie has taught her nothing else, it's that conversations don't necessarily demand contributions from both sides to be counted as such.

She's about to launch into a description of life in Mosey City when she hears a familiar noise. Her eyes widen and she walks faster. Then she starts to run.

"Laverne!"

"Skreeeeeet!"

"_Laverne_!"

"Wark!"

Penelo pulls up short. Laverne isn't alone. Cloud's chocobo leans heavily against her. He still manages to look like he wants to stomp Penelo flat, even though he can barely stand. His beak is a bloody mess and his feathers are all broken and stained. Laverne is bloody too from where she has nuzzled him.

Leon jogs up. "The chocobos," he says wonderingly. "I never even thought about them."

"Chocstrich." Penelo slides forward to try and greet Laverne without Fenrir pecking a lump out of her. "Laverne is only half chocobo. Fenrir is a full one."

"Fenrir?" Leon blinks like he has never heard the name before. "Is that really what that … creature is called?" He says 'creature' like he might be curling his lip if she looked.

"You mean you didn't know either? Man, how did you guys _cope_ before I pointed this out?"

"We mostly just called him 'the chocobo', or 'that damn bird'." Leon pauses. "Or 'featherbutt'."

"Well his name's Fenrir. Cloud told us – me, Tifa, Cid and Yuffie."

"Odd name" Leon stares up at Fenrir with something like grudging respect. "He looks like he's been in a fight."

Penelo doesn't answer. She is replaying the story of the original Fenrir, from when Cloud finally revealed the chocobo's name. The words ring an unpleasantly ironic bell with hindsight.

"_Fenrir was the illegitimate son of the old god of mischief, Loki, and was destined to join with the forces of darkness and kill Odin, the king of the old gods, during Ragnarok, also known as the apocalypse, thus bringing about the end of the world by depriving the world of its saviour when it most needed him. He was a wild and savage godling, kept magically bound but ultimately fated to change all life through a single act."_

The chocobo Fenrir also deprived this world of its greatest champions and unleashed a giant threat. By taking Kairi to the mountains, he not only brought about her disappearance, but also Zack's death, Sephiroth's return, and whatever happened to Cloud, right when everyone is needed to defend against future Heartless attacks.

Gods, she hopes there aren't any more parallels between this situation and the old legend. The last thing anyone needs right now is a genuine threat that the world might _end_.

The thought is too huge to properly contemplate. She is gratefully distracted by Laverne nuzzling her. Penelo lets out a giggle at the demand for attention, and feel immediately better. Giggling is good. Giggling is better than good. It's not as good as dancing, but there's a lot to be said for the healing power of laughter.

"We should take them both back with us," Leon says. "Maybe Aerith can heal Fenrir's injuries."

Penelo looks hard at Leon and wonders when the last time he laughed was. He doesn't seem built for laughter. Brooding, yes; lots of grim silences and doing what Yuffie terms 'the dot-dot-dot thing', but not laughter. Penelo tries to imagine what he'd look like laughing. She can't. He must have laughed at least once in his life, but she can't picture it.

Yuffie probably made him laugh before things got 'complicated' between them. Yuffie can make anyone laugh. Or she could. Any laughter out of her since Lea died has been bitter and painful to hear.

Penelo's mood nosedives. She scratches under Laverne's feathers. Laverne nuzzles her and coos. It doesn't work a second time.

"I guess," she replies, but when they're halfway down the street, both birds following, she says, "Hey, Leon?"

"Yes?"

"Should … should I be worried that Mosey City could be the next target for the Heartless?"

He looks at her in surprise.

_Yes_, she thinks, _I am capable of thinking tactically as well as all you big scary warriors. I'm not __**just**__ a dancing dressmaker-in-training._

"Maybe," he says bluntly. "Their main objectives seem to be fairly basic: reproducing and feeding."

"You mean stealing hearts and making more Heartless to steal even _more_ hearts."

"Essentially."

"Do you think they'll come back?" The all-important question. It trembles on her tongue like a capsule of poison gone too far towards her throat.

"I don't know. There was also the interest they showed in Kairi. Since she's not here anymore, they may target other worlds in the meantime." He doesn't look pleased by this idea.

"They might chase her to wherever she was sent?"

"If she was sent anywhere. She might not have gone as far as another world. She might already be dead."

Penelo winces. Leon is brutal in his practicality. What made Yuffie so attracted to him? Quasi would never be so brusque. Quasi would try to soften the blow, but not Leon. No way.

"I guess so. Man, you don't dress stuff up to make it sound better, do you?"

"What would be the point?"

"To preserve people's feelings."

"Sometimes people need to accept the truth quickly."

"Yeah, but not so fast they choke on it. There's being frank, and then there's being thoughtless."

"You can still say that? You fought the Heartless. You've seen what they can do."

"And I've seen the after-effects too. They're horrible. What they do to people is horrible. That still doesn't mean it's a good idea to be too frank. Even strong people still have feelings. They can still get scared, or lose hope, or just … get ticked off at you for not thinking about them like they're people."

Leon gives her an odd look – part cold, part curious, and part genuine surprise. She can't tell what he's thinking behind it. She doesn't know him well enough for that. She desperately hopes she hasn't pissed him off. The image of him leaping into a swarm of Heartless and destroying them with a single slice is burned into her memory. It couldn't be any more burned in if he had been on fire when he did it.

"I-Is something the matter?"

He comes back to himself from whatever memory has pulled him away. "Yes and no. It's-"

"Let me guess." Penelo resists the urge to roll her eyes. "It's complicated?"

"Yes."

"That means it's about Yuffie, right?"

"Not necessarily," he says a little too quickly.

"I'm not stupid."

"No, you're not. You can be very perceptive for someone who has been dancing the two-step all around town."

"I haven't! Uh, have I?"

"I'm not much of a dancer. Someone once taught me how when I went to an ill-advised charity ball, but after forcing me out onto the dance floor even she admitted I have two left feet and they both have corns. But I can recognise dancing when I see it."

"I never realised … You must think I'm such an idiot." Penelo flushes. Hopefully it's too cold to show in her already reddened face.

"Actually, I was thinking you seem very …" Leon searches for a word. "Alive," he finally settles for. "Especially compared to what we're going back to."

"Possibly not the best choice of adjective."

Leon concedes the point. Penelo is stunned: this is the most he has ever said to her. She is shocked to learn he's not actually as grim and unapproachable as he seems. He's still a bit unapproachable, but, she reminds herself, the Heartless were trying to get at a _human_ heart when they attacked him.

"She'll get better," she says suddenly.

"Who will?" Something in Leon's voice tells her he knows exactly who, even if he's pretending he doesn't.

"Yuffie. I lost my parents and my whole life at once. I ended up on the streets, where it's really difficult to mourn because everybody's trying to kick you, rob you, take advantage of your body or step over it. Mosey City isn't kind to street kids, especially orphans, but the bad stuff doesn't last forever, even when it feels like it will. It feels like you're going to die at the time – like you _want_ to die too – but you get through it. Nothing is forever, not even heartache. Yuffie's strong. This has hit her hard, but she'll get through too. It may take some time … a lot of time, actually, but it'll happen. Eventually."

Another odd look. Penelo turns her face away and performs a graceful jeté over a lump of snow before realising what she's doing.

"You sound like you've known her for years."

"Sometimes I feel like I have. Yuffie makes it easy. She's that kind of person – someone who makes you feel special and wanted just by being around her. Aerith and Tifa are like that too, but they can't hold a candle to Yuffie when she gets all manic. She's a little scary because she's so full-on, but she means well." Penelo pauses. "Most of the time. I think." She remembers the look on Yuffie's face when she was crying for Lea and attacked Leon like a wild animal. "But what do I know? Since coming to Traverse Town, I figured out I actually don't know her very well at all."

"Maybe nobody does."

"I'm willing to try, though. I think she's someone worth knowing. You all are."

"Hm."

Penelo is aware they're not really talking about herself and Yuffie's friendship anymore. "Yuffie needs people; that much I do know."

"I know that too."

"That's good. I'd hate to think –"

"Skreeeet!" Laverne's sharp cry cuts across them.

They both turn. Leon hisses a fierce, "Oh shit."

Fenrir, having bravely made it all the way back from the mountains, has succumbed to his injuries and collapsed. Laverne squawks around him, nudging him with her beak and pawing the ground. Snow kicks up in every direction, giving the impression of ground zero after an explosion. Fenrir is breathing, but even a complete chocobo amateur would be able to tell he's in a bad way.

"I'll fetch Aerith," Penelo says, but Leon dashes past her.

"No, you stay here. Your bird responds best to you. Try to calm her down. I'll fetch help. I don't want any more deaths or heartache on my conscience."

As his long legs eat up the ground, Penelo can't help but think this is a strange way for a practical man to phrase losing a chocobo he doesn't even _like_.

* * *

The shock of losing Zack, Cloud and Kairi hangs over everyone for days. The mounting absences pricking at them like thorns. It's not a complete body-count, but it feels that way.

They keep expecting to see Zack amble through the door with his thumbs hooked in his pockets, grinning at something they can't understand – or don't want to. The sound of boots or an opening door makes them look up for Cloud kicking snow off his boots, complaining about Fenrir, or balancing Kairi on his shoulders. It's hard to accept they are really gone.

Chicha cooks a meal for those still at Dr. Sweet's. She forces herself to remember she needn't cook any for Zack or Cloud, but after serving up finds herself holding a child-sized portion with nobody to give it to. Her own meal tastes salty afterwards, but nobody mentions the mistake. It's a new kind of politeness. The effects of so many losses so close together are as awkward as they are upsetting.

The intermittent snowfall ceases. Leon sends a pigeon to all those officials who listened when he went to them to warn about the Heartless, letting them know about their re-emergence in Traverse Town. Less than a day later he gets two replies, both from Captain Phoebus in Mosey City. The first is a brief missive saying he already knew because Saunterville has fallen. There has been no contact from there in several days and reports speak of shadowy creatures going in and out of the empty houses. Knowing nobody would listen to his warnings doesn't lessen Leon's anger. The others learn to stay out of his way until the thundercloud over his head dispels.

The second letter is stamped with the seal of the Mosey City Lawmen's Captain, but contains a message from Esmeralda asking Penelo to come home. The wording is quite neutral, but it's obvious she's hoping her young assistant is okay after Leon's letter reached Phoebus.

"I can't go," Penelo protests. "Not yet, anyway," she adds, watching Yuffie's retreating back as she follows Aerith around like a puppy.

"You have to," Leon replies without a hint of warmth, which is a total counterpoint of his next words. "Your loved-ones are waiting for you to show them you're safe and still you. You mustn't let them down."

Penelo eyes Leon; so grim, yet capable of putting into words what most people limit to just their own thoughts. She doesn't get him at _all_ sometimes. Traverse Town breeds complications that make her head hurt. Despite her protests, she looks forward to seeing her own friends and family, in a city where things are harsh but more straightforward. A mugger is just a mugger in Mosey.

Captain Phoebus's Lieutenant brings a party of Lawmen out to Traverse Town. They're not there solely for Penelo, though she does go back with them. They come to talk with Leon and Merlin, and also King Mickey, though he doesn't reveal that he's royalty. As such, the Lieutenant looks down on him both literally and figuratively, being one of those people who see anything non-human as second rate.

Penelo is surprised to see a familiar figure on one of the horses. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I shut up the shop and came to fetch you home." Esmeralda crushes her in a hug that's part joy, part relief, and part grief when she spots the collection of figures next to Leon.

Penelo introduces Esmeralda to those she doesn't already know. Esmeralda keeps her handshake strong, but when they get to Aerith Penelo sees a change come over her. Aerith offers her hand, but Esmeralda gives her an even more crushing hug. Her eyes well with tears over Aerith's back.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers.

"Why?" Aerith's voice is flat. Too flat. Barely a ripple of emotion has touched it in days.

"Cloud was my friend."

"He's still alive," Aerith says, though not defensively. "He isn't dead."

"But Leon's letter said Traverse Town lost warriors. It listed Cloud and Zack among them. Was it wrong?" Briefly, Esmeralda's eyes shine with hope. It recedes when Aerith shakes her head.

"No, but he's still alive. Somewhere. I'd know it if he died."

"You'd _know_ it? Like clairvoyance? Cloud said you have magic."

"No, I can't do anything like that, but I'd still know if he died again."

"_Again_?" Esmeralda looks confused. "I don't understand."

"That's all right." Aerith's smile creates a knot in Penelo's stomach. There isn't any warmth to it and it doesn't reach her eyes. Slowly, it seems as if Aerith is fading, like a flower deprived of sunlight. "Neither do I, really."

Yuffie draws up to her. She is always by her now, her posture protective, as if she is channelling all her feelings of helplessness and grief into protecting this last remaining member of her adoptive family. "C'mon, Ponytail. Let's get inside before we all freeze our asses off."

Penelo watches her lead Aerith away and shivers, but not because of the cold. Esmeralda puts an arm around her.

"You okay, kiddo?"

"No, but I will be once I get home," she lies with a straight face. She has seen and felt too much in Traverse Town to ever be the same again.

"Quasi wanted to come, but … well, you know how it is."

"Yeah, I know." A little glow starts up inside Penelo. Home seems a wonderful prospect right now. "C'mon, let's get inside."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	88. Blood, Tears and Hope

.

* * *

**87. Blood, Tears and Hope**

* * *

Yuffie seems to think that now she's fully healed, only action will alleviate her grief and frustration. After breaking down in front of Leon and kind-of-sort-of making peace, she actually feels better. Her insides are still scraped raw, like she has been drinking gasoline and battery acid cocktails, but her tears have stopped and her hands don't tremble when she thinks about Lea. She even injects extra emotion into her voice to sound more like her old self, though that's more for Aerith's benefit than her own.

Yuffie bugs Merlin twenty-four times a day. She asks the same question on the hour, every hour, peppering the time in between with frustrated noises, and wearing a groove in the floor with pacing.

"Have you found Small Fry yet?"

"No."

"Have you found her now?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"No."

"Any luck yet?"

"No."

"Has the scrying showed you where Small Fry is yet?"

"No."

"What are you _doing_ – just drinking tea and eating gingerbread?"

"_No!_"

"Then get with the finding already!"

Each identical answer makes her bluster away in search of something she can kick the crap out of, eat, or stare at until it melts. She is a comfort eater: she eats to make herself feel more comfortable with the hopelessness of the situation. It doesn't work, but she keeps doing it because the urge to punch someone in the face is even less constructive than chomping on Aerith's baking.

Except that Aerith hasn't baked much lately. She grows pale and drawn in the days following the Heartless attack and all its consequences., nobody wants to push themselves on her, so they give her space to work through her feelings at her own pace. At least, that's what they tell themselves. Aerith's grief is so deep, so corrosive, that self-preservation also comes into it. Talking with her – _at_ her half the time, since she rarely answers – is an exercise in swimming against the current, and the riptide of her sadness threatens anyone who comes too close, even though Aerith herself never asks for help or comfort. She has lost her lovers, her best friend, the child to whom she devoted the last five years, as well as the security of her life. Never mind the mat – for Aerith, the entire ground floor of the building has been pulled from under her.

Her quiet unhappiness frightens people. This is more than loss. This is sharper; full of pointy nubs and stabbing thorns that lurk until they stick in and then hang on painfully. Grief from death, grief from desertion, grief from not knowing where or how her loved ones are, and grief from rejection, swarm around her like a steadily growing cloud of flies. The number of people Aerith has lost has mounted, from those left behind in Hollow Bastion to those snatched by death and Heartless. Where before she was able to lean on others, now the toll reflects in the dullness of her eyes, reducing them to the greenish-yellow of baked grass. Nobody likes to meet them for long because of what stares back – a friend in pain, and also the threat of what could also happen to them. If fate could punish someone like Aerith Gainsborough so horribly, what hope is there for anybody else?

"So strong," people murmur when she goes back to work. "So resilient. But then, the young always are, aren't they?"

"Are you sure you want to – ?" Yuffie tried to ask her.

"Yes," Aerith cuts her off. "I'm sure. I need to work. I … need to work."

Yuffie gets the feeling Aerith was about to say something else but lets it slide. Sometimes grief is overcome with hard work.

People draw their own strength from Aerith. She is quiet, not rampaging about, cutting her hair, biting chins bloody and generally making a clown of herself. She goes about her daily business, thanking people who give condolences, but never seeking them out. She smiles and nods, giving people encouraging words so they watch her mouth instead of her eyes. She doesn't milk the situation. She doesn't steer conversations so she can talk about Cloud, Zack, Tifa or Kairi – or even Cait Sith, Lea or Reno – and she _never_ brings up Sephiroth.

Yuffie wants to talk about them all the time, but something about the look in Aerith's eyes makes her stop. She returns to her spot by the stone gargoyle and talks out all the things she can't say to living, breathing beings.

Only in private does Aerith allow herself to break down. A bone-deep weariness takes hold of her. After each day of smiling and being 'so strong', she wilts into an armchair and stares blankly at nothing, as though sleeping with her eyes open. Playful, optimistic Aerith becomes droopy, with nobody but Yuffie to break the silence of an empty apartment. Later she heaves herself upright, back into her old domestic routines, but the spark is gone. She cooks, but she doesn't bake. She gets out the vacuum, but it sits gathering dust. She goes to work, but she misplaces files, trips over obvious things on the floor and blinks at patients for a half-second too long before ushering them to a seat.

Those closest to her honestly don't know how they're supposed to act anymore. Does she _want_ them to make her talk about it? Does she want them to say nothing? Are they allowed to talk about peripoheral things, like the Herartless? No news on that score gives them nothing to talk _about_ except memories and the losses themselves, and they're going through their own pain at the same time.

Aerith says, once, in a whisper, "I'm still the same person." She sounds exhausted.

_No, you're not_, Yuffie wants to say, and then wants to kick herself for even thinking it. "Sure you are," she crows instead, and then wonders why Aerith looks so horrified to have been overheard.

The apartment is so still, it's creepy.

"This place used to be so _busy_," Aerith murmurs, fingering the book of fairytales. She pulls up a dog-eared corner: _The Canary Prince_, marked so Cloud would never read it to Kairi again. There are a lot of pages with post-its covered in Yuffie's scrawl: 'Don't even think about it!' 'I won't have you corrupting her this way!' 'These princesses are so drippy and _pink_ it makes me want to puke!' Cloud always rolled his eyes when he found her comments and demanded to know what he should read instead, until Yuffie wrote her own fairytale, full of more gore, guts and gushing arteries than he could possibly read to a little girl. "So many people crammed into it we could hardly breathe."

"Room to take big lungfuls of air now," Yuffie says, plonking a can of lukewarm tomato soup into two bowls. Aerith made a batch, but left it to go cold when she turned off the hob almost an hour ago. To distract from this, Yuffie breathes deeply to prove her point. Her chest swells and she beats both fists against it.

Aerith doesn't appear to hear. "Leon once told me he sometimes feels like he can't breathe in this town."

Yuffie deflates. "He said that?"

"I'm starting to understand what he meant."

"What?" Yuffie frowns at Aerith's inward expression. "Ponytail?" It's no use. She has zoned out again. It's about the only time her eyes brighten these days. Yuffie wonders what she's thinking about, but that uncertainty about what is safe to talk about resurfaces and she says nothing.

Even she has to admit it's like part of Aerith has died too. Perversely, this thought is what helps her start on the path out of her own grief. Suddenly she's the one looking out for someone else who needs it; making sure Aerith's distraction when she _does_ cook doesn't burn down the building; checking at night to wake her if she has bad dreams; taking care of her the way Aerith and Cloud took care of Zack after Angeal's death. If it weren't for Aerith providing a reason to get up each day, Yuffie would probably still be in bed, cursing anything and everything in her rage against the unfairness of death.

Aerith has never had to live entirely without Zack and Cloud. Even before they were in a relationship, their friendship saw them through the years. Losing both at once is a major blow. The shape of Aerith's life has altered without warning, leaving ugly gaps and gashes that bleed at the slightest touch. She does everything she used to do and doesn't complain, but Yuffie is acutely aware of the unfilled spaces to either side of her friend, and the empty child's bed they both stare at before going to sleep each night.

"We'll find her," she says more than once. "Small Fry is special, remember? No way will this keep her away from us for long. No _way_."

Aerith stops crying, but Yuffie learns to recognise her faraway expression for what it is, and hides things to prevent it happening. She only stops when Aerith finds her stuffing a pair of Kairi's sandals to the back of the cleaning cupboard. Aerith doesn't reprimand her, or yell, or do any of the things Yuffie might have done if had been Lea's shirt – like Leon _did _do when Aerith and Cloud disturbed Rinoa's grave. Instead, she gently takes the sandals and sits in the armchair all night, stroking them like some nervous animal.

It's all just so _unfair_.

It's also worrying. Aerith becomes very internal. It's a guilty relief whenever Yuffie spots her with tear-tracks or puffy eyes. At least she's not keeping _everything_ bottled up.

What _doesn't_ help is the continued failure to locate Kairi, despite Merlin and Mickey's best efforts.

Yuffie hasn't actually spoken to him much, but the king seems pretty cool. He smiles a lot, and comes out with corny phrases that make you feel better regardless because he honestly means each one: "The only way is up from here," "It'll all be all right in the end," "Every cloud has a silver lining." His eyes widen when he realises the inappropriate pun in this last one, which just makes Yuffie like him more. A king who messes up now and then is one you can believe in not to let you down when the pressure is on and it really counts. Heroes have way of coming unstuck if you put too much stock in them. Just look at Zack. Maybe it was inevitable he would die. Maybe being cast as the hero destined him for a tragic ending. Storybook heroes can't exist in the real world.

Yuffie has stopped believing in storybook endings and happily-ever-after. She'll throw in her lot with fuck-ups and oddballs and leave the heroes to their stupid, post-it covered fairytales.

* * *

Mickey stays for Zack's funeral. The whole town attends. Nobody wants to be the one who doesn't go, though not everybody knew Zack, and plenty spent the time planning what they would do when they got home instead of listening to the speakers. They bury him at the church, since Aerith can't bear the thought of him being somewhere else, so Leon makes a suggestion and Rinoa gets a companion.

After the interment, Aerith hangs back. Yuffie lurks close enough to hear her ask Rinoa to look after Zack when she isn't around.

"I'm trusting you to make sure he stays out of trouble," she murmurs to the hard stone. "And don't take any of his nonsense. Just tell him what's what and keep a firm hand from the beginning. He's a good …" She swallows loud enough for Yuffie to hear the saliva. "H-He's a good guy. I'm sure you'll be okay here together. I'll come whenever I can, for as long as I c-can …" She can't say anymore.

"Ponytail?"

"Okay, Yuffie, I'm coming."

"It's fine. Take as long as you need."

Aerith gives a short, mirthless laugh. "There's never as much time as you need."

"Ponytail?"

"I'm all right. Don't look at me like that, Yuffie. I'm not made of glass. I won't break if you say a harsh word to me."

Yuffie blushes. She _never_ blushes, but her cheeks flame red. "Okay."

"You're so polite these days."

"Okay then: fuck off."

Aerith blinks. Then she laughs, and this time it's a proper laugh. Yuffie can't remember the last time she heard Aerith laugh properly. it makes her throat hurt until she swallows the sensation away.

"C'mon, let's get outside into the fresh air."

They emerge to find their friends waiting – Dr. Sweet, Chicha, Kuzco, King Mickey, Merlin, Cid and Leon – but Aerith's gaze is inward again. It's as though she genuinely can't see them standing there. Or maybe she just doesn't register them because the ones she really wants aren't with them.

"Ponytail?" Yuffie's heart sinks. She takes Aerith by the arm like she's some doddery old woman. The flowing fabric of her sleeve conceals how thin she is getting. "Hang on. Wait here." Yuffie jogs up to Chicha and leans in close. "Could you make some food for us for later? I don't think she's up to cooking and my food always tastes like cr–" She notices Pacha's big brown eyes watching her from Chicha's arms. "Um, really bad. It tastes really bad. Like the inside of a litter tray. A _used_ litter tray."

Chicha smiles kindly. "Of course I'll make you some food."

"They can have some _baking_," Kuzco says pointedly, until Chicha flicks his ear with her thumb and index finger. "Ow!"

"Cool." Yuffie nods a few times, feeling awkward. She takes a few steps back before coming forward again and throwing her arms around Chicha's neck. Pacha squeaks. "Sorry, Brown Eyes." She all but runs back to Aerith's side.

"Brown Eyes?" Kuzco echoes.

"Shush," says Chicha. "That's a good sign."

* * *

A small figure approaches Merlin's front door. The soft knock is greeted by a crack of light, which widens to show merlin looking quizzical.

"Mickey?"

"I'm sorry, ol' pal," Mickey says without preamble. "I gotta go home."

Merlin's expression darkens, but he heaves a resigned sigh. "I suspected it wouldn't be long."

"My kingdom needs me," Mickey says apologetically. He starsts top say more, but Merlin raises his palm.

"You don't need to explain to me. I understand. this was never more than a temporary situation. It is regrettale, however, that we achived so very little during your stay."

"I wouldn't say we didn't achieve much. In fact, I think we achieved a gosh-darn heckuva lot."

"But we didn't do the most important thing we promised."

Mickey's chin drops onto his chest. "That poor little girl," he mumbles, shaking his head.

"I can't explain why we can't find her." Merlin stamps his staff on the floor. They're both frustrated about their failure. "By all rights, at least one of the tools we've used for scrying should have reaped results. We discovered that the Heartless were attracted to this world before by young Cait Sith's inexperienced meddling. He allowed his mind to be open and unguarded while he scried, and they sensed his thoughts and were drawn here."

"Like dogs to the smell of fresh trash in a sealed garbage can," Mickey agrees.

"Yet that is our _only_ discovery of any merit. It's as though something _about_ the child makes her impossible to scry for."

"I wonder …" Mickey says thoughtfully.

"Or someone she's with is being guarded by a more powerful magic than mere clairvoyance," Merlin goes on, only half talking to Mickey now, "and she has become caught up in that protection against detection."

"I sure do wish I could stay, ol' pal, but things back home are … well, y'know." Mickey makes a helpless gesture.

"I do understand," Merlin sighs. "I also appreciate you staying for so long. It is simply … frustrating. The entire situation, from top to bottom, is entirely frustrating."

"You're telling me!"

Both of their heads jerk up. "Yuffie?" Merlin squints into the gloom outside his front door.

"That's my name, don't wear it out." The joke falls flat enough to submerge in a shadow. Yuffie finally reveals herself, hands deep in her pockets, a sullen teenage slump to her whole body. "Wassup."

"What's up?" Mickey blinks.

"The ceiling?" Merlin tries.

"Never mind." She glares at Mickey. "So you're giving up and going back to your world?"

"You know that's not what I'm doing," he chides.

She does know. She just can't accept that Kairi may not be coming home. Until now part of her has clung to the hope that they will find her. Zack, Cloud, Lea, Reno, Cait – all those losses have been kept at bay by the thought that Kairi can still be saved. It would all be okay if only they could save Kairi. Merlin and Mickey are the dream team – two eggheads who know everything about magic, or as near as makes no difference. Resentment grinds in Yuffie's belly like a mortar and pestle.

They just can't catch a break! Is the universe conspiring against them or something? The emotions that threatened to consume her after Lea died bubble up again. She forces them down, thinking of Aerith. Weird, how this last bit of her family has become her anchor, albeit in a totally different way than when they first met. Before, Yuffie's friends and family were the stability she could come home to. Now she is striving to be Aerith's stability instead. She's not sure if she's pulling it off, but she's trying. That's worth _something_, right? Being needed gives her something to hold on to.

She kicks a stone. "This sucks."

Mickey looks like he wants to take her hand. He doesn't., but his big fingers twitch. "We'll keep trying. This isn't over yet. I may not be here, but don't for one single, cotton-picking second think I'll stop trying to save her."

Yuffie catches sight of Merlin's expression behind Mickey. She turns her face away. "Whatever."

* * *

Leon helps. It's bizarre beyond measure, but he actually helps – comes down from his apartment, seeks people out, makes small-talk and everything. He doesn't snap so much, though sometimes it's obvious he's biting his tongue. Yuffie is grateful for the effort, which injects a jolt of guilt whenever she thinks about Lea. She should resent Leon still, shouldn't she? One shared moment in the mortuary shouldn't be enough to wipe out all the hurt and regret between them. Nevertheless, she wants to forget it all. She needs the comfort his presence brings; strong and assured, like he'd pop the world on its chin if it tried to hurt them again. She is used to him being an insufferable butthead. This new attitude leaves her swaying like a single stalk of corn in a newly harvested field. She reminds herself that she forgave Lea for the terrible things he said to her, and came to love him anyway.

In reality, however, Leon can't do much. He is preoccupied with how many places the Heartless have hit, and how much damage they've done, but he drops by every day to ask whether he can do anything. Conversation is always awkward, and so stilted Yuffie wants to strap poles to her feet to see if it makes any difference, but you could set your watch by his arrival. She finds herself looking forward to the heavy knock at the door. Never shave-and-a-haircut – that kind of playfulness would be too much to expect – but four sharp raps followed by a shuffle as he steps back, waiting for one of them to answer.

Yuffie isn't sure how she feels about this arrangement. She's grateful, sure, but also embarrassed. She remembers what a fool she has made of herself around him – multiple times. She never thought she'd ever fall prey to the kind of embarrassment that makes your toes curl in your shoes and your neck shrink into your collar, but she has. Leon's track record isn't too spectacular either, but,

Plus there's the guilt. Lea rises in her mind whenever she feels more than gratitude. A horrible voice demands to know whether she even loved him at all if she can forget him and go back to Leon after everything. Leon was her first love. Like all first loves it was messy and wonderful and awful – and unresolved. Her feelings for him never really went away. That, above all else, makes her feel like she's not only _being_ unfaithful to Lea, but was somehow unfaithful all through their relationship. Aerith, Cloud and Zack proved it's possible to be in love with more than one person at the same time, but that doesn't make Yuffie feel any better. Lea _died_, and instead of continuing to mourn him she's letting Leon back into her life without so much as a slap on the wrist.

She arrived home from Merlin's house to find Aerith sitting on the couch, reading the fairytale book. It's almost time for Leon's visit. Yuffie stops, eyeing Aerith and wondering whether she should let her read that damn book. "Ponytail?"

"Hm?" Aerith drags her eyes away from the page. "Yes?"

Yuffie pauses before shaking her head. If she can get comfort from having Leon around, who is she to stop Aerith getting her comfort from a mouldy old book? "Nothing. You want something to eat?"

"I'm not really very hungry, Yuffie."

"Chicha dropped off some grub this morning."

"I'm fine, really."

Yuffie watches Aerith critically. She has lost weight. Dark rings encircle her eyes. "You should eat."

"Hm."

"If you don't want the cold food Chicha made, I'll make piping hot pancakes instead." She always burns pancakes, or sticks them to the ceiling, or ends up with batter all over her head. Aerith knows this. She'd never let Yuffie make pancakes in a million years.

"Hm." Not even a real word, just a noise that could mean anything.

"I'm entering the kitchen. I'm getting out the eggs. I'm putting them in the bowl." Yuffie looks down. "I'm missing the bowl anmd getting them all over my feet. Yuck!"

Aerith doesn't reply, gaze glued to the fairytale book.

Yuffie eventually makes something edible. She rejoices when Chicha makes an unexpected second visit with actual food.

"Rocoto relleno – stuffed spicy peppers. Your refrigerator was looking a little empty," she explains.

Yuffie regards the fridge. To Chicha 'empty' means 'not so full you can't close the door'. The shelves are crammed with things she has brought them. In true motherly fashion, Chicha shows love through food, and feeds those she cares about when they're down. Kuzco's belly is beginning to look like a barrel and Pacha's baby chub is turning into plain old fat ten years before it should.

As Yuffie sets out plates and Chicha unwraps the plethora of goodies, Aerith flops the book down flat on her lap. "Chicha!" she says in surprise. "When did you get here?"

Chicha and Yuffie exchange a look. She walked right past Aerith to get to the kitchen. "I haven't been here long."

"She brought food!" Yuffie scrapes her pancakes into the trash with a flourish. "Nummies!"

Aerith frowns. "I'm not very hungry."

"You need to eat," Chicha says firmly. "No, don't try to wriggle out of it. You're having some rocoto relleno. I know you like red peppers best, so made some especially. They're very sweet and I made sure to scrape out all the seeds."

Aerith opens her mouth to argue, but then closes it again. She smiles. "Thank you. I guess I am a _little_ hungry."

Chicha beams like she has been awarded Chef of the Year.

Leon knocks the door ten minutes after that. He is shocked to see Chicha, and even more shocked when she drags him inside to share the meal.

"You're getting skinny. You need to eat more, and properly."

Yuffie looks at Leon's biceps. They're the sixe of ham hocks. Skinny? As if. Then she catches herself and becomes engrossed with shredding lettuce for a salad. By the time she's done, it's less salad than finely grated mulch.

They all sit down together to eat. Aerith looks around and smiles, which Yuffie takes as a good sign. They may not be the people she wants most, but they're here and they, at least, are not going anywhere anytime soon. Yuffie glances around the table as well, and resolves not to let loss strike them again while she still has breath in her body. These people are all she has left now. They are keeping her sane, whatever other complications they may also bring her.

"I love you guys. You know that, right?" The words snap out like a rubber band pinging from her mouth to their ears.

Everyone stares at her.

"Yuffie?" Leon's tone is wary. "Are you feeling okay?"

The statement is unexpected and astounding. Yuffie doesn't care. She beams. _Sorry Lea. _"All this has taught me to say what needs saying while you've got chance. Live life with no regrets, even if you embarrass yourself and throw your street cred out the window. So … for the record, there you go. I love you." She pauses. "It isn't any less weird the second time."

"It's sweet of you to say so, honey," says Chicha, rescuing the situation. She sounds like a mother at the head of the dinner table. She _is_ a mother at the dinner table.

_Does that make Leon the daddy and Ponytail and me the kids? _Yuffie wonders.

Aerith says nothing, just stares at her untouched rocoto relleno with an indecipherable expression.

* * *

That night, Yuffie turns in early, only to find the bedroom empty. Kairi's empty bed stares at her like an accusation.

"Ponytail?"

Sounds from Zack and Cloud's room draw her to the closed door. She hesitates, listening, but nobody is screaming, which she takes as a good sign. She knocks. Aerith says something muffled, so she pushes the door open.

"Hey, Ponytail -" Yuffie's words die in her throat.

Clothes are scattered across the bed and floor, but they haven't been tossed there. Each item is neatly folded, edges so neat and sharp you could cut your finger on them. Yuffie watches Aerith take another sweater from the closet, press her face into it, and then lovingly fold and add it to a pile of Zack's clothes. There are neat stacks of shaving razors, several combs he swore he lost, a scarf, balled up pairs of socks and a pile of mismatching singles, a bottle of Chicha's homemade mosquito repellent from last Summer when Cloud was an all-you-can-eat buffet, and some wrist and ankle weights Cloud used to wear twenty-four-seven when learning how to wield a sword and wanted to strengthen his muscles. Dangling from hangers at the window are old Halloween costumes and things they never wore, extracted from the very back of the closet.

Aerith pauses to look straight at Yuffie. "Yes?"

"Uh, don't you think … I mean …" Yuffie itches to pick everything up and put it back. They've barely been in here since … well, since they shut the door last. Or maybe, she now realises, _she _has barely been in here. The air smells of mothballs and dust, but also strongly of Aerith's perfume and that freshly-turned-soil scent that follows her everywhere. There's no way the room could smell so strongly of her after only a few hours.

"What is it, Yuffie?"

Yuffie holds Aerith's gaze and sighs. "Want a hand?"

Aerith's smile is still troubling, but less than it has been. "No, but thank you for the offer. I'm just sorting out a few things. Nothing much. Just putting stuff in order."

"Right. Right, well … if you need anything, just yell, okay? I'm on the other side of the wall, and I have super special awesome hearing."

"Thank you, Yuffie."

Yuffie turns away, but stops in her tracks at Aerith's next words.

"And for the record, I love you too. Thank you for all you've been doing. I know I haven't been easy to live with lately."

"Hey, no problemo. Great Ninjas are up for any challenge, all right?" Still, as she goes back to the other bedroom, Yuffie can't help the warm glow that suffuses her at being needed. It's better than being wanted. How come she never realised that before? Did Lea ever really need her? Did Leon? Did her family? She casts her mind back, but things go fuggy under scrutiny. Probably there have been times where she has been needed, but never like this: a daily grind of reliance that makes her feel valuable and drives back the shadows in her own head.

She is beomcing reliant on the feeling. Like a child with a scab, she feels compelled to pick, to poke, to ponder, but she refuses to fully contemplate the wound underneath. This is what her life is now – looking after Aerith means not looking at the empty spaces where other people should be, and so Yuffie narrows her focus each day, creating blinkers she is in no hurry to remove.

When Aerith finally comes to bed, Yuffie remains awake, restless but not sure why. Eventually she gets up for a drink. Glass still in hand, she curiously opens the door to Zack and Cloud's room.

If you didn't know they were both such messy slobs, you'd think nothing had been disturbed. Everything has been put back in the closet and drawers. It's like some kind of shrine, neatened and preened, ready for them to come back to. Even the mosquito repellent has been put away as though waiting for the next time it's needed.

Yuffie glances at her own bedroom, chewing her lower lip. Then she quietly closes the door, drains her glass and returns to bed.

* * *

"So you've come to see if the old man's copin' now his roommate isn't here to nag him?" Cid spits into an empty soup can and replaces the toothpick between him lips. "Well I'm just fine an' dandy, so fuck can fuck off."

Dr. Joshua Sweet has dealt with many awkward patients in his career. His bears the scars of incidents better left unmentioned, and has been stabbed, burned, kicked, punched, karate-chopped and head-butted, all by people he was trying to heal. Yet when it comes to sheer eyeball-burning hostility, nobody can beat Cid Highwind.

"Don't know why everyone thinks I miss that pain-in-the-neck," Cid goes on. "She could argue with a fence post hotter than two goats in a pepper patch. All I ever did was sit takin' her guff. Better off now she's gone. I ain't been my own boss in a coon's age."

Something in Sweet bristles at the expression. He shoves it away. He has spent years living in this world, yet still his instincts are on the lookout for racism and where the nearest tree is. He has always been an expert in hiding that defensive part of himself, but you can't grow up in the deep south without running across enough prejudice to make you think you really _are _second class, second rate, and seconds away from a lynching if you don't watch your back.

"Can't a guy come visit you without bein' treated like an enemy?" Sweet says lightly.

Cid's expression answers for him.

"Fine." Sweet raises his palms. "So I was checkin' up on you. I'm a doctor and you're my patient. It's what we doctors do. So how've you been feelin'?"

"Better before you showed up."

"No aches or pain? Been takin' your pills? Eatin' right? Getting' daily exercise?"

"No, yes, yes, an' fuck off, what the hell kinda job do you think _I_ do? Mechanics don't jus' sit around chewin' tobacco an' spittin' in pots."

Sweet resist the urge to roll his eyes. "But Tifa did a lot of the work around here. You aren't used to it anymore."

"Fuck off. I had a heart attack – one! I ain't dead yet, so quit treatin' me like I'm knockin' shave-an'-a-haircut on the Grim Reaper's door."

_Give me strength._ If Audrey were here, she'd box Cid's ears and tell him what's what. The best mechanic Sweet ever met, Audrey was a force of nature nobody crossed carelessly, despite her age. Cid is the only person who can compare with her skills, and he has a temper to match hers. Maybe it's something abouy mechanics that make them cranky when they're ill or upset. Cid and Audrey wouldn't get on like a house on fire, so much as burn the house to the ground and still be arguing in the ashes.

Sweet's expression twitches. Audrey is long gone now. He has accepted his losses and put them behind him, but every so often the pain hits again. He misses her. He misses all the old crew. He misses the opportunities he no longer has and the future denied him when his world disappeared. He always imagined he'd treasure hunt until it killed him or he made his fortune. Then he'd go home, to the little village where he grew up, and where his parents still lived. He would make a nice comfortable life for his hard-working Ma and Pa, settle down with a local girl who'd be impressed with his stories, start a family and preside over Sunday dinner at an ever-expanding table of relatives. Even treasure hunters had domesticity lurking at the backs of their brains. Adrenaline and thrill-seeking kept you going for a while, but when your body said 'no more' you needed other dreams to fall back on.

"No need to get hostile, Cid."

"Then don't make me it."

"Long story short: physically, you're okay?"

"Fine as frog's hair."

"Mentally, you're okay?"

"Sharp as a tack on the teacher's chair."

Sweet counts to five in his head. "And emotionally?"

"Like water off a duck's back, Doc." Cid glares hard enough to defrost an ice age.

"You're lyin'."

"I ain't lyin'. Yeah, I miss Tifa, but I ain't gonna go blubbin' about it, an' I ain't gonna go throwin' myswelf off no roofs, neither. Now fuck off an' let me get these orders done." He gestures to the ranges mechanical ehatnots laid out on the workbench.

Sweet eyes them dubiously. "You ever think about gettin' another apprentice?"

"You got someone in mind?" Cid's glare sharpens to a laser beam. "Not the brat."

"Did I say Yuffie's name?"

"The brat ain't comin' nowhere near my workshop. No way, no how."

"Yuffie has her hands full as it is. She isn't the only capable young person in town."

"Sure. Whatever." Cid turns his back, dismissing Sweet. The conversation is over.

Sweet sighs and leaves. _Some people_, he thinks, _need a good ear-boxin'. Right, Audrey?_

* * *

"All right, featherbutt. You don't like me, and I don't like you, but I've got a pitchfork and you've got a lot if shitty straw that needs changing. Are you making the connection here?"

"Wark."

"_Pitchfork_. A fork that pitches. Very sharp. As in, you peck me, I stick you; get it?"

"Wark!"

"I'm taking that as a yes."

"Kwark."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you miss Laverne. But she'll come back someday. Penny promised to visit."

"Kwark?"

"Penny. Penelo. Laverne's rider?"

"Wark!"

"What? _What_? Look, I know I'm not Cloudy, okay? I'm doing the best I can, but you've got to meet me halfway on this. I don't know a lot about chocobo care, so help me out, huh? Cloudy was writing a book, I think, or maybe he was planning on teaching Kairi how to ride you through the magic of the written word. He left a load of notes behind, but they're not in any kind of order, and most of them are in this weird shorthand I can't figure out. What's tail-rot, anyhow? Does your tail actually rot if it's not cleaned and combed through every day? And how about slimebeak? Is that really as disgusting an illness as it sounds?"

"Wrrrrrrrk."

"I get the feeling you'd be rolling your eyes now if you could."

"Wark."

"Lift your feet. Lift your _freaking_ feet. No not that way! You're trying to step on me, I can tell. Well take this – hah!"

"WAAAAARK!"

"You don't like that, do you? Try to hurt me again and I have a real bag of tricks I can try out. You think the prongs on this thing are bad, you should see what I can do with the handle – and don't even get me _started _on where those nuts and oats are going."

"Wark? Wrrrrrrrk."

"That's better."

"Wrrrrrr…"

"Look, I don't hold it against you that you let Small Fry ride you off into the wilderness, you know. I should, but I don't. Go figure – me being the forgiving type. Heh, and forgiving _you_, you mangy old pile of feathers. Now don't get snappy with me. Like I'm gonna pretend I've always liked you just because now I'm your primary carer?"

"Kwark."

"That's better. You might not realise it, but I actually _want_ you to stay healthy. You mean a lot to Cloudy. When he gets back I don't want him accusing me of neglecting your sorry butt. Get it?"

"Kwark?"

" Of course he's coming back. If he doesn't, I'll use this pitchfork on _him_."

"Wark!"

"You said it, buster."

"Warkwarkwark!"

"Right on! Wait, what am I saying? I'm talking chocobo. Argh, I've sunk so low! Lea would laugh his ass off if he could see me now, shovelling shit and talking it too."

"Kweh."

"What the hell? Hey, gerroff! Leave my head alone!"

"Kweh!"

"What? You're eating my _hair_?"

"Kweh."

"Hang on, I remember seeing this in Cloudy's notes. Where did I put that … ah, here we go. A sign of affection? You're being _affectionate_? What the hell – I didn't even know you knew how!"

"KWEH!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, keep forking the pitch, or pitching the fork, or whatever. Nobody here but us birdbrains."

* * *

One day Aerith doesn't come home. Yuffie panics. She flies down to Dr. Sweet's, but finds it in darkness. She pelts along to Chicha's, which is closest, and then to Merlin's. A gaping void opens inside, threatening to suck the rest of her into it, until she remembers the church. Cursing herself for not thinking of there first, she uses _shinobi-iri_ to flit through shadows for extra speed.

"Ponytail?" Her yells echo off the torn roof. "Are you in here? Ponytail!"

Aerith is crouched by the flowerbed; a tiny figure in the massive space.

Yuffie's relived sigh should knock down the building. It doesn't, which is useful, as she'd hate to have to dig Aerith out of a pile of rubble after only just finding her.

"I wondered when you'd come find me," Aerith says without looking up. "You're turning into a real mother hen." She doesn't say it unkindly or with irritation.

Now her panic seems stupid – Aerith is a grown woman, after all, and perfectly within her rights to tend her flowers instead of coming straight home like a child whose parents won't even let it cross the street alone. Still, anger gurgles inside Yuffie and she marches across the creaky floorboards with arms swinging. Maybe she is a little toodedicated to her new role as Aerith's carer, but that doesn't mean she's going to stop.

"You could've told me you were coming here."

"Were you afraid I'd abandoned you too?"

Yuffie swallows. That was a low blow – lower than she would have expected. Aerith isn't prone to spite.

She looks up in time to see the flicker of hurt and surprise on Yuffie's face. She frowns, looking down briefly at her own dirty hands, before shaking her head. She gestures for Yuffie to come sit beside her "Don't you remember my promise?"

"What promise?"

"The one you got me to make right after the Heartless attack."

Yuffie remembers. She just isn't sure she wants to. "You promised never to leave me."

"That's right."

She promised on behalf of Zack and Cloud, too, just like Cloud promised never to leave her or Zack.

"It's hard to keep a promise like that."

"It's difficult to keep any promise, but that's what makes them important. If it was easy, they wouldn't be worth as much. You treasure those you keep, and that other people keep to you."

"I guess." There are a _lot_ of broken promises scattered around Traverse Town; rather more than Yuffie wants contemplate. "So why'd you come out here anyhow? Are the flowers doing okay?" Pfft, she wouldn't know a posy from a weed, but she is determined to show an interest if it brings a smile to Aerith's face. Aerith's mouth is one that looks wrong without at least a faint smile, like a beautiful portrait with the lower half cut away by a rusty penknife.

"I was just talking to Rinoa,"says Aerith.

"You … what?" If she came here to talk to anyone, Yuffie assumed it would be Zack.

"Well, more listening really."

"Huh? Be kind, rewind."

"She's not a ghost or a trapped spirit, if that's what you're thinking. But she leaves message sometimes, in the flowers. She can be quite perceptive."

"_Huh_?"

Aerith chuckles at Yuffie's confusion. "Talking Flowers."

"Oh. Right. So … what's she saying?"

The chuckle becomes a sigh. "She's not answering my questions."

"What questions?"

"The ones nobody can answer."

"Ponytail –"

"It's the not knowing that's the hardest part. I miss Zack – I miss him so much it hurts – but I know what happened to him. Cloud and Kairi … I don't know where they are. I don't know whether they're safe, being treated badly, in pain … I don't know anything. Cloud could be fighting for his life right now. Kairi could be lost and frightened. On the other hand, they could both be fine. Cloud could even have found her on some other world and be bringing her home as we speak."

"I like that option."

"I saw you riding Fenrir the other day. You're moving on with your life."

Yuffie's brows pull together, but Aerith goes on.

"That's good. It's _healthier_ than just going over things again and again, like thinking about them will make them suddenly be different." Aerith swivels her feet around and sits back, hugging her knees to her chest. It's a childish pose and makes her seem flimsy somehow. "But I … I feel like can't move on with _my_ life because I don't want there to be no room in it for them when they come back."

Yuffie doesn't know whether she totally agrees with the idea that she's 'moving on'. She isn't dwelling on Lea so much, because she is dwelling on _Aerith_ instead, but that's beside the point.

Aerith drops her chin onto her chest. "I have to believe they'll come back, Yuffie," she whispers. "Faith alone isn't always enough, but it's all I have."

This church is where Kairi took shelter during the attack. This is where Aerith shared so many happy moments with Zack and Cloud. It is also where Rinoa died and Squall became Leon. The church has a chequered past, just like everybody in this town, it seems. Strangely, that makes it far more comfortable than if it had been what it was intended to be. The church came through everything still standing. _You can do it too_, say each brick, beam and flower.

"What am I, chopped liver? You've still got me."

"And I'm grateful for that." Aerith leans against her.

Yuffie freezes up out of habit. She stays frozen for a different reason: it's unnerving.

She has never had anyone _depend_ on her before. Maybe Aerith doesn't depend on her in the strictest sense, but believing she does gives Yuffie a purpose and allows her not to think too much about other stuff. It's certainly better than just sitting around thinking about what they've lost.

"I'm so tired." Aerith's eyes flutter shut. "I could just go to sleep right here."

Yuffie unfreezes. Gingerly, she puts her arm around Aerith's shoulders. Has she lost weight? They seem bonier. "So go ahead."

"That's silly, Yuffie."

"Why? You're wearing a coat, and it's actually pretty warm in here despite the temperature outside. Catch forty winks. I'll watch over you, and then we'll walk home together."

"You'll _watch over me_?"

"You're gonna debate my turn of phrase now?"

Aerith looks like she could protest more but doesn't want to. In the end Yuffie convinces her. She falls into an exhausted but grateful sleep, head pillowed in her lap. It just enhances the image of her new fragility, painting her like a child seeking warmth and reassurance. Yuffie hesitates, and then strokes her hair, the way Aerith used to stroke Kairi's when she was restless after a nightmare.

"My turn to make a promise, Ponytail. I promise I'll look after you until Cloudy gets back. And no objections, okay?"

Aerith says nothing.

"Good to hear. Motion carried." Yuffie tucks a lock behind her friend's ear. They've both had their happy little worlds shattered and been left to cope as best they can, with only the threat of further danger to carry them into an uncertain future. "We'll get through this if we look out for each other."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	89. Matchmaking

**A/N****:** Many apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I work in education and it has been whole new levels of CRAZY DOOLALLY BUSY with all the new administration I've had to do this year, plus owning a new dog - who can't be left unattended for more than five minutes or she finds new things to eat, destroy, destroy and then eat, eat and vomit up, eat again after vomiting them up, or scratch to pieces in a game called How To Drive Scribbler Insane And Then Avoid A Boot To The Butt By Canny Use of Puppy-Dog Eyes.

* * *

**88. Matchmaking **

* * *

"Joshua, I'm worried about Aerith," Chicha says bluntly.

"You and me both."

Chicha is surprised she doesn't have to try and convince him. Practically everyone she has spoken to praised Aerith's resilience. They either can't or won't see the truth – that it is a front, and a worrying one. Chicha should have known he would understand. After all, he spends the most time with Aerith besides Yuffie.

Just to make sure they're reading from the same page, she continues. "She looks sicker and sicker every time I see her. She barely eats and I don't think she's sleeping. Yuffie says she gets hours of sleep and takes naps too, but I don't believe it."

"She naps a lot at work. I let her get some shut-eye on the cots when it looks like she's about to fall over."

"She does? But she looks so … so …"

"Dang-blasted, hang-dog awful?"

"I was going to say weary, but yours is better."

"Emotional exhaustion often has the same symptoms as physical exhaustion."

Chicha concedes that this could be it, but something still bothers her. She can't put her finger on what, but she gets the feeling there's more to this than simple exhaustion – emotional _or_ physical. Or maybe her motherly instincts are just working overtime again. She glances at the ceiling, wondering what Kuzco and Pacha are up to. Things are quiet, which is never a good sign with those two.

"I gotta admit," Dr. Sweet says, pulling her attention back to him, "I'm mighty concerned about her myself." He plays with his teacup. It looks ridiculously tiny in his hands, but he's so gentle she doesn't worry about him breaking it. No wonder those hands performed delicate life-saving operations in his homeworld. Although Aerith's healing has made a lot of his skills redundant, Dr. Sweet is a talented surgeon and his hands haven't forgotten the importance of a light touch.

Chicha sits down to sip her own tea. "Why?"

He shrugs. "Same reason you are, I reckon. Because she's a friend and she's hurting."

Chicha stares at her cup, swilling the brown liquid around as if it will give up the answers they want. "You and I know what it's like to lose loved ones suddenly," she murmurs, thinking of husband and children and the Heartless who took them.

"I reckon so, though you're closer acquainted with how Aerith's feeling right now than I am, on account of I didn't lose no wife. Not that Aerith and her boys were married, but … heck, you understand what I mean."

Chicha is surprised. Somehow this has never come up before, not even when he told her so much about himself to calm her down during the Heartless crisis. She wonders why she didn't ask. Like Leon, and to a lesser extent herself, she always assumed Joshua Strongbear Sweet is still in love with someone from his homeworld. He tends to clam up when talking about the ladies of his old crew, sometimes with tears glistening in his eyes. One thing she has learned about him is that, for all his egregiousness, he plays his personal life cards close to his chest.

"I grew up in a one-horse town, fought tooth and nail to graduate, and then to get a scholarship to a college that looked at my grades more than _me._ Then I hooked up with apprenticeships and work placements before a war and politics sent me into the service of Thaddeus Thatch, and you know the rest. Not much room for relationships or romance in all that brouhaha. I figured I'd settle down someday, but that got kyboshed in major style when the Heartless moved in."

In Chicha's world the major social divider was between rich and poor. The idea that skin colour could affect a person's life in the same way is an alien concept. Until she reached Traverse Town, she didn't even know there _were _other skin tones than her own. When she first heard about the 'racism' of Joshua's world, she couldn't believe the level of discrimination over something so trivial – until she remembered how petty Kuzco used to be, before he was llama-ised. It makes her admire Joshua all the more, and then scold herself for it. It isn't right for a wife to admire a man who isn't her husband; not in that way. You could be adulterous with only your thoughts.

Except … did it truly could as adultery if your partner was dead?

"There wasn't _anybody_ you liked?"

"I know we're in a tea party, Chicha, but I ain't exactly in the habit of discussing my personal life like a giggly debutante before her unveiling."

"A _what_?"

"Uh…" The culture clash seems to flummox him. He shuts his mouth and looks back into his cup. An awkward silence descends until he speaks again. "So how would you say Aerith compares to how you coped when you lost your husband?"

Chichi sighs, Joshua's personal life shelved for now. "I don't know. No two people grieve the same, and I was pregnant at the time, so I had something else to concentrate on."

"I reckon having Yuffie is exactly what Aerith needs."

"And Aerith is what Yuffie needs."

"I'll agree to that. They were both hurt bad by this whole business."

"It's not all bad," Chicha says. At his enquiring look she explains, "It reopened the lines of communication between Yuffie and Leon."

"I thought you ain't approving of them two?"

"Yuffie's not a little girl anymore. She more than proved capable of making her own decisions and dealing with the consequences. Plus, of all people in this town, Leon is one of the few who sees situations for what they really are. He understands _exactly_ what Yuffie went through when Lea died. The fewer deceptions and lies there are, the better for everyone."

"And this don't got nothing to do with how much you disapproved of that Lea feller?"

Chicha gapes. "Do you really think so little of me?" To assume she would be so petty after what happened to him is out of character for Joshua.

"Nope." He raises his teacup. "So I'll drink to that."

* * *

Yuffie bends low over Fenrir's neck, so he can see her through one blue eye. "Right, now if this is going to work, it's gonna require some trust okay?"

"Kweh."

She's starting to be able to tell the meaning of his noises. 'Kweh' is an affectionate or pleased sound, while 'wark' means he is irritated or ready to attack something (his default moods), and 'kwark' indicates confusion or grudging agreement. It's still a little disturbing that he's capable of anything beyond annoyance that isn't impatience or red-hot rage, but she is growing used to it. Maybe this is why Cloudy persisted so long in his argument that Fenrir isn't just a mutant rat with wings, if his innate love of chocobos allowed him to see in Fenrir's personality what other could not.

"So I'm trusting you not to throw me into a bush, and you're gonna trust me not to fall off. We've been fine riding around town, but that's small stuff. I may not have Cloudy's experience, but I think we've graduated to the big leagues."

"Kweh."

"Okay." Yuffie turns him away from the ridge, trying hard not to look at the place where she and Lea used to practise with Glory of Wutai and his chakrams. With Fenrir's saddle hard beneath her, and her thigh muscles tightened by weeks of riding, it's easier than expected. "Ready?"

"Wark!" Fenrir cries, irritated at her stalling. He paws the ground and clicks his beak with a noise like clattering bones.

"Fine, fine, don't get your tail feathers in a bunch." She doesn't have a special noise or word to make him go, but, "Freaking move already!" does the trick.

Fenrir powers away. Yuffie lets him have his head, going straight into a canter and then a gallop. There's nothing like a full gallop across open country. She whoops with exhilaration. Fenrir holds his head low and she crouches in the saddle to decrease wind resistance. She remembers Cloud's seat and copies from memory, pressing her heels into the stirrups behind Fenrir's wings on the bigger bumps and allowing him to use his wings for extras speed.

By the time they reach real open country he's not running, but almost gliding across the ground. All bumpiness is gone. He responds to the faintest twitch of the reins, stretching his legs, clearly loving every moment of being allowed to run unimpeded.

"That," Yuffie declares when they finally come to a sweaty, breathless halt, "was so cool it was _frozen_."

Fenrir angles his head around. They're at the top of a cliff. Triumph and slight disbelief glint in his blue eyes, as if he, too, can barely believe the change between them.

"Don't get any weird ideas about me liking you," Yuffie warns. "You're still a featherbutt who needs his ass kicked now and then."

"Kweh."

Yuffie stares over the cliff. Below is the meadow of white flowers where they buried Grandmother Willow, though now it's barren and the forest beyond look like bars in a giant cage. They've come so far. Riding a chocobo rooster at full tilt really is like riding the wind. No wonder Cloud loved the stupid bird so much. It must've pissed him off so much when the only one he had left in this world was grumpy Fenrir. Although, knowing Cloud, probably not.

_Not the old Cloudy_, whispers a quiet part of her back-brain. _New Cloudy … well, who knows?_

Though the sun shines bright, and the sky is clear, the air is cold and crisp. Wrapped in her coat and warmed by Fenrir's body heat, Yuffie watches the wisps of cottony white drifting past. She tries desperately to find some sense of peace – although how you try _desperately _to find _peace_ is anybody's guess. Always a losing battle. Peace comes on its own and desperation does to it what salt does to slugs.

Slightly to the East, in the mountains where nobody goes anymore, a pair of eagles glide side by side. She can hear them from here, and her eyes are dragged towards them despite their location. Like graceful dancers in perfect choreography, they skip across the updrafts and wind currents, inseparable specks linked by some bond of friendship, or brotherhood, or even love.

Fenrir tosses his head at their wild, keening cry, adding his own as if in reply. The eagles wheel around and start flying towards them. Yuffie nudges Fenrir into a light trot along the cliff edge to keep his muscles from seizing up. In no time at all the two smaller bird are circling them, dipping and veering as if trying to get a closer look at this strange bird with two heads, two wings and four legs. Their wicked claws and sharp beaks, designed for ripping and tearing, make Yuffie's skin prickle, though she can't explain why.

Fenrir gives another cry and the eagles' circle gets higher and wider, until finally they break away and fly back towards their territory. They bank suddenly and come back, crying, then veer off, only to come back again. After they've done this several times they screech sadly at each other and depart for real. Chocobo and human watch them go. Yuffie's not sure what just happened, but it was cool, though rather than leave her with the sense of peace she was after, the soles of her feet feel itchy.

"C'mon, featherbutt, let's get home so I can clean you up before I meet Aerith from work."

"Wark!" Fenrir says disapprovingly.

"What? She doesn't mind me meeting her from work sometimes. Or … almost every day."

"Wark!"

"Okay, every day."

"Wark."

"Oh shut up. Aerith doesn't think I'm smothering her."

"Wark."

"She _doesn't_. And besides, it makes me feel better to keep an eye on her. That's not being overprotective. That's being concerned. There's a difference."

Fenrir tosses his head again and rips up a clod of earth. "_Wark_."

Leon is waiting for the when they return. His expression could freeze the steam off a fresh cup of Dr. Sweet's most powerful coffee. "You went out _alone_?"

"Featherbutt here was with me." Yuffie pats Fenrir's neck and then shakes her hand free of sweat, dust and loose feathers. The feathers refuse to get off her fingers. She shakes harder, but no cigar. "Oh, gross to the extreme."

"Kwark."

Leon persists, "You shouldn't have gone out alone. I don't like you taking unnecessary risks like this. We still don't know if the Heartless will attack again, and I don't want anyone not in easy reach of back-up if they do."

The strained lines in his face stand out in the waning sunlight. Regret pricks like a thorn in Yuffie's heel. Leon has been extra stressed lately, but with most of her devoted to Aerith and the rest on Fenrir, she never noticed how much it shows until now.

"Okay, okay," she says reluctantly, "next time we go for a run you can come with us."

For a moment Leon actually looks startled. "That's not what I –" His words are cut off as Fenrir leans forward to take a chunk out of him.

"Hey! No!" Yuffie smacks the bird on the top of his head before he can. "Freaking hell, featherbutt, we need to get you some anger management classes or something. Sometimes I get the feeling you only tolerate me because I threaten to maim you every thirty seconds."

"Kwark!"

"That's a real unhealthy attitude, y'know."

"Wark!"

"'Scuse me, Leon. Fenrir and I have to go and duke out his issues and get him cleaned up before the sweat dries on him and gives him psoriasis. Did you know chocobos can get chronic dandruff if they're not cleaned properly? Cloud wrote, like, five pages on it in his notes."

"Why was Cloud writing notes on chocobo care if he was the only one with a chocobo?"

Yuffie shrugs. "Maybe he planned to breed Fenrir someday, only the lecherous bastard beat him to it and produced Laverne. I should probably copy out some of his notes and send them to Mosey City, so she doesn't get slimebeak or something."

Fenrir stamps the ground.

"All _right_. Yeesh, anybody'd think you were jealous, you dumb thing. See you later, Leon."

"Yeah." Leon scrubs the back of his neck in bemusement, the reproach he'd been planning to give her lost in her wake as she blows past and leaves him in her dust. "Later."

* * *

The world is saturated with shades of green – jade, emerald, olive, lime, and wending in and out a sparkling new shade. Lighter than the rest, it defies definition, shifting and twisting as though it senses someone trying to do just that. It is the green of new shoots through snow; the green of immaturity and youth. It's also the green of mould, rot and decay; and the green found in moss on gravestones. Life, this green seems to say, is never very far from death, and death is never far from life. Once you accept that, the palette you accepted since birth opens up like something you've never seen before – something new and wonderful.

_Yes. Please. Yes …_

All other colours have gone. It's just green, green, green everywhere, reaching out to enfold her like a pair of warm arms –

"Yo, Ponytail, up and at 'em!"

Aerith blinks slowly awake. "Yuffie?"

"The one and only."

She is aware of a sudden loss of comfort. Then she wonders how drowning in a green sea could be comforting.

Yuffie stands at the end of the bed, dressed and bouncing on her heels. Such a change from the wretched bundle Aerith had to console in the days after the Heartless attack, until Kairi went off and Cloud and Zack …

_No, don't think about that now. Why do you always have to take everything back to __**that**__?_

It has been months, but thoughts of them still throb like being stabbed by an icicle. Aerith is better at focussing on the present than she used to be. She uses the present to block out her desperate longing, allowing her to get on with things instead of wallowing in her own misery. She doesn't want to forget – she _wants_ to remember, desperately, with all her heart – but everything is still too raw to go into the details her mind insists on.

Still, she wishes Yuffie could have left her alone to dream a while longer. Already particulars are fading, until all Aerith can remember is a feeling of security and wellbeing totally absent from her waking life. Yuffie tries her best, but Aerith's spirit has taken a critical hit.

She gets up, gets dressed, visits the bathroom and resurfaces to find Yuffie poring over a frying pan. And swearing. A lot. At Aerith's footsteps she swings around, a bright smile painted on her face and her eyes squinched shut.

"Um, slight problem with breakfast. Unless you like burned fried bread. It was a little stale, and I remembered how Teef sometimes cooked it before she moved in with Old Fart got all health-conscious. But if you like greasy charcoal-y bread then everything is just peachy."

"I'll just have some fruit," Aerith says, not unkindly. She reaches for an apple, but Yuffie shoves a bowl in her way.

"Muesli," she says proudly. "Better than plain old fruit. This is fruit with knobs on. Only, um, not. Because that sounded so much better and less gross in my head. Um … awkward. Hey, guess where I got it! Go on, guess."

"The grocery store?"

"Well, yeah, but guess who told me I should buy it when I was waiting in line."

"I don't know, Yuffie."

"You have to guess. It doesn't work if you don't guess."

"Yuffie, I have no idea who could possibly have advised you to buy muesli."

Yuffie pouts. "You're no fun. It was Miss Finster."

"Miss Finster gave you grocery advice? And you took it?" Aerith isn't sure which to be more surprised about.

"I was being mature," Yuffie says defensively. "I didn't tell her to go screw herself or anything, and even though I was thinking it, I zipped my lips about the size of her ass when she told me it's a low-fat healthy breakfast."

It's wrong, but Aerith can't help giggling. "Yuffie!" Gods, it feels good to laugh, even a little.

Yuffie beams, obviously pleased with the reaction. Instantly, Aerith's giggling subsides. She gets the feeling these days that Yuffie is asking her for more than she can give, or even knows _how_ to give. She's too tired to be anyone's saviour, even indirectly. Who knew being someone's reason for living could be so _tiring _if you were also in love with them?

"C'mon, I'll pour some moo-juice on it for you."

They eat together. Three bites into her muesli Yuffie scowls and stick out her tongue, still studded with little sticky white pieces.

"This isn't breakfast, it's pencil shavings in a cunning disguise."

Aerith just munches away until her bowl is empty.

"How can you eat this muck?"

Aerith shrugs. She didn't really taste it.

Yuffie pokes the remainder in her bowl and sighs. "I think I know why Miss Finster is such a sourpuss if this is how she starts each day."

Once upon a time Aerith would have offered to make pancakes, or fry up something greasy. Now she gathers up her empty bowl and spoon to wash.

Yuffie laboriously finishes her food. Once the dishes have been rinsed and left on the draining board, Aerith readies herself for work. Yuffie potters about until it's time to go. Aerith eyes her with exasperation.

"You don't have to escort me. I know the way."

"I _happen_ to be going in that direction _anyway_."

Aerith's expression says it all.

"No really, I am," Yuffie insists. "I'm going to Chicha's. She asked me over yesterday. She's the one who rescued me from Miss Finster's post-muesli rant about moles in her garden. You know that old hag squashes them with a spade when they pop up? Miserable cow. I'm gonna ask Kuzco to shout into a mole hole and tell them to avoid her garden – or all convene on the same point and overturn her birdbath. She loves that stupid thing. Yeah, that'd be a better plan."

She elaborates on her plot to rally the moles of Traverse Town against Miss Finster as they walk down the street. By the time they reach Dr. Sweet's, Yuffie has upped her scheming to overturn the whole house, and Aerith is smiling again. Yuffie can be so ridiculous, skating a fine line between endearing and infuriating. Luckily, this morning endearing wins.

"Have a nice day, honey," Yuffie says in a syrupy voice, posing like an old-fashioned housewife with a hankie to wave goodbye.

Aerith shakes her head, but goes into work with a lighter step than usual.

Dr. Sweet is in his office. He waves, but rather than let her check the day's files, or even remove her coat, he calls her in and spins his chair to face her. Aerith fears another heart-to-heart about grief and coping with it.

"Aerith, what do you think about Chicha?"

The question is so unexpected that Aerith just stares blankly. "What do I _think_ about her?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not sure I understand the question."

"Is she …" He spirals a hand, searching for the right words. "Is she, uh … man, this feel dumb, like I'm still in high school or something. About her husband, is she … really _devoted _to him still?"

Aerith realises with a jolt that he's sounding her out about more than just whether Chicha cooks a mean spicy vegetable stew. Dr. Sweet's hangdog expression makes something inside her chest twitch. It's something she never thought would do that again. Somehow it's easier to bear because it's not for her. Dr. Sweet is a good man. He deserves some happiness of his own. Her broken heart goes out to him. She reaches to pat his arm.

"Chicha will always love her husband, but she's not under any disillusion that he's coming back. And five years is a long time to be a widow and a single parent."

Dr. Sweet smirks. "Lil' Pacha is a real card. Eats like a horse and asks all those questions you're afraid to answer because they're so damn mature that he don't realise what he's asking. Says he don't wanna be a surgeon when he grows up, nor a llama breeder, but he wouldn't mind being either a nurse or a dancer like Penelo. Kuzco's eyes dang near fell outta his head when he heard that. You'd think he'd be more accepting of things outside the status quo by now, wouldn't you?"

"Kuzco's okay."

"Sure he is. Way I hear it, he's improved a lot compared to how he was when Chicha first met him. He done dotes on her like he really is her son – sees himself as her knight in shining hoof polish. Last time I was there, he cottoned on that I wasn't just there to talk shop. He asked me what my long-term intentions are towards her. Even phrased it that way – my long term intentions. Can you believe that?"

Another twitch. Life goes on. Aerith's life might have chunks missing, and it might have stalled horribly, but for everyone else life goes on. She isn't so selfish as to expect everything to stop just for her, nor would she expect everyone to also put their lives on hold to wait for Cloud. Still, it's one thing to know it and another to live it.

She pats Dr. Sweet's arm again. "Who knows? Maybe Chicha will be the one to finally break you of your disgusting coffee habit."

"Hey! I learned from the best about how to make good coffee!"

"You learned from a woman who, in your own words, was more desiccated than a corpse and needed an IV of pure caffeine to balance her extra-nicotine cigarettes, just to keep her out of the grave."

Dr. Sweet's eyes flicker at her casual mention of death. Aerith keeps her expression gentle. She's pleased at the way his shoulders relax. Life goes on. It has to. For everyone else, at least.

"Well … yeah. But what's wrong with strong coffee?"

"Nothing, as long as it stays on the right side of dissolving spoons. Chicha is house-proud, and pretty attached to her silverware. Just to warn you, you understand."

"Oh. Well. Thanks for the heads up." Dr. Sweet squints. "I think."

* * *

The remains of the day stain the lower sky red. Little butter-coloured billows float higher up, against a background of navy blue. The effect is that of a distant explosion swelling slowly outward.

Yuffie isn't usually one for admiring the scenery, but she takes a moment when this comparison pops into her head. Hopefully it's just a pretty good simile, not an actual explosion. With all the latest reports of villages and towns that mysteriously lost contact with the outside world on the day of the Heartless attack … well, even her new positive attitude wavers a bit.

They thought the attack was limited just to Traverse Town, since Cait Sith's scrying lured the Heartless to the already weak spot in the shield. Unfortunately they were wrong. Like a deflating balloon being stretched tighter and tighter, other thin places had worn away. Zack and Reno may have sealed the two rifts here, but that didn't stop the invasion. The Heartless punctured other thin spots and swarmed the places beneath. Some settlements could defend themselves, but most had no chance. Saunterville, Roam Town and Totterton were all scoured of life inside an hour. Loiter City and Tread Town fell next, while the rural anthropomorphic colony of Gait Place held on as long as they could, eventually joining them when their meagre defences crumbled. It's the same story all over the place. The list just keeps growing.

Though Leon keeps tight-lipped, Yuffie can tell he wishes he could do more. The threat of more places falling is pervasive. The Heartless haven't reappeared in Traverse Town, but those fallen places are infested. It's only a matter of time before the creatures' insatiable hunger drives them across the land for more prey. They have a foothold now. You don't have to be a master strategist to know this is the worst thing that could have happened. The Heartless don't just have a foot in the door, they've torn it off its hinges and eaten the welcome mat.

Yet Leon doesn't talk about it. When Yuffie presses him, he mutters and changes the subject. It's as though he is trying to shield her from the truth. Though she appreciates the concern, she isn't made of glass. Just knowing that what happened to her friends and lover has happened – _is_ happening – to other people doesn't make her sink into fresh depression. It pisses her off, but that's a good thing. That's being active. She shares Leon's frustration that she can't _do_ more to stop the Heartless. They aren't something you can prevent against long-term. Warding safe-houses, training warriors and learning to run faster than they can is all very well, but the Heartless are dogged.

And way back in the recesses of her mind, where she doesn't like to go, Yuffie is also scared. She won't admit it, but she is afraid of what might happen if she has to face the Heartless in battle again. She _wants_ to – the thought of sticking kunai into yellow-eyes, stomping heads into black dust, or spinning Glory of Wutai through a line of the crawly things is tempting – but at the same time her midriff aches. She can see Lea and Reno all over again; their faces, frozen in shock and pain, as everything that makes them who they are is drawn down into their hearts, crystallised and ripped out. You'd be a fool _not_ to fear the Heartless, but what Yuffie feels is more like panic.

Maybe Leon knows this, or at least suspects. Maybe that's why he doesn't talk about it. He knows she'd want to march off to save survivors and bring them back to Traverse Town. Terrified or not, she wouldn't leave people to die or become Heartless. Yet if she did go, there's a real possibility she'd hesitate at the wrong moment, iced up by her fears, and that could be deadly. That'd sure explain why he seems so relieved that she has Aerith to concentrate on instead – just like Yuffie is grateful caring for Aerith gives her an excuse not to run of and try to play hero.

Something is coming. It looms on the horizon like the strangely shaped clouds she's looking at now. Yuffie feels a prickle of apprehension for what it might mean. She refuses to lose anyone else – flat out _refuses_. That vow could cost her if whatever's coming is an all-out war against the Heartless. Or, if Merlin's is correct, and the Heartless are merely the foot-soldiers of a far greater evil, a war against the darkness itself.

She shudders and turns her thoughts to happier things, like her day with Chicha, playing with Pacha and Kuzco and matchmaking Chicha with Dr. Sweet. Chicha deserves to be happy. She has been so good to Yuffie and Aerith during their time of crisis.

"I'm happy," she said when Yuffie told her this. "I'm happy that you're so much happier."

"That doesn't count!"

"Don't sass me, Yuffie. I'm content. That's all I ask for. I have my health, my home and my family."

"But don't you miss …?"

"Don't I miss what?"

"Chicha, you've been in this one-featherbutt town longer than me. You've never so much as had a date in all the time I've known you, let alone a kiss goodnight."

"Yuffie!"

"What? It's natural."

"And not something I want to talk about."

"It doesn't have to be _just_ about that."

"Yuffie," Chicha said warningly.

"What about Dr. Sweet?"

"What about him?"

"You call him Joshua."

"Yuffie, I'm not going to begin a relationship with a man based solely on the fact I use his first name."

"Yeah, otherwise you'd be dating Leon, or Merlin, or Cid." Yuffie blinked and shook her head. "Bad mental image. _Bad _mental image!"

Chicha shoved a plate of cookies at her to shut her up. It worked. Sort of.

Dr. Sweet isn't the type of guy to think of a woman as a one-night-stand. Not unless he wants a frying pan to the face, anyway – and then a couple of kunai to the gonads. Yuffie doubts it'd ever come to that. Even so, he's even chaster than Chicha.

"Yo, Ponytail, has Doc ever had a date?" Yuffie asked when she got home.

"I don't think so." Aerith squinted into the middle-distance. "Nobody ever called for him at the surgery, at least."

"He should date Chicha. They can be little repressed bunnies together."

"Yuffie!"

"_What_?" Honestly, and she thought age brought wisdom and maturity. "I'm going out on that bird. Will you be okay?"

"I'll be _fine_, Yuffie. Stop _worrying_ about me!"

But Yuffie can't help it. This is her life now, and she will defend it to the hilt. Her loved ones deserve to grab as much happiness as they can _while_ they can, just in case … what?

That 'what' is something she puts on the shelf marked 'to be looked at later, after food and anything else I can think about apart from this'.

"C'mon, featherbutt. Time to go home."

"Wark!"

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	90. Survivor Guilt

**A/N:** Bloody hell, I missed all of December. I heartily apologise, folks, but I have an exceptional excuse: our boiler burst and the ground floor of my house partly collapsed. I spent my Christmas bucketing water and wondering how we never realise we had a cellar until the boiler fell into it.

* * *

**89. Survivor Guilt **

* * *

"Honey, I'm hooo-ooome."

Aerith hears Yuffie shout and raises her wooden spoon in greeting. She is still rumpled from where she fell asleep on the couch after work. She shocked herself awake when she rolled over onto the floor, grateful nobody saw it. On he plus side, the rude awakening meant she had enough time to put together an edible dinner.

Yuffie inhales greedily as she comes up behind Aerith and leans an elbow on her shoulder. "Smells good. What is it?"

"Just some broth. I soaked the seeds and pulses last night and had some stock leftover in the pantry."

"Is that what the bowl of stuff was?" Yuffie blinks. "It looked like brains and intestines. Hey, are you baking _bread_?" The glee in her voice is plain. Aerith hasn't baked bread in a long time.

"Flatbread. We didn't have any yeast."

"Flatbread, bumpy-bread, or bread shaped like a squatting chocobo, I don't care. Man, this beats my cooking, and I haven't even tasted it yet. Beats my cooking into the ground. With a shovel. In the dead of night."

"Yuffie."

"What?"

"You're rambling."

Yuffie blew her a raspberry."

"You could do me a favour."

"Anything for you, oh master chef whose baking has stolen my heart."

"We're out of butter. Could you fetch some from the store? They're open for another hour. I left some munny on the side for you." Aerith indicates the small stack of coins

Yuffie whisks them away into a pouch on her belt. "I shall put a girdle around the world in thirty minutes!"

"Excuse me?"

She shrugs. "Something I read in a play when Leon was teaching me to read."

Aerith gives a tiny smile. Life goes on, after all. "Yuffie," she says suddenly.

"Yessum?" Yuffie pauses pulling on the boots she only jut tossed aside.

"You …" Aerith stops, wondering how to phrase this. Yuffie looks so much perkier than she used to, but appearances can be deceiving. Aerith knows _that _only too well. When Aerith looks into Yuffie's eyes she can still see shades of sadness about Lea, plus palpable grief that will never go away, but at the same time Yuffie seems so much more relaxed now she and Leon are talking again. Throughout her relationship with Lea, that was the only thing that spoiled Yuffie's happiness, coming through in bitter remarks, snippiness and arguments whenever and wherever they saw each other. It is perhaps a little amazing that they have come past what they each said during that time. They seem to be getting on, though. Aerith couldn't be more pleased. She likes the thought that if anything were to happen to her, Yuffie wouldn't be alone.

She shakes her head, trying to shake away the unpleasant thought. Leon's habit of preparing for the worst has rub off. Of all the things she could have picked up, she wishes it was being a crackshot or the ability to wear needless zips without looking idiotic.

"Hey, Ponytail." Yuffie waves a hand in front of her face. "Zone out much?"

Aerith blinks, startled. "Life goes on," she blurts without thinking.

"Huh?"

"Life … goes on?" It becomes a question, though she didn't intent it to be.

"Um, yeah. Sure it does. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine." Aerith sighs and goes back to stirring the broth. "Don't be long. This is almost done. I tried to time it so it'd be ready when Leon calls."

"Cool. I'll run."

"Take Glory of Wutai with you." Aerith hesitates, before adding, "Just in case."

Yuffie doesn't give her a compassionate look. She doesn't have to. "Aye, aye, captain."

The door bangs shut behind her. Aerith spends a minute just staring at the lumpy brown broth. The savoury smell fills her nose. Elmyra used to make it, in the thin months when supplies were low, demand lower, takings were down and they didn't have much money. Aerith remembers the many times she wandered into the kitchen as a child, saw her mother bent over a pot, and called out until Elmyra. Then the woman would smile so radiantly it was easy to forget the new worry lines that bracketed her mouth and eyes, and the way she sometimes looked at Aerith like she expected someone to come and take her away like repossessed stolen goods.

Steam has made Aerith's bangs damp enough to droop and get in her eyes. She brushes them aside, giving herself a windswept look. The heat also masks the tears that have sprung unexpectedly into her eyes. Turning down the heat to a simmer, she retreats to the bathroom to brush and retie her hair. The distraction will ground her, she hopes.

She holds the ribbon in her hand when she takes it out. It isn't the one Zack bought at Hollow Bastion market all those year ago. T hat one has long since lost its lustre and the ends would be completely frayed if she hadn't painted them in clear nail polish. Zack laughed when he saw her doing that and offered to get her another. She told him she was happy with this one, only to find a pile of brand new pink ribbons on her bed that evening and a pair of grinning faces peering around the doorframe. After that she wore the newer ones and kept the original ribbon separate, transferring it to under her pillow after Zack died and Cloud left. It's still there now, waiting for her to fall asleep with her fist around it like a lifeline.

Motivated by some unseen force, Aerith stares at the ribbon. She sets both it and the hairbrush aside and leaves the bathroom with measured steps. She pushes open the door to Zack and Cloud's bedroom at a snail's pace, pausing on the threshold so her eyes can adjust to the semi-darkness. Outside the sunset is almost over and the streetlights have come on.

Cloud came here right before he left and smashed the window. Cid has since been over since and fitted a new one, muttering the whole time that he's an engineer, not a glazier. He turned up unannounced and with the equipment ready, accompanied by a couple of moogles who helped, so nobody took his protests very seriously. You'd never be able to tell it was once smashed by a demon wing.

Aerith crosses the room and looks out, but can't see Yuffie. She must have run, which is a good thing. Being outside late at night isn't advisable, despite the lack of Heartless activity. Aerith feels guilty for sending Yuffie out alone. She should know better, especially with Leon constantly telling them to be careful and not take unnecessary risks.

Sighing, Aerith turns back to the room. She isn't sure why she came in here, but it seemed important. Cloud and Zack's things have all been tidied away, apart from a few items she couldn't bring herself to hide – a pair of Zack's leather gloves, the goggles Cloud wore when riding Fenrir in sandy country, plus a few other things: magical beacons that encapsulate _them_ so much it hurt to lock them away. Just like she hung Kairi's favourite dress on the wardrobe and looks at it every night, Aerith has left these things as though they're part if some elaborate spell, and they're beacons she's using to draw her lovers home.

Except that Zack will never come home, and even if Cloud returns, he isn't the same anymore. Aerith has tried to convince herself that she can get back to normal, and that life goes on, but nothing will ever be the same again.

Thoughts she has been avoiding come to the front of her mind. Suddenly it's too warm. What little air rustles her hair is stale, trapped too long behind the closed door. Her breath hitches in her chest. A vein pulses in her temple. He heart doesn't just skip a beat; it skips an entire drum solo. She reaches to steady herself against the edge of the bed.

With the contact, sudden images explode into her mind: Zack at fourteen, bloodied but victorious with dead bat-monsters at his feet; Cloud sitting on Zack's stomach in the hall, punishing him for not saying he was going to Ambleton; three seven year olds toasting marshmallows around a campfire in Zack's garden; Cloud surrounded by white flowers the day he showed her the meadow; the first time Zack kissed her and Cloud caught them; Cloud in bed on his fifteenth birthday with Cheepy in his hands; hiding Zack from his fangirls in a broom closet at school; Cloud dancing with Kairi at José's farewell party; Zack's ashen face after the Buster Sword's magic aligned with this world's and nearly killed him; eleven-year-old Cloud in Black Annis's claws; Angeal teaching Zack how to throw a punch; herself sprawling over Cloud and Zack in bed and laughing at their protests that she's too heavy; a little blond boy with gum in his hair, yelling at his friend on the first day of school, while a girl with brown hair watched them from across the street …

It isn't a flood of memories; it's a detonation. She doesn't expect it. There isn't any order or pattern. Some blast her senses so compellingly she could be living them right now. She can smell, hear, and feel everything with perfect clarity. Other memories skim past, as though trying to avoid detection. Yet more wind around her mind like choking creepers, constricting her thoughts until she can't turn them away. It feels like her skull is being blown apart. The sheer number cramming is staggering. They ricochet off one side and replay over and over. She would be fighting the urge to scream if she wasn't already fighting to stay upright.

Something rises inside like fizz in a shaken soda bottle. It clogs her throat, refusing to be swallowed. When she tries, it just bypasses her vocal chords and goes straight for her brain. It packs a mental punch like a pile driver. No, like a martial arts blow: swift, precise and deadly.

And then everything stops.

Aerith opens her eyes to find herself in darkness. She blinks. She is surrounded by … nothing. The air doesn't move, like air in a room unopened for decades. She reaches out, but feels only empty space: dry, dead air without even a scent to help identify where she is.

What is going on? Where is she? How did she get here? What was all that? When she moves her feet, something solid coalesces beneath them, though she can't see it. She could be standing on glass. When she clears her throat, however, tendrils of green light rise around her like underwater plants waving in a gentle current. They caress, touching her throat like shy animals inspecting a new noise.

Suspicion materialises in Aerith's brain, right at the back where the dustiest thoughts live. She _has_ been here before, just a long time ago. She has a few scattered recollections of _almost_ coming here recently, but being pulled back each time. The last occasion she stayed for any length of time was when her magic connected with Rinoa's dying thoughts in the church, and the spirits of her own Cetra ancestors rescued her from the void.

As if this thought is the key to unlocking a greater mystery, several tendrils come together in front of her. They reform themselves into the shape of a woman. She is lit by the same green light, but her soft features aren't made severe by it. Aerith has never actually seen this face before, but she recognises her own slightly rounded chin and high cheekbones. As hips, waist, hands, arms, legs, neck and hair emerge, so does a word in her mind.

"Mother?"

Ifalna smiles tenderly. "You finally made it. We've been trying to reach you for so long, my darling, but we couldn't get to you in this world. We were tethered by our connection to the old one. We couldn't break through the barrier or cross the distance long enough to find you here."

"How …?"

"Your heart has been crying out. We heard it. You were so loud, we couldn't not. It was like a signal fire, guiding us straight to you. We found you once before that way, but you slipped away from us again." Ifalna opens her arms. "My poor, poor baby. You've been hurting so much, haven't you?"

Aerith knows she should be questioning this far more than she is, but the invitation of those arms is too much to resist. She doesn't remember moving, only sinking into her mother's embrace. It feels warm and real, even though it can't be. She must be going mad; or maybe she already is insane. Jagged images of Zack, Cloud and Kairi cut into her. They are like pieces of broken glass scattered into a wound mistakenly thought to be healed. Aerith sobs from the assault. Those fragments are all she has left of them. She will never be able to recapture that time, or that happiness. The desire to get them back is crushing in its futility.

Ifalna strokes her hair. How can the hand of a dead woman feel so solid? Or maybe Aerith herself is dead, too. Who knew death could hurt just as much as life? Isn't death supposed to be some great big reprieve from suffering? Feh.

"Shhh, shhh my darling, we're here now. We'll help you."

"How? You can't bring them back, nobody can make things the way they were."

"Nor should they."

"But I want –"

"Hush now. We'll ..." Ifalna stumbles over her words. "_I'll _help you realise why things have to be this way."

"I d-don't underst-stand," Aerith stutters, pressing herself into the impossibly familiar scent of flowers and dust and indefinable _something_ her conscious mind could never properly recall. What does love-after-death smell like?

"You will," Ifalna assures her. "You've gone so long without us there to guide you, but we're here now. Finally, we can teach you what you need to know."

"The Green Dreams –"

"Should have been with you all this time. You didn't do it on purpose, but you left behind all they had to teach you. Now we have to make up for the time that was lost. We have to stop you from becoming truly broken by what's happened. You have a lot to learn. You need to be prepared for the part you're to play in the future of all worlds."

"Me?" Aerith lifts her face in confusion. "All worlds?"

"Everything will be clear with time." Ifalna's voice is overlaid with several others. The spirits of other dead Cetra begin to creep in at the edges of this strange not-world. "We can help you to overcome your loss and move forward without regret, but you have to trust us. You have to put yourself in our hands." She hesitates again. "You have to let me in, sweetheart. I want to help, but I can't unless you want it."

Trust them? She doesn't even have a clear idea of what's going _on_.

And yet … a strange kind of serenity brushes Aerith; a conviction that nothing bad can happen to her here. Nothing can touch her, not even her own heartache. In the world outside, it has caught her up in a limbo – a prison – of waiting. She can't move on. Here she is safe from the Heartless, safe from the news of what they've done to other towns and other people; and most of all she doesn't have to live each day waiting for news that won't come about Kairi, waiting for Cloud to come home, or waiting for the echo of Zack's voice to drive her ever-closer to the edge.

Green energy wraps around her, suffusing her with the tranquillity of ages. For a moment she fights, recalling the faces of those she still has in the world, but it smothers those images and draws her into a realm she only glimpsed before – the world of the Cetra, of magic, of centuries of wisdom and impossible dreams. Even though some vague doubts still remain, Aerith allows it to submerge her and her mother. Ifalna holds her tight like she never wants to let go.

_Prodigal daughter_, thousands of voices murmur around her. _Our progeny. Last of the Cetra line. Our hope for the future. Our champion in the battle to come._

"Champion?" Aerith pulls back, trying to look into her mother's face. "But I'm not a warrior."

"Not all champions are warriors. Sometimes their victory comes from who they help. But all that will become clear."

_Much to learn. You have much to learn. Much. Your destiny. Our last child. Our only remaining heir …_

"My baby girl," Ifalna murmurs, stroking her hair. Aerith used to stroke Kairi's hair like that after a nightmare, just to remind her that the shadows couldn't get her when the lights were on. "My beautiful baby girl. You've come back to me at last." She murmurs, "And this time I'm not letting you go …"

* * *

Yuffie bounces up the stairs to the apartment, feeling lighter than she has in ages. The prospect of a good meal is nice enough, but the fact Aerith is cooking makes it ten times better. Things are finally looking up. While she isn't naïve enough to believe things can go back to the way they were, anything is better than a big simmering pot of grief, depression and general craptitude.

"Honey, I'm hoo-ooome. Again." She grins, opening the door and brandishing the neatly wrapped pat of butter and jar of jam. The grocer gave her the jam for free when she told him about Aerith baking. Even he knew that news is special. "And guess what I got?"

She frowns at the smell of burning. Nothing is on fire, but curls of black smoke lift off the saucepan. When she looks in, she sees the broth has boiled almost dry. It's on a low heat, which means it has been like this for a while. She spent a while talking with the grocer, but surely Aerith should've smelled this and done something. Oh hell, has she gone off into another horrible daydream? Distracted enough to burn down the apartment is a step backwards, and then some.

"Ponytail?" Yuffie puts the saucepan and its now inedible contents in the sink. It hisses at the touch of cold water, though the smoke dissipates. "Yo, Ponytail, did you fall asleep on the can or something?"

No answer.

Apprehension starts to smoulder inside Yuffie. She wanders around, calling, and notices the door to Zack and Cloud's room is ajar. Aerith rarely goes in there. Still, it's possible she has for some reason and just got distracted enough to forget dinner – unusual, but not impossible.

Yuffie shoves the door open. It hits something and rebounds, smacking her in the nose. She jumps back, clutching her face, and gives a retaliatory kick. It rebounds again, but when she peers into the darkened room she can't see anything blocking it – until she looks down.

"_Ponytail_!"

Yuffie falls to her knees, shifting sideways into to the room to get a better look. She reaches up to find the light switch, and then abandons that in favour of turning Aerith's face up. At the touch, however, her fingers tingle unpleasantly and there's a faint chime. Aerith's skin shimmers, colours dancing across it like the surface of a soap bubble. They shift over her features, but Yuffie can see her eyes are closed.

"Ponytail, wake up. Oh, shit, what happened? I wasn't gone for long. What _happened_? Ponytail! _Aerith_!"

This isn't real. Whatever this is, it isn't happening. This _cannot_ be happening.

"What did you _do_? Wake up, you idiot! Aerith! AERITH!"

"Yuffie? Your door was open. I heard you yelling."

Yuffie twists to see over her shoulder. "Leon," she says, panic etching her tone, "it's Aerith. I don't know what's wrong. I can't wake her up."

Leon crouches next to her. "Is she _glowing_?"

"Leon, what should I do? I went out for, like, eight seconds and when I came back she was like this. Help me wake her up. Just … do something! You slap people to wake them up when they're unconscious, right?" She draws back her hand. Leon catches her wrist.

"This isn't normal unconsciousness, Yuffie," he says in a voice obviously designed not to make her panic. It works as well as a flamethrower trying to douse a house fire. "This is something magical."

"So fetch Merlin. Get that fucking wizard over here _now_, so he can wake her up." She grabs Leon's shirtfront, going from semi-reasonable to irrational in a heartbeat. "Get him to fix this!"

Leon carefully removes her hands and stands up. "Stay with her. I'll be back soon."

Yuffie doesn't care about stinging fingers or the cacophony of chimes; she cradles Aerith like a baby, still calling her name as Leon sprints from the apartment and his footsteps thunder down the stairs.

* * *

"It's the Cetra fugue state."

"Can you bring her out of it?"

"I'm afraid not. I only knew of its existence as theory until this point, but there's no mistaking it. In the past only a select few Ancients ever fell into this state. It was generally pre-planned – preparation for a great battle, or during times of crisis when the Cetra were at a loss and wanted guidance. The fugue state was a means for communicating with the spirits of their ancestors on a more conscious level than simply through dreams. There were special temples where those in the fugue state were kept and protected by warriors with magical weapons – weapons like the Buster Sword. Protecting those temples was probably what it was originally made for. It was discovered in the ruins of one, I believe?"

"That's all very nice," Leon breaks into Merlin's diatribe, "but it doesn't help us _now_." He glances at Yuffie, but she's too busy staring at Merlin in dismay.

"But there's somethingyou can do," she insists. "You're, like, an all-powerful wizard. You've got to have some spell or potion that can wake her up. A mystical alarm clock, maybe? An enchanted whap on the noggin?"

Merlin shakes his head sadly. "I am not all-powerful, my dear. I am not even close. Certainly, I have no knowledge great enough to awaken Miss Gainsborough before the fugue state has run its course."

"So it's not permanent," Leon puts in. Yuffie knows he is asking for her benefit. "She _will_ wake up on her own?"

"Eventually." Merlin takes off his glass and cleans them on his robe in a nervous habit. He isn't given to sugar-coating hard truths. That doesn't make them any easier to deliver. "When, however, I couldn't even begin to guess. All my research has been conflicting – some scholars speculate the fugue state was only ever for a matter of hours, while others hypothesise it was a condition that affected subjects for years –"

"_Years_?" Yuffie is aghast. "You mean she might be like this forever?"

"Certainly not. There is absolutely no evidence to support _that_ conjecture."

"But there's no evidence to disprove it."

"Well … no," Merlin is forced to concede.

That's all it takes for Yuffie to start pacing to and fro, throwing up her hands in wild gestures that cause both men to look uneasily at each other. She doesn't have a stunning track record for reacting well in recent crises – especially those concerning her loved ones.

"This isn't fair. It isn't _right_. She was getting _better_, and now this? No. _No_! I refuse to believe it. You made a mistake, Beardy. You just go back in there and figure out what curse, or poison, or whatever crap is making her sleep and freaking _glow_, and you _fix_ it. You get me?" She turns on him, eyes flashing.

Merlin doesn't take a step backwards. He has more power in his little finger than Yuffie has in her whole body, and was an old man with years of experience when her umbilical cord was being cut. They both know it. He still straightens his spine against her belligerent look. "The patina on her skin is part of the fugue state. It is mentioned specifically in several texts, and extensively in one. It is an indication that the mind has vacated and that the inherent magic of the Ancients is preserving the body until its return."

"Preserving the _body_?" Yuffie nearly screams. She knows she's reacting excessively, but this situation bloody well calls for it. "You mean what's in there –" She points to the bedroom, where Aerith has been laid on the bed so Merlin could examine her. Cloud and Zack's things nestle next to her like puppies against their mother. "–isn't even Aerith, it's just her _corpse_?"

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," Merlin says hastily, obviously grasping that this was exactly the wrong thing to tell her, but it's too late.

Yuffie grips her head as though in pain. "I said I wouldn't lose anyone else. I said I wouldn't! And she promised she'd never leave me. We both promised … I … she … this is _bullshit_!" The words come out a snarl. Before she is even aware of what she's doing, she has Merlin's robes is her fists and has propelled him up against the wall. His staff is trapped between them, his bony old knuckles inadvertently digging into her belly right where Lea's chakram gutted her, but she doesn't care. "You're lying. Take it back."

"Yuffie." Leon's hand lands on her shoulder. All her old issues about being touched surge to the surface. She thought she'd overcome them. Evidently not – or maybe she's just so overwrought that touching has nothing to do with it, and what it's all about is having something on which to focus her temper.

Leon blocks her first kick and ducks under the second. He twists sideways, meeting her punches with his palms and turning them aside. He isn't even trying to fight back. That makes her even angrier. She sees red. It blots out the world and all good sense with it, plunging her into a morass of grief and irrational, mindless rage.

With a wordless yell she throws herself at him, leaping onto the kitchen table, hooking a chair onto her foot and flipping it into her hands. She launches into another attack with his new weapon, trying to bring it down on Leon's head. Somehow he gets a better grip on the legs than she expects. He wrenches it from her grasp. She somersaults away, aware of the weight on her back as she lands. Why didn't she think of that before? She pulls Glory of Wutai off its magnet. A blast of purple energy knocks it from her hand and buries it in the far wall.

"Stop this nonsense immediately!" Merlin pushes his hat back from where it has flopped over his eyes. His beard stands out like he has been electrocuted. That doesn't sound so farfetched with the crackling static in the air. His hastily unleashed magic had no finesse and leaves a wake like the worst electricity storm. "Attacking myself and Leon will do nothing to aid the situation. I suggest you sit down and discuss, calmly, what our next step should be."

"I'll tell you what it should be." Yuffie bolts into the bedroom. She doesn't even pause to take in how horribly still Aerith is. "Ponytail, you get back into your body right now!" She straddles her for a better grip on her shoulders, shaking her up and down so hard her head bounces right off the pillow. "You hear me? Get the fuck back here." The words have been torn from her throat, her voice hoarse and full of anguish. Her hands tingle until they hurt. The chiming turns to a harsh jangle, like a burglar alarm. Colours rush over Aerith, swirling a deep, dark red, like old blood.

"Yuffie!" This time both men prise at her shoulders, Merlin showing a surprising amount of strength for one so old.

Yuffie refuses to move. Thrusting her elbows back and lashing out with one fist, she continues to grip and yell obscenities at Aerith's unresponsive body until, finally, Leon wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her off. She kicks, but he holds tight and doesn't put her down until she stops.

"She can't hear you, Yuffie," he says into her ear, not unkindly, but not softly either. He states it like the fact it is.

Yuffie slumps, arms and legs flopping like a marionette with all its strings cut. She stares at Aerith, and at the dancing lights. They reflect onto the walls and ceiling, which fracture and blur as tears fill her eyes. "This isn't fair," she chokes out. "This isn't _fair_."

"I know."

"Get Dr. Sweet. Maybe medicine can wake her up if magic can't." But Yuffie knows in her heart it won't do any good. Aerith is somewhere none of them can reach, and she has no idea when – if ever – she might return.

It's like Cloud all over again. Yuffie gets a fresh taste of what Aerith must have been feeling all this time; wondering but not knowing where her reason for living has gone. Yuffie has dedicated too much of herself into looking after Aerith. She has used Aerith's recovery as a buffer between herself and her own grief. She _needs _Aerith to concentrate on so she can ignore … She doesn't even want to put a name to it. Grief can break you, if you let it. She promised herself she wouldn't let it, but the only way she could thin to stop it was by distraction and caring for someone else. The prospect of Aerith no longer being there is crippling. Not only that, but losing her in such an unanticipated way doesn't just bring down Yuffie's barriers, it adds to the tidal wave of emotion that sweeps, suddenly and mercilessly, over her.

Leon finally sets her down, but she is boneless in his grip. He is the only thing keeping her upright and has to hang on tight so she doesn't pitch forward and break her nose on the floor.

"I've lost them all," she whimpers, vaguely surprised to hear that pathetic note in her voice again, so soon after the last time she banished it. Riding on the coattails of this fresh misfortune, her feelings for Lea rise like a drowning corpse in a murky pond. They threaten to overwhelm her when combined with the knowledge that _all _her adoptive family – Cloud, Zack, Kairi, and now Aerith – have left her, just like her real one. "I've lost them all now. They've all left me behind …"

"You're not alone." Leon roughly turns her to face him. "You're _not_, Yuffie."

But Yuffie doesn't hear him. "They're all gone," she says, voice drained of emotion. She wouldn't be surprised to find the wound in her abdomen has reopened, and all her feelings have leaked out into a puddle on the floor; like blood, only bitterer. She feels suddenly exhausted, as Aerith has been for months – the symptoms of this 'fugue state' thing, she now realises. How could she not have realised something was seriously wrong with her friend? She knew Aerith was depressed, but that was understandable. This is something beyond her. If Yuffie really was looking after her as well as she thought, she would've understood sooner and done something.

"All of them. I can't help any of them. They're all gone. It's finished. Everything. There's nothing left – nobody who came with me is still here, and I can't do anything to bring them back. It's all over. It's … it's over."

"Yuffie, it's not over. It's not even close."

"It's all over," she continues, repeating herself until there's only her, the words and the gently dancing lights. She starts to cry; slowly, achingly, like the first cracks on a frozen pond onto which she's wandered too far. After a moment her tattered composure is completely shattered and she is lost. "It's all over for me …"

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_Yuffie whisks them away into a pouch on her belt. "I shall put a girdle around the world in thirty minutes!"_

- Yuffie is paraphrasing Shakespeare – specifically Puck in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

* * *

.


	91. Yuffie Checks Out

.

**

* * *

**

90. Yuffie Checks Out

* * *

Merlin realises he has fallen asleep across his work when someone taps him on the shoulder. He sits up, a page still stuck to his face. He pulls it off and blinks at his intruder, relaxing almost instantly. It's only Leon.

"I shall have to improve on my enchantments if people are going to keep invading my sanctum sanctorum without announcing themselves," he says, referring to the news that while he was away Tifa, Yuffie, Lea and Leon not only broke in but upset some of his things.

"Or you could just try locking your door," Leon says dryly.

Merlin appreciates the rare showing of humour, until he sees his friend's eyes. "Has something happened?"

Leon folds his arms; a distinctly defensive posture. His voice is harsh as the heavy grinding stone on stone of a crypt door. "Yuffie is gone."

"Excuse me?"

"She's gone. Took that chocobo and left last night."

Merlin is stunned. He knows Yuffie has been in a poor state since Aerith's collapse, but he never expected her to do something so drastic – or unannounced. If there is one thing he has always taken for granted, it is Yuffie's noisiness and flair for the dramatic. Once more he feels the jagged reminder that things changed while he was away and he missed them changing. Open mouth and insert foot, indeed.

He heard all about Yuffie's near-breakdown after her chap died. He didn't know Lea. Nor did he know Reno or Cait Sith, so he can't gauge how much impact their deaths had on her, especially coming so close to the losses of Zack, Cloud and Kairi. Whatever the ratio of one death to another, events during his absence hit the little ninja hard. Merlin only witnessed her diving headfirst into Aerith's recovery, clawing herself back to some semblance of normality. The fallout when she failed to keep her friend safe from the inevitable was devastating enough.

In the three months since Aerith entered the Cetra fugue state, Yuffie has fallen into as deep a despair as Merlin has ever witnessed in all his long years. The only reason she still functions at anything near a normal level is the combined efforts of her friends – also his, now. Merlin has become close with people who, not many years ago, he would have considered beneath the notice of an acclaimed magical practitioner like himself. Now he wonders why he ever entertained such an out-dated opinion when he considers himself 'enlightened'.

And now this. Of all the things he worried Yuffie might do, this is the least expected. His memories of the cheery, sticky-fingered, infuriating girl are hard to mesh with the dismal creature she's become. She refused to leave Aerith's side for weeks until Fenrir broke out of his shack and tried to climb the apartment stairs to reach her. Afterwards she limited herself to Aerith's bedside, exercising that bird, and occasionally visiting Aerith's church. Attempts to prise her away or move Aerith met with screaming fits and uncharacteristic silences, until Merlin wondered whether other things happened during his time at Disney Castle that nobody mentioned – like possession, pod-people or body-snatching.

A thought strikes him. "She abandoned Aerith?"

"She didn't even try to move her, much less take her, if that's what you're asking."

"But they have been inseparable all this time."

"I know." Leon's eyes are shadowed. No matter how hard everyone else works to look after Aerith and help Yuffie, he has worked hardest – not least because he has been balancing it with continued communication between Traverse Town and other cities concerning the Heartless.

Recently things took a turn for the bewildering when new world orphans landed in Traverse Town. Many thought that fears the Heartless will attack again are misplaced if they have gone back to consuming other worlds. Merlin suggested they no longer find this world interesting after the loss of a potential keyblade wielder, but Leon thinks it more likely they see this world as a constantly restocking buffet. For every world they consume, survivors are sent here, and as long as they don't destroy this one, they can come back and scour it at their leisure. Merlin doubts this theory, since Heartless are mindless creatures, motivated almost entirely by instinct. Leon's theory would require them to have developed intelligence beyond anything he's ever seen in them, or else indicate they're somehow being controlled. Yet who could possibly control the Heartless? Not even Ansem could do that.

All thoughts and hypotheses go out of his mind now, however, as he looks at Leon and reads the frustration in his face. Clearly _he_ never expected Yuffie to run away, either.

"Did she leave a note?"

Leon produces a sheet of paper covered with spidery scrawl. Merlin has to peer closely to make out the words. Yuffie's handwriting is appalling. She doesn't bother addressing the letter, just ploughs straight ahead.

_I'm sorry, but there are just too many bad memories here. Can't turn around without remembering some crappy thing or other where I should be remembering happier stuff. Traverse Town doesn't feel like home anymore. I'll come back when I'm not about to explode, or implode, or whatever. _

_Thank you for everything, but please don't follow or worry about me. Take care of Aerith until Cloud comes home. She's convinced he will. I believe her. You should too. _

_I'm so, so sorry. I'm not doing this lightly, but if I stick around I really am going to go insane, and I know that if I try to tell you this in person I'll either lose my nerve or let you convince me to stay. I don't want to resent you again, even if it means you hating me for not saying goodbye. I hated resenting you before and I don't want to go back to that. I'm being a coward, but there it is. Hatred and cowardice _

_I know there are more reasons for me to stay than to go, but I just can't. I really can't. Please try to understand. I'm not sure who I am anymore. It feels like I've spent most of my life trying to run away from something. Or like I was treading water because I was afraid to feel for the bottom in case I got my feet bitten off by sharks or something. Pretty dumb, huh? Not at all like a Great and Fearless Ninja._

_I was looking at Zack and Cloud's stuff – the things Aerith was going through. I realised how they were always so happy because they never pretended anything with each other. They were always honest about who they were, and when they tried not to be they made themselves miserable. I looked back over my own life and I realised that, more often than not, I've been trying to be what I thought I __**should**__ be – what people wanted me to be, or what I thought I had to be to please others, or what I thought I had to be to survive without going gaga. The times I was happiest were when I let up and let myself just be who I __**wanted**__ to be. Lately I haven't been doing that. It feels like I've forgotten how. I'm not sure which parts of my head are really me and which parts are make-believe, and I can't tell the difference with this town closing in around me all the time. _

_I always thought I'd be stronger than this. I thought I'd be more like you, Leon, but apparently I'm all talk. Gift of the gab, right? You always told me I talk too much. I guess you were right. _

_Please don't hate me. And don't get yourself killed while I'm gone, or I'll follow you to the afterlife and beat you up, then drag you back to your body so I can beat you up again. I mean it. Don't be weak like me. Be strong, like you've always been, even when you were being thick-headed and antisocial. Be strong like you were for me when I needed you, and like you were when you thought you were making the right decision by sending me away – even if you were a complete shithead about it, and even though you were W-R-O-N-G. Be who I fell in love with when I still thought I was worth loving back._

_I'm sorry. I just feel like I can't breathe in Traverse Town anymore._

_Yuffie. _

Merlin stares at it for several seconds. "Oh my," he says at last. They're the only two words he can summon. "Oh … my." The note is entirely too personal for him to read. He thrusts it back at Leon, who takes it without altering his expression.

"Not quite what I was thinking when I first read it."

Merlin shuffles his papers for want of something to do. "I, uh …am not sure what to say."

"I don't think there's anything _to_ say. She made herself pretty clear."

"Leon, I … dear boy, are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Leon snorts. His voice is abrasive, like the calluses on his hands after years of blistering, rupturing and blistering again so he can hold his gunblade properly. You could stab Leon's fingertips with a needle and he wouldn't bleed.

Merlin doesn't like what that portends. Leon isn't nearly as insular as before he met Yuffie and her friends. Merlin he has no desire for the boy to go back to the person he was after Rinoa died – cold, unsociable and a little cruel.

"You heard her. She can't breathe here." Leon snorts again, mixing it with a bitter laugh. "That line sure came back to haunt me."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"I wish I didn't."

"Do you want me to track her?" Merlin stands, casting about for the small prism of goblin-mined diamond he uses for scrying. "Is that why you came to see me?"

Leon shakes his head.

"Well, whatever your reason for being here, I'd advise at least a short look to make sure she's not in any danger."

Merlin clears his desk to set up the prism. He isn't fond of scrying, but he's as good at it as any other magic. After the debacle with Cait Sith's crystal ball, he is extra careful to keep himself and his thoughts shielded. In due course the prism throws a rainbow onto the far wall. The colours shift and flow together into images that move like a blurry movie. Eventually they focus into a figure riding a giant yellow bird.

"There," Merlin says triumphantly. Not many magical practitioners could project their clairvoyance for non-practitioners to also see. "She seems safe enough."

"Where is she?" Leon asks.

Merlin concentrates. The image pulls back until Yuffie is a mere speck. The countryside is vast. It isn't until they spot some distant landmarks that they recognise her location as south of Ambleton. She has already travelled quite far.

"It would be simple enough to fetch her in one of Highwind's ships. I'm told they fly quite well within worlds as well as between them."

"No."

"But the girl may not be in her right mind, making such a rash decision and acting upon it without due concern for the consequences -"

"She asked us not to follow her," Leon says firmly. "Didn't order – asked."

"And that makes a difference? Leon, she is alone with Heartless running amuck! Not to mention regular bandits and their ilk."

"She took all her weapons, and she has Fenrir."

"Oh yes, the creature that instigated Kairi's disappearance and Zack's death, and almost got itself killed in the process. Very encouraging, I'm sure."

"Fenrir helped keep her sane so far. He seems to like her."

"Now. I seem to recall a time he would have cheerfully bitten her face off."

"Then we'll keep an eye on her to make sure she's okay, but we're not going after her. She needs time and space. I understand that, so I'm going to respect her request and ask you to respect it as well."

Merlin fixes him with a pointed look. "Am I supposed to notice that you have _asked_ instead of _ordered_ me to do this ridiculous thing?"

Leon stares right back. "I've never been in charge of you, Merlin, not even in Radiant Garden. I'm not about to start giving you orders now. I'm asking you as a friend – mine _and_ Yuffie's."

Merlin's pointed look could make it all the way through steel plating. He closes his eyes with a heavy exhalation. "Very well, but I hope you know what you're doing."

"Thank you."

"Well then, if you didn't come to see me specifically for this, why _did_ you come here? Has someone else run away in the night and left a note pinned to your door?"

"It wasn't on my door. She stuck it to my bathroom mirror with gum."

"With _gum_?"

"With gum."

Somehow, this detail makes Merlin a little more confident in Yuffie's ability to take care of herself, though he couldn't explain why if pressed. Using chewing gum as an adhesive is far more like the Yuffie of old.

"I came over with a message from Chicha," says Leon.

"Oh?"

"Yes. She says your laundry is done. And she bought you some undergarments since you didn't give her any to wash."

Merlin flushes scarlet. Yuffie isn't the only one who has come to depend on the skills of others lately.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	92. The Great Redeemer

.

* * *

**91. The Great Redeemer**

* * *

If you listen closely on a moonlit night, they say you can hear the cry of the Great Redeemer's devil bird.

Her legend has grown over the years, studded all over with embellishments, until nobody is quite sure where the line sits between fact and fiction. Some say she is a spirit sent down to help the unwise, the innocent and the stupid. Some say she is the blended ghost of those dead before their time, come back to wreak revenge on those who would send others down the same path. Some question whether she is even real at all.

They say that if you're troubled by the living shadows, and your heart is pure, she appears from nowhere and strikes them down with a star plucked from the night sky. They say she rides a piece of the wind given flesh. It takes the form of a giant bird that breathes fire and can cleave a man's skull in two. It can morph into a feathered dragon with eyes that pierce your soul to decide whether it's worth saving.

The Great Redeemer is elusive as a strand of straw in a stack of needles. She is the spirit of a tribe of dead warriors. She is a champion chosen by the old gods, sent to the mortal world to save the truly righteous from the Heartless. Children play games pretending to be her, making up stories that cast her as saviour of their village. The elderly talk about old legends that have twisted with new ones in their minds, until they believe the heroes from their childhoods are just the Great Redeemer in a different form. She is ageless. She is powerful. She is unknown. She is intangible. She is … damn frustrating to pin down.

And then there are the stories of how she isn't, actually, undead, the least bit spiritual, or even very honest. Those are the stories that say she's just a normal person who rides around on a mutant chicken, fights injustices wherever she happens to be at the time, and may well run off with your spit-roast if you're not looking. She doesn't seek out battles, but if she's in the area then she's ready to open a can of whoop-ass on the Heartless and save a few villagers into the bargain. Those stories, however, aren't nearly as good around a campfire, so they are in the minority. Why would so many legends have sprung up around someone that boring? Besides, those who say they have _seen_ the Great Redeemer say she is a child with the skills of a hardened warrior, eyes so deep and haunted they don't belong to anyone without centuries of life behind them. There _must_ be something supernatural about her, and they build their stories from there.

Those who don't talk about her at all are the ones who have heard whining about sleeping on the cold ground, have seen a girl travelling alone empty their pantries in an evening, or who are convinced their great saviour stole their best silverware..

People cling to her legend as something to give them hope on long winter nights, when shadows are deep and the wind howls like dying souls. From Wander Harbour to Dawdle City; the desert plains of Stumble Town to the claustrophobic streets of Mosey, everyone wants something to believe in. The Heartless creep into their lives and dreams, so they cling to the biggest stories to drive them out. They know of a few warriors in distant Traverse Town, who organise and train those who ask for help, fight the Heartless as best they can, and constantly look for ways to defeat them for good. Yet the Great Redeemer catches their imagination. A mysterious lone warrior in a rampage against evil? She can be anything they want or need her to be.

Some say if you stand outside your house on a winter's night you can hear her crying for the other Great Redeemers who used to ride with her. Some say she lost her heart an eternity ago and spent centuries working to retrieve it, and to prevent others from suffering the same fate. Others say if you journey west and find a meadow of white flowers, you'll hear the echo of her laugh at the joy of being alive. If you leave tributes of food on lonely hilltops, and they're gone in the morning, it brings good luck. Even a little bit of luck might save their world. A world can survive without people, after all, but people can't survive without a world. At least, not unless they can travel _between_ worlds; but that's impossible.

Right?

* * *

Penelo is glad she was never scared of the dark. It makes it easier to peer into her bedroom at night and convince herself nothing is there. She has been doing it for years before going to sleep, searching the shadows for any hint of yellow eyes. Mostly exhaustion drags her into sleep rather than arguments nothing will steal her heart while she isn't looking.

Mosey City has never been attacked by great numbers of Heartless. The odd clutch that have appeared discovered pretty much everyone in the city knows how to fight dirty. They were mostly drawn to the darkest hearts, but rather than attacking the slums, manifested at City Hall. They were stopped by the Lawmen before they could spread too far, but left a lot of people feeling vindicated about where the true criminals live – or lived, since the council chambers were rather empty afterwards.

In the years following his promotion, Captain Phoebus has transformed the Lawmen from a bunch of jaded layabouts into a real fighting force. It is no wonder people called for him to take charge under martial law when the council were taken. Phoebus refused, fearing a panic if he did something so public and drastic, but had a voice in the selection of a new council. Since then, he has been advising those in authority, liaising between Mosey and other places in the fight against the Heartless. Phoebus is a good judge of character, and he isn't afraid to ask advice from those he trusts. Some were suspicious at the sources for his 'character references', but those he recommended as councillors have been just what Mosey needs to survive. In particular, he has struck up good relations with Leon Leonhart of Traverse Town and Panchito Pistoles of Wander Harbour. Between them they have spearheaded a network of emergency measures to combat the Heartless – or at least give safe haven to survivors of attacks.

How to prevent such attacks has been a major sticking point. Short of forcing people to smile and think happy thoughts all the time, there is no sure-fire way to safeguard against the darkness in people's hearts. Mosey City has always been a cruel, brutal place – perfect for the Heartless. Only luck, tenacity and easier targets have saved them so far, which makes everybody on edge. Each incremental dent the Heartless make in their world's population makes people more nervous.

Which is why, when she hears the latch on her window break, Penelo reaches instinctively under her pillow for her extendable bo-staff. Following her long-ago battle in Traverse Town, she knows she can take out a few Heartless. Phoebus asked _her_ for advice on fighting them, to know whether his men had what it takes not to baulk. He never talked to her like she was just some dressmaker's assistant, but as an equal, and like he also expected her to act that way. She has always been grateful for that; otherwise she may have lost her nerve. As it is, immediately upon her return from Traverse Town she took up her old combat training again, demanding that in exchange for her first-hand experience, she be allowed to practise with the Lawmen cadets to sharpen her rusty skills.

Penelo hates remembering that battle in Traverse Town. It inevitably leads to thoughts of the deaths, and the quicksand of sorrow that followed. That is the only time she has ever thought of Mosey City as a _less _depressing place to be. She was so grateful to be away from there at the time, she almost didn't register Esmeralda's sadness over Cloud Strife.

Penelo cringes to remember now how she turned so selfish afterwards. She walled herself up inside and threw herself back into her life in Mosey City to forget the terrible things she had seen. If she didn't think about them, they couldn't touch her. She isn't a wilting flower – she _was_ part of the Court of Miracles, however briefly, and witnessed some pretty nasty stuff during her tenure. Yet the rawness of Traverse Town was too much. She even convinced herself she preferred Mosey's indifference. An indifferent heart doesn't feel its cuts as much as a sensitive one. If Phoebus hadn't asked her advice and forced her to confront her fears, she may never have faced them.

However, it was Quasimodo who eventually convinced her to go back to Traverse Town.

"You'll regret it if you cut friends out of your life," he advised in that gentle-but-firm way of his. "And can you really say you _never_ want to see them _ever_ again?"

"I have friends here," she protested feebly. "I have Esmeralda and Djali, and Vaan and the other Miracle Courtiers, and Phoebus and the cadets." She caught one of Quasi's huge hands in both of hers. "And you. I have friends. I don't need to … to go back."

"You do have us," Quasi agreed. "And we understand that you're frightened of that place, but if you don't go back and see your friends, you'll regret it."

She flushed scarlet. "But –"

Quasi squashed further comment by squashing her into a hug. He isn't tactile. A lifetime of abuse has left him cautious about touching people, but he wrapped her up in his arms like it was nothing. She felt instantly safe. Quasi is stronger than any man she has ever met, but so gentle she could never worry about him hurting her. She needed a hug, so he gave her a hug: two plus two equals four and a good dose of encouragement right when it was needed.

"You can never have too many friends, especially in times of difficulty. Think carefully before you do something you regret, Penelo. What, exactly, have theydone to make you punish them by staying away?"

"Nothing."

"Exactly."

Yet after psyching herself up for the trip, in the end it brought only the regret Quasi warned her about. Penelo had left it too long. Yuffie suffered yet another loss while she was busy pretending her friend didn't exist, and by the time Penelo got there she was already gone.

"It wasn't your fault," Quasi said when she got home.

"I still feel kind of responsible. I wasn't much of a friend when Yuffie needed one. I wasn't much of a friend to _anyone_. I'm surprised I got such a warm reception." She held up a little parcel tied with string. "Chicha made me some traditional food from her homeworld. She gave me the recipe because she remembered how much I liked it last time I w-was … th-there." She gulped, tearing up. "I'm sorry. I'm b-being a total g-girl …"

"Never apologise for caring." Quasi caught her up in another embrace. She nuzzled his shirt – one of hers, made for his unusual proportions. "That's why you're such a good person – you were born and bred in Mosey City, yet you still care about other people. You're a dying breed."

She made a soft noise, as if his words had sunk like a fist into her stomach – and in that noise was a promise to never again neglect anyof her friends, and to always be worthy of his high regard.

Now she grips the bo-staff tight. At the smallest sound she swings it in a smooth arc, intending to cut off the Heartless's head before it can jump her. She is surprised when she doesn't see any luminous yellow eyes. The intruder flips backwards and melts into the shadows as easily as submerging in murky water – but the voice truly stuns her.

"Yeesh, Penny, is that any way to greet an old friend? One who, I might add with justifiable pissed-off-ness, once saved your half-frozen butt!"

Her mouth falls open. She hasn't heard that voice in over four years. "_Yuffie_?"

* * *

"So what was with the hostile greeting?"

Penelo pours hot water into two mugs. She has made the rooms above Esmeralda's workshop quite homey, and the kitchenette is one of her favourite places. Strung with garlands of flowers that would never be able to grow in Mosey City, she imagines it's what a country cottage kitchen in might look like. "It's three in the morning! I thought you were a Heartless."

"Since when do Heartless unlatch windows?"

Declining to answer, Penelo picks up the mugs and takes them across to the table, where a familiar-yet-different figure waits. Yuffie's grin is as infectious as she remembers, but her eyes are more intense. What is really striking, however, is her face. Penelo can't take her eyes off Yuffie as they drink their hot chocolate, and not just because she hasn't seen her in so long, or because Yuffie hasn't been home to Traverse Town in all this time.

"You look … different," she says at last.

"Uh, no I don't." Yuffie smirks ruefully. "I'm going for the youthful look."

Penelo is no longer a gawky teenager. Yuffie, however, is even bonier than when they last met, and a few inches shorter. In her late teens, Yuffie gained a few curses, but now she has lost even those. A practical bobbed haircut only emphasises how young she looks.

"What happened?" Penelo asks.

Yuffie puts her mug down and turns it around with just one index finger on the handle. "You remember how that time you came to visit, Lea opened Merlin's house and we all went exploring inside?"

"I remember." She is wary of talking about Lea. His death was one of the things that sent Yuffie off at the deep end and reduced her to 'MIA' in everybody's mental rolodex. Since her sitting here is miraculous enough, Penelo is loath to do anything that might scare Yuffie off like a startled emu.

"Do you also remember how he dropped a jar of powder we all thought was one of Merlin's failed experiments, and everyone got covered in it? I kind of hoped it didn't get you too. Judging by your new womanly cleavage – which I'm totally and _completely _jealous of, by the way – I'd say you had a lucky escape." Yuffie leans forward conspiratorially. "Newsflash: the experiment? Not a failure. Just really, _really_ slow to work."

Penelo wracks her brain to recall what the powder was, though Yuffie's appearance clues her in. "Anti-Aging Powder?"

"Yup, give the girl a gold star. Apparently it's not to stop old ladies getting any wrinklier; it actually _de-ages_ your body. Maybe Beardy missed his youth and wanted to reclaim it or something. I'd have asked him, but … y'know. Long time no see, and all that jazz."

"Oh, Yuffie!"

"Yeah. Oh, me!"

"Is it reversible?"

"Are you kidding? When I realised what was happening, I was hundreds of miles away in some two-bit village where sheep outnumbered people. It was a miracle I found a local witch who knew enough – and was _cheap _enough – to stop me turning into a foetus as a twenty-first birthday gift. She couldn't reverse the enchantment, just stop its progress. From what I can figure out, I'm stuck somewhere between sixteen and seventeen until somebody rolls the credits on the feature 'I Was A Teenager Forever', starring Yuffie Kisaragi. I won't get any younger, but I won't get any older either – physically, at least. Inside, I'm actually a jaded old fart. I just won't ever get to the stage where I _smell _like old farts. Yay, me."

Penelo phrases her next question carefully. After all, there has to be a reason why Yuffie has spent four years as a solitary nomad. "Couldn't Merlin fix it? He did make the powder in the first place."

"Possibly." Yuffie takes a hasty swig of hot chocolate.

When Penelo touches her tongue to it she finds it still too scalding to drink except in small sips. "Aren't you going to ask him?"

Yuffie coughs into her fist. Her eyes are watering. "No."

Penelo frowns. Traverse Town is only a day's ride on horseback, and less on a chocobo – or chocstrich. "Don't you have Fenrir anymore?"

"Oh, I've still got the featherbutt. He's stashed on the outskirts of town. I didn't want anyone spotting him and connecting him to this whole Great Redeemer thing. I just wanted a private word with you and not a fanfare. You've heard about that, right? But they totally got my name wrong – it's Great _Ninja_, but whoever did my PR must've thought that had way too many bad vibes to it or 't match the whole 'lone warrior for truth, justice and blackberry pie' thing I've got going on. Honestly, you rescue a few gypsies and one-toothed villagers from Heartless and suddenly they're telling tall tales and writing books about you. Have you seen my new book? Somehow I kind of hoped my first one would be written _by _me, not _about_ me, on account of how much writing you can get done when you're alone under the stars a hundred miles from nowhere."

They descend into a brief exchange about the fabled 'Great Redeemer', stories of which have even made it into sceptical Mosey City. Penelo is surprised. The Yuffie she befriended would have revelled in the attention, good or bad, but the one sitting at her table now just rolls her eyes.

"Actually, being a legend is pretty boring. When there's trouble, nobody takes you seriously when you turn up, because they're all expecting something bigger and better than the real thing. Mostly I've been sticking to the remote regions. I can disguise myself and rest a few nights while Fenrir rests up, and then pick him up and carry on without people trying to pull out hair and feathers for good luck charms."

"He's still not fond of people?"

"Short answer: no. Long answer: hell no. He's a cranky bag of bones who'd sooner peck out your eyes and spit them at you than let you stroke him. The bizarre thing is, when he tries it people are _more_ eager to connect us with those stupid Great Redeemer stories."

Penelo sits back and regards her. Yuffie perches right on the edge of her chair, leaning forward like a little kid allowed to sit at the adults' table. She doesn't look comfortable, but doesn't try to make herself so. "Why do I get the feeling you aren't planning to stay long?"

"Because you're smart and pick up on things PDQ?"

"PDQ?"

"Pretty damn quick. C'mon, Penny, work with me here. I haven't got time to give you a crash course in modern lingo as well."

It's this throwaway line that does it. Penelo breaks out into a warm smile and leans forward too, shoving her untouched mug out of the way. "I missed you. Everybody has."

Yuffie looks down at her fingers, looping them through her mug's handle a few times. "I've been around. You've heard the stories – the Great Redeemer rides on the wind goes where it blows her. That's not too far from the truth. I don't tend to do the whole Grand Plan thing; I just pick a direction and start riding."

"But _why_? Leon told me you went to … to find yourself, I guess, but I still don't understand why you never contacted your friends. Maybe I could understand not wanting to go home, but … it's been four years,Yuffie. Four_ years_."

"You think I don't know that?" The sharp note in Yuffie's voice is new. "You think I don't exactly how long it's been?"

"So why?"

"Why haven't I been home, or why am I here now?" Her eyes flash at Penelo's expression. "Yeah, I thought that might've crossed your mind."

"Well now that you mention it, it is odd that you've come to see _me_ when everyone is waiting for you in Traverse Town. Why me and not them?"

"Because …" The fire in Yuffie's eyes dies. "Because I'm not ready to face them yet."

"Excuse me?"

"I ran away." Yuffie licks her lips, and not to catch any stray chocolate. "I ran away and left them all to it, Penny. You can try and dress it up that I was in the middle of a nervous breakdown, or 'trying to find myself', or whatever, but the bottom line is that I ran away just when things were getting really bad. You know how difficult it is to go back someplace you've run away from? Or to face people you abandoned? And it just gets harder the longer you're gone, which makes you want to go back and face the music even less, which makes it even _harder_. Don't get me wrong, I'd love nothing more than to march into Traverse Town and yell hello, but I can't pretend the last four years didn't happen."

"They'd welcome you back in a heartbeat."

"They told you that?"

"Yes, actually."

That visibly stuns her.

Penelo carries on quickly. "I suspect they thought I might meet you again, and they wanted to make sure you got the message if I did. They tell anyone who asks about you, just in case. They want you to come home, Yuffie. They don't care how long it's been, they just want you to come home."

"_I_ care how long it's been. I've been keeping an ear to the ground, so I know nobody else died or went insane or fell into a coma while I've been away. If something bad happened I would've been there like a shot, but I can't go back like this. Not yet."

"Like what? You're not going home until you've cured this permanent-teenager enchantment?" Something important occurs to Penelo. "You're not the only one who got covered in that powder, Yuffie. It's likely Merlin already has a cure. Remember, you weren't the only one in that house, there was Leon and Tifa and -" She stops, choking on the last name.

Yuffie's smile shows teeth, but it isn't aggressive or resentful. Rather, it's resigned, overlaid with a cheerfulness that went out of her four years ago, which she has recaptured on her travels. It's a tiny indication that even if she belittles her time away, Yuffie has found at least part of herself on the road. "And Lea. You can say his name, you know. Like you said, it's been four years. I'm a lot more in control of myself than I used to be. I promise not to burst into tears or smash up your crockery. I'll save that for if you call me short."

"Good, because I only have one set."

Yuffie blinks. Then she throws back her head and laughs.

Penelo allows herself a small smile. "So … what? Do you plan to wait until you've got the biggest vacation present in the world to make them forgive you?" She laughs, but stops when Yuffie looks down again. "I was kidding."

"You asked why I came to you, Penny. The answer is that I need you to do something for me."

A sliver of resentment winds through Penelo. She frowns. So Yuffie didn't actually _want_ to see her, she just needs a favour. After four years of elevating their friendship in her mind, this is a smack in the mouth. Maybe it never meant as much to Yuffie as it has come to mean to her. Although maybe this is actually fate giving her another chance to be there for her friend, and make up for how she _wasn't_ there when Yuffie needed her before.

"Hey, wipe off the frowny face," Yuffie says with a chuckle. "Gods, Penny, you're like an open book – you think that's the _only_ reason I came here? I also came to see _you_, and to do this." Quick as a flash, she is on Penelo's side of the table and digging her fingers under her friend's arms, making her giggle and flail ineffectually. "I said I was keeping my ear to the ground, remember? I _knew_ you were sweet on Quasimodo. I needed to come and say 'I told you so'!"

Penelo's cheeks burn. "He wanted to help so much against the Heartless. He couldn't stay in hiding anymore when he knew he could help …"

"Yeah, I heard about how he rescued Captain Phoebus from the river. Who knew there were crocodile Heartless? I think everybody south of Wander Harbour heard about _that_. It's not often the People's Hero calls someone else _his_ hero."

"That was the biggest attack Mosey's had," Penelo says, still blushing, but proud.

"Luck-meisters!"

"People didn't react as badly to Quasi's appearance as he thought they would. I think that, after all the people from other worlds moving away from Traverse Town, nothing much surprises people anymore. When you've seen a talking rabbit wearing pants, or a plant shaped like an anthropomorphic duck with purple hair, your threshold for the strange and wonderful gets a lot higher."

Yuffie grins.

Softened, Penelo says, "Don't think you're getting around me just by flattering my boyfriend -"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"What's this favour you need from me?"

Yuffie shoves aside her hot chocolate as well, all business. "I'm going on a trip."

"Another one?"

"Yes, another one, but this one isn't my usual style. I'm not just picking any old direction; I have a specific one in mind. It's a … well, darn tootin', I guess you could say it's a quest."

"I don't think I like the sound of this."

"Then you'll probably hate this next bit. I'm going to find the Sorceress."

Penelo blinks at her. She hears the capital letter at the beginning of the name, and her mind clicks back to sitting on her mother's knee reading a book with brightly coloured pictures. "Yuffie," she says slowly, "the Sorceress is a character from a fairytale."

"I thought you'd say that, but I think she's real."

Penelo shakes her head. Everybody knows about the Sorceress, a bogeyman character used to drive naughty children into bed at night. 'If you don't do as Mummy tells you, the Sorceress will come and eat up all your fingers, and use your toes as ingredients in her evil spells'. She's just a fantasy cooked up hundreds of years ago, which has become a part of common culture, like tossing salt over your shoulder, or not crossing knives when setting the table. "You're not from this world, so maybe she sounds more plausible to you, but I grew up listening to that fairytale."

"Then you know all about her time magic."

"It's just a story."

"Sometimes stories have a bit of truth in them. I've been writing while I've been travelling, and it's a fantasy story, but it has some truth in it. Every story has to come from somewhere."

"She's not real! You might as well say that … that the princess and the seven dwarves are real! Or the one who went to sleep for a hundred years when she pricked her finger on a spinning wheel. Or the Canary Prince! Or the three men in a tub!"

"Says you and everyone except the old witch who stopped me de-aging. She had proof the Sorceress exists. Or rather, she _is _proof."

Penelo stops. "Some old biddy showed you proof?"

"Uh-huh. On her wall. She had a genuine decree written by the Sorceress asking for tributes of young virgin girls every century so she wouldn't destroy their villages."

"That could've come from anywhere –"

"It was signed and everything."

"That doesn't make it real. That makes that witch an old crock – or extremely gullible if she paid good money for a worthless piece of paper."

Yuffie raises an eyebrow, not at all abashed by Penelo's scepticism. "I might've said the same thing, if the witch hadn't also told me _she_ was the last tribute sent to the Sorceress."

"What?"

"It's true. She showed me the tattoo on her ankle that marked her as a tribute, and the scars where she was chained to the mast and sent out across the ocean to the Sorceress's kingdom. Or sorceresssdom. Or whatever. The point is _she_ was the last one sent there. It used to be they'd tie sacrifices to an empty boat, and then the Sorceress would use her magic to make sure they got to her safely."

"I remember that part of the story – and then she used them as part of her sorcery."

"Well, depending on who you talk to. The woman who helped me never told anyone she was a witch when they picked her as their next sacrifice. When she arrived, she used her own magic to escape and came home."

"Right back to the people who sent her there. Very likely." Penelo narrows her eyes. She remembers the fairytale, though this part only dimly. In the version of her childhood it was because the last maiden was so pure and good that the Sorceress's evil was defeated. Nobody ever mentioned she had magic of her own. "She stole something to show her people before she left," she says thoughtfully, recalling her mother's voice at long ago bedtimes.

"Well, yeah, but not just for that. She stole the Sorceress's magic headdress because it was how she channelled her power to make herself all super-duper powerful and junk. Without it, the Big Evil was just a battery with no outlet. Nobody's ever heard from the Sorceress since, have they? The old witch reckons that because she didn't have a sacrifice, her powers faded away, which is why people stopped hearing about her and started thinking she was just a myth. The witch knew different, though. She went into hiding and never married because she was always afraid someone would try to kill her for having the headdress. I only found her by accident. I think I was her only visitor in years who doesn't have wool and say 'baaa'."

"She thought they'd _kill _her?"

"She couldn't take it off, you see. If people knew that, and that she's a witch, they might think she's another Sorceress waiting to happen. Fairytales never tell the whole story post-happily-ever-after. She's been in hiding from the day she turned fifteen. She's two-hundred and twenty-seven now." Yuffie's face is so alight with glee that Penelo feels like her face could actually tan in its glow. "It's possible the Sorceress could still be alive too. Maybe she is, maybe not, but I'm going to find out."

"But … why?"

"Because if she _is_, then I'm going to use my wicked ninja skills and steal her magic."

"Excuse me?"

"Her time magic." Yuffie's smile turns into a proper grin. "The headdress was no use. It was just a tool. It's the Sorceress's actual magic I want. I'm going to use it to rewind time and stop all that shit four years from ever happening."

Penelo's jaw drops. The conviction in Yuffie's tone is such that for a second she actually believes she'll do it – until common sense takes hold. She shakes her head to clear her thoughts. "Yuffie, you're my friend and I've missed you, but that's the biggest load of hogwash I've ever heard in my _life_."

"As big a load of hogwash as, say, shadow monsters that steal hearts? Or living darkness that eats entire worlds? Or backlash from magic spells that can change reality by accident? Not so long ago you would've called all that impossible too."

Penelo can't argue with this.

"What makes _this_ load of hogwash any different? The proof I saw was really convincing, and the pieces fit together too well for it not to have some truth to it. At the very least, I've got to try."

"But … you can't!"

"Why not?"

"You have to go home."

"Not until I've tried this."

"You don't have to run around chasing fairytales so they'll be glad to see you again. You don't have to redeem yourself for having a breakdown!"

Yuffie pauses, hands frozen in an expansive gesture, like Penelo has uttered a keyword in a Musical Statues spell. "Penny, I could stop it. I could stop it all. I could keep Kairi from going out on Fenrir, so Zack didn't die, and Cloud didn't go insane, and Aerith didn't go into the Cetra fugue state. I could stop Cait Sith from scrying with his crystal ball and letting the Heartless in. I could save Reno." She swallows hard. "I could save Lea."

Penelo doesn't know what to say.

"Or I could go further back. I could stop Sephiroth from giving part of Jenova's heart to Cloud in the first place. Or even further still – I could go back to the beginning and kill the first Heartless before they multiply. I could save my clan – no Heartless means no massacre. The Wutai Clan would survive. I could get my family back, Penny."

Penelo's mouth is working on its own again. "But if you did that you'd never have met Zack and Cloud and Aerith and everyone. You'd never have met Lea, or," she adds, thinking of a scarred face and a tight jaw when he told her Yuffie was gone, "Leon."

If Yuffie was frozen before, now Ice Ages skip past her at breakneck speed, as she considers what her life would be like had she stayed with a Wutai Clan instead of her friends. Penelo watches thoughts drift across her face, as she undoubtedly remembers who she used to be when she just wanted to please her father above all things – who she _would've_ been if she'd never met the people who now mean the most to her. Penelo could never imagine having to choose between her family and her lover. Could she really exchange her life now, her love for Quasi, her friendship with Esmeralda and Phoebus, for the chance to stop her parents' deaths?

She can't answer that. She's not sure whether Yuffie can either. Clearly, in her eagerness at discovering the truth behind the story of the Sorceress, Yuffie never contemplated all the ramifications of what changing the past could do. Not that she _could_ change the past. That's impossible.

Right?

Penelo finds herself caught by the tempting idea Yuffie's laid out: _A world without Heartless…_

Slowly, Yuffie lowers her hands. "I could still make it so four years ago never happened. Or happened differently, at least. I could get them back, Penny. I could get back everyone who died when the Heartless attacked Traverse Town."

"Even if it is possible – and I'm not saying it is – how could you do that?"

"By going back and stopping Cait Sith – I could smash his crystal ball or something. Or maybe I could shove Reno out of the way so the Heartless don't get him. That'd save Lea as well. Or I could … I don't know. _Something_. I'd have to wing it, but I'd do something. I'd make things right."

"Yuffie, you realise this sounds like the ravings of a madwoman, right? You're basing a lot of this plan on the word of one person." Penelo knows Yuffie isn't actually as young as she looks, but she still finds herself lowering her voice, as if trying to introduce a child to an unappetising bit of logic – carrots are good for you, you need your sleep, skirts shouldn't show off your buttocks when you walk, and there's no such thing as a Sorceress with time magic.

"It only takes one person to change fate," Yuffie replies. "And _that _is no fairytale."

"You've already made up your mind, haven't you?"

"Yup."

"Is there anything I can say to persuade you not to do this?"

"Do you want the long answer or the short one?"

"You're different. You've changed."

"I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that it's called growing up. You'd think being stuck in a teenage body would excuse me from such a terrible disease, wouldn't you? But no, we Great Redeemers don't get a free pass on that one, either."

Penelo wants to say, 'No, it's more than that,' or to point out that Yuffie grew up a long time ago, too fast for her to cope with, but Yuffie has already risen from her seat. "You still haven't told me what you want me to do," she says instead.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not to me. All this," Penelo gestures, "is nowhere near what I was expecting when I turned the light off and tried to get some shut-eye tonight."

"I'm good at challenging people's expectations. That's one part of me I _know_ is really me. I want you to tell Leon and the others what I went to do if I don't come back."

Penelo's jaw falls open so hard she's surprised it doesn't dislocate. "You can't ask me to do that!"

"I know it's not fair, but frankly … well, you're the only one outside Traverse Town I trust to do it and not give me away before I'm ready. This is something I want to do alone."

"I already told you, you don't need to atone for anything –"

Yuffie holds up a hand. "Cut the crap, Penny. I'll lay it out straight for you: I'm going. You can't stop me, and after tonight, I don't think you'll try." She fixes her with a penetrating look, which Penelo returns, not letting any emotion into her face. "Maybe I'm wrong about the Sorceress, but if there's the slightest chance I'm right, I'm going to take it. It involves crossing the ocean, and I know you're going to tell me the Land Across the Sea is uncharted, but that's the way the cookie crumbles. I guessed when I found out it's just called the Land Across the Sea that nobody from this continent has ever been there unless they're destined to be Sorceress chow."

"They've been there," Penelo says quietly. "They just came back real quick and said it's too inhospitable to colonise. It's not like we don't have enough land on this side already, so there's no need for anyone to go there."

"Which probably served the Sorceress well until this side stopped sending her tributes and her powers dried up. If the witch I met is so old after living on mushrooms, nuts, berries and sheep milk for two centuries, it's possible the Sorceress is still alive too. The fact she hasn't attacked this side of the ocean like she threatened makes me think her powers aren't what they used to be, so maybe a ninja princess like me can use her wicked skills to pilfer enough magic to save a few lives."

Penelo's stomach gurgles with a mixture of surprise, alarm, unease and yearning for her friend to abandon this mad idea and just go home to the people who are waiting for her. She used to love wondering what crazy thing Yuffie would do next – it was an adventure just hanging out with her, like rolling many-sided dice and getting a different combination of numbers, letters, colours and symbols every single time. This time, however, Yuffie has gone too far. Four years of no contact with her friends, and then _this_?

Yet she can see without needing to try that any attempt to dissuade her would be useless. Yuffie is too fixed on this dream. If she's being honest, Penelo knows that if she were in the same position, she probably would be too. Yuffie has seen a great many wonderful and impossible things made reality – probably even more than Penelo knows about if she's spent four years touring this world and all its wonders. To Yuffie, anything is possible.

And wouldn't it be wonderful if it _is_ true?

Penelo remembers the pain and anguish of four years ago. Could she really leave things as they are if there's even a chance of changing those tragic events? No, she couldn't. She draws a deep breath and holds out her hand. Yuffie stares at it for a moment, then smiles broadly and slaps her own hand into it. Penelo holds it tight, laying her other hand over it instead of shaking it up and down.

"You have to promise me something," she says urgently. "If I do this for you, you have to promise me you'll go straight home if there's no Sorceress."

Yuffie doesn't even hesitate. She raises her shoulders like it's no skin off her nose. "All right, I promise."

"Yuffie!"

"What? _What_?"

"You have to sound like you mean it."

"You expect me to get down on one knee and recite a poem about it or something? I promise: if I'm wrong, I go back to Traverse Town. If I'm _right_ … well, we'll see." She winks, obviously trying to make Penelo feel better.

"Can I at least tell Quasi and Esmeralda? I'm a terrible liar, and they're bound to ask why I'm acting like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs when they talk about you."

"They talk about me?"

"Sometimes. Traverse Town isn't nearly as insular as it used to be. People talk."

"About _me_?"

"They miss you, so they talk about you."

Yuffie averts her eyes, frees her hand and crosses hurriedly to the window. "I'd better get going. Thanks for the hot chocolate and … everything. I enjoyed the chat. You make a better conversationalist that the featherbutt."

"Yuffie, wait." Penelo holds out a hand.

Yuffie looks back. "Yeah?" She seems to be waiting for something; some extra information on the coattails of this news that the people she left behind in Traverse Town talk about her.

Penelo doesn't know what, exactly, she wants to hear. There hasn't been time to establish how much Yuffie's feelings have changed over the years. She seems much more comfortable with herself now – though her desire to stop the deaths of Lea, Reno, Cait Sith and Zack indicate she's not quite moved on from her life as it was. However, there hasn't been time to make certain of how she feels _now_, so Penelo can only gaze at her and grope blindly for parting words that would have the same impact on this Yuffie as they would have on the Yuffie she used to know.

"Don't die," she says in the end.

"I didn't plan to."

"No, really. There are … people who'd be really sad … I mean, they'd miss you. More than when you've just been away. So you have to come back. Alive. To see them. Okay? So just … don't die. Stay alive. For them."

Yuffie blinks at her, expression inscrutable. Then she flourishes a sloppy salute that'd have the cadets' training sergeant yelling at the top of his formidable lungs. "I'll keep that in mind. See you on the flip side, Penny. Hopefully the next time I see you, you won't remember this conversation." Then she throws up the sash, swings her legs over the sill and slides out of the window.

Penelo flies across the room. They're two storeys up, but outside is peopled with shadows. She remembers belatedly about Yuffie's special ninja ability to blend into shadows. She can't see any tell-tale figure running away down the street, but stays for a long time anyway, watching Mosey City at night. It's darker in this part of the city than in the centre – some might say more sinister, but to Penelo right now it seems like the shadows are velvety instead of cold.

She wants to believe everything can be fixed the way Yuffie believes it can be fixed, but wanting to believe and actually believing are two very different things.

"You could," she says to the empty air, "have just used the door like a normal person."

And maybe she's just imagining it, but she thinks she hears a mischievous giggle float back to her on the cool night breeze.

* * *

An object lands in front of Merlin without preamble or greeting.

"Hello, Leon."

"It stopped working."

He glances at what has suddenly come between him and Nomura's Theory of Darkness and Light, a formidable book Mickey lent him when he visited Disney Castle last week. It is a Locator Map, one of several he designed and created during his self-imposed exile with the help of his (admittedly reluctant, since he didn't feel he _needed_ any further tuition at that time) student, Donald Duck.

Donald's temper and speech impediment still worry Merlin. One of these days he is sure he'll visit Mickey and discover the court wizard has blown his own beak off with a lisped incantation. Still Donald is a talented lad with a lot of imagination and the ability to think on his feet.

The Locator Map is one encoded for this world. Everything that has ever appeared on a map here has been recorded on it, changing it from a blank piece of paper into an accurate representation of land masses, culminating in a coastline across the top edge. The purpose of these maps is to each keep track of one person, who appears as a brightly coloured dot. The colour of the dot indicates emotional state – Donald's inspired contribution – and moves around in tandem with the person's actual movement in real life. Each map can be used by anyone, magic-user or not. It's a lot easier than constantly scrying, as long as you have a few strands of hair from the subject you wish to track.

"Impossible," Merlin says in response to Leon's statement. He lays a hand over the parchment and feels the enchantment thrumming through it like a tiny heartbeat. "It's in perfect working order."

"I'm telling you, it's not working anymore," Leon maintains.

"What makes you say that?"

"Just look at the damn thing."

Something in his voice makes Merlin put aside his desire to get back to reading and pick up the map. He frowns slightly, eyes darting about. He realises with alarm what Leon is getting at. "Oh dear."

Behind him, Leon folds his arms. It's not in victory or triumph; more like he wants Merlin to tell him it's a glitch, like a broken landing strut on one of Cid's Gummi Ships, and is protecting himself against the chance this might not be the answer he gets. "Yuffie's dot disappeared."

"I'm certain there's a rational explanation." Merlin keeps his voice level, though he knows of only two ways a Locator Map could stop tracking a target: if the target has died, or if it has gone somewhere the map doesn't know about. If the former, the dot would first turn black and then slowly fade away, so that the body could be marked with a regular pen and fetched. "When did you discover her dot missing?"

"Half an hour ago."

"And when was the last time you checked it?"

"About four this morning."

Another sleepless night. Merlin declines to comment, though he knows they do the boy no good. Chicha would probably have something to say about, but right now Merlin has more on his mind than Leon's sleep patterns. It is seven o'clock, which means Yuffie's dot vanished sometime in the last three hours. Since it takes six hours for a black dot to fade, that means she isn't dead. Breathing a sigh of relief, he explains this to Leon and is gratified to see some tension leave him too.

"So what _does_ it mean?"

When Merlin went to Disney Castle specifically to ask Donald for the Locator Maps, he did so with Leon in mind. Maybe it's a case of absence makes the heart grow fonder, or maybe it's something else, but he was getting no work done with the boy coming to see him every day to ask him to scry for her. 'Just to make sure she's safe' was his excuse, and he used it again when he pinned the gifted Locator Map to his wall so he could check it every day before leaving his apartment. It seems to give him comfort, knowing where she is, if not what she's up to. Merlin has even seen him smiling on rare occasions when Yuffie's dot turns pink with happiness, or violet with excitement over some new adventure in distant places. Leon doesn't seem to resent her being away as long as she doesn't turn pale blue with unhappiness, or, worse, sickly yellow from pain or illness. Watching her emotional state change and improve over the last four years has kept him buoyant during his own difficulties. It's not easy being the one so many look up to as some sort of all-knowing knight in shining armour.

"It means," Merlin says with a sigh, "that she has ventured somewhere unexplored. Or that she is no longer on this world," he adds, the thought suddenly occurring to him. "If the latter, I'd have to use one of the remaining Locator Maps and give it to Cid so he can show it the charts on his systems, as he did with Tifa's Map."

Tifa's map is undoubtedly the most complex of them all, since it not only shows land masses, but charts entire worlds across the huge vastness of space and dimensions. A year after she first set out in the Highwind, Tifa finally got a signal through to Cid's computers to tell everyone she was okay.

"Two days out and a meteor took out my transmitter," she explained of her previous radio silence. "It's taken me this long to find a world with the technological know-how to fix the slagging thing."

"Slagging?" Cid replied, bemused.

"Sorry. Slang from one of the worlds we spent the longest time on. I caught up with Cloud there. He … wasn't pleased to see me, but I'll keep on keeping on. He can't get rid of me that easily."

To this day she still follows Cloud, who in turn still follows Sephiroth, with no sign of the pursuit ending soon. Cloud continues to resist the demon heart inside him, and Sephiroth refuses to face him while he isn't 'strong enough' to be a 'true challenge'. It is a vicious cycle. Merlin can only hope it ends soon, and ends well. Tifa also sent through all the charts she has been making as she follows Cloud from world to world, many previously undiscovered, allowing Merlin to imbue a Locator Map for Cid to keep track of her.

It was while on one of these new worlds that she met with Yen Sid, the most powerful and reclusive wizard Merlin has ever known, and one of the few other people to invent a means of travelling between worlds beside Gummi Ships. He halted the progress of the enchantment de-aging Tifa as though smashing a piece of sugar glass. It was this news that prompted Merlin to realise his own incompetence and stop the magic de-aging Leon. Though he is now trapped in the body of his twenty-five year old self, however, Leon actually seems pleased, and refuses to let Merlin finish the counter-spell and start the aging process again. Likewise Tifa, aware that Cloud hasn't aged a day since he started his quest, and that he could go on questing for many years, also elected to stay twenty-one so she can keep her promise and help him as and when he needs her.

"I never tested that powder!" Merlin protested when he heard. "It was a flight of fancy I shelved almost as soon as I created it. The long-term effects are completely unknown. You could wake up one day to find all your lost years suddenly caught up with you at once!"

But neither Tifa nor Leon were interested in changing their minds. Eventually Merlin had to accept their decisions, as he has accepted a lot of things since coming home to Traverse Town.

Home. How odd that he now thinks of this tiny place as home, when he has experienced luxury like Disney Castle and Radiant Garden.

Leon peers over Merlin's shoulder at Yuffie's horribly empty Locator Map. "Do it," he says. "Do whatever it takes. I want to know where she is."

"I'll do my best, dear boy, but it may take some time, and it will require some more of her hair. You found the last sample from a hairbrush she left behind, as I recall? Is there enough left for a second map?"

"I don't know," Leon replies honestly. "Nothing's been touched in that apartment since we moved Aerith into Chicha's spare room. Well, apart from when it's cleaned, of course. You know what Chicha's like about dust."

"Indeed." Where Leon spars when stressed, Chicha cleans or cooks, and woe betide anyone who gets between her and her duster or her mixing bowl when she's in a temper. "Perhaps it would be prudent to ask her first."

"And if Yuffie isn't off-world?"

"Then," Merlin says with a sigh, "she is most likely in some unexplored region of _this_ world."

"Can you scry for her?"

"I can try."

"Do it."

"I assume you mean now."

Leon doesn't reply.

Merlin wordlessly brings out his scrying prism. However, despite his best efforts, he can get no bead on Yuffie. He tries scrying for that chocobo she has been travelling with, but the same thing happens. All he can fix upon is the white noise of the astral plain, as though he is being blocked – or Yuffie is being shielded from simple clairvoyance.

"Which could be caused by any number of things," he says after his fifth failed attempt. His temples pulse painfully and his eyeballs feel like half-sucked boiled sweets. "I shall have to attempt it again with other scrying tools, though I have none so accurate as this. More powerful, but not as accurate."

"Can you do it now?"

"If you would not mind scrubbing my exploded brain matter from the walls, certainly."

Leon grunts. "If Aerith was awake, this wouldn't be a problem. You could be ready to go inside two minutes."

Merlin sighs and pats Leon's shoulder in a vaguely paternal manner. It never gets any easier talking about poor Aerith. "The fugue state does not last forever. She will awaken soon enough."

Leon just grunts again, pulling away with an expression Merlin recognises as self-recrimination. Inwardly he rolls his eyes. Trying to tell Leon he's not responsible for every little thing is like trying to catch fish with a net made of wet toilet paper. Wincing at his throbbing head, Merlin resolves to look for the spare Locator Maps, while Leon promises to call in at Dr. Sweet's for something to cure magically-induced headaches.

They part, each feeling unsatisfied about what to do next, and nursing their own private worries about this turn of events.

_Yuffie_, Merlin thinks, clearing away his books to make room on his desk, and picking up her Map, _do you even realise how much heartache you put that boy through? He adores you, despite your absence, and yet you maintain your distance. Such devotion is rare, yet you seem determined to squander it._ He exhales heavily, shaking his grizzled head. _Though I suppose he did no less to you. Honestly, young people have no idea how lucky they are, wasting chances and making a pig's ear of their lives, then complaining to their elders when we could have told them all along the route to true contentment. _

The front door bangs shut behind Leon, off once more to preserve the peace and safety of his town.

_But then, I suppose that's what youth is for – making mistakes and learning from them instead of listening to boring stories of how old codgers made the same mistakes before you. _

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"_When you've seen a talking rabbit wearing pants, or a plant shaped like an anthropomorphic duck with purple hair, your threshold for the strange and wonderful gets a lot higher."_

- Brer Rabbit, of the film _Song of the South_, and Bushroot, of the TV series _Darkwing Duck_.

… _like tossing salt over your shoulder, or not crossing knives when setting the table._

- Superstition dictates that the salt is to go in the Devil's Evil Eye, and crossing knives means you will have an argument soon.

_He glances at what has suddenly come between him and Nomura's Theory of Darkness and Light._

- Side-fling to Nomura Tetsuya, character designer for Square Enix and all-around big noise when it comes to _Kingdom Hearts_ and _Final Fantasy_.

"_It's taken me this long to find a world with the technological know-how to fix the slagging thing."_

- Treasure Planet's favourite swear-word. Guess where Tifa went?

* * *

.


	93. Defenders of the Night

**A/N****:** It has finally happened. I have finished cutting together the last chapters. Yes, dear readers, the end is in sight and it is now the final furlong for this fic. For that reason, I am running a fanwork contest based on _The Sky and the Dawn and the Sun_, details of which can be found at obabscribbler (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) 575481 (dot) html. I will also be releasing an online soundtrack to this fic, and will use the winning art from the contest as the front cover. Please enter! There are prizes and everything.

* * *

**92. Defenders of the Night**

* * *

It's said that only time and patience can turn a raw wound into a tolerable scar.

Scars bring a fresh kind of pain – the pain of embarrassment, of other people seeing that you are imperfect. Other people seeing how you have been marked by some past tragedy; drawing their own conclusions and judging you for them, is a special kind of painful. People cover up their scars, even when they have no reason or the scars weren't even their fault. They learn to live with the knowledge that they have been branded. Their pasts may not be able to hurt them anymore, but they can never forget them either. It is difficult for them to interact with people whose skin is still perfect. They feel different, set apart, sometimes even dirty. They talk and walk and breathe and live, but those with and those without scars remain unable to understand each other on some deeper level. They translate each other's meanings, but each side always seems to hear less than what is said.

Unscarred people try hard, but they belong to a world slightly out of synch. They don't know what it's like to stand in a crowd and feel your skin burning old patterns under your clothes. They don't know what it's like to want to claw yourself open to let the pain out. Likewise, those obsessed with their own scars can't grasp the freedom of looking outward, at the sky and the road ahead, instead of inward at the shortcomings of their own bodies.

Those with the deepest scars feel like they can be themselves only when they find others willing to show _their_ scars. That way they know they are all equals and that there is no reason to be embarrassed. Only then can they focus on other things, and finally raise their eyes to the sky. The unscarred can try as much as they want, but a lifetime of their attention can't compare with a single glance from someone whose scars match your own.

"_Time is a river, a river, a river; _

_Time is a giver, a taker as well._

_Time is a river, a river, a river; _

_So won't you come sit here beside me a spell?"_

* * *

All things considered, there are times Leon wishes he had stayed in a giant ice-cube forever.

Like now, for instance. The last streaks of sunset paint the street in shades of nausea. Darkness rolls across the sky and through the streets of Traverse Town, studded with luminous yellow eyes. Leon stands against them all, grimly determined as an asbestos moth and totally alone.

For once it isn't his fault. He isn't trying to be macho or self-sacrificing. He isn't even on patrol. He was on his way home to get some well-deserved sleep and happened to be in the wrong place at the right time when a fresh Heartless portal ripped open.

He grips his gunblade in both hands and tries to count heads, but quickly gives up. The days you had time to count the ten or fewer Heartless coming towards you are long gone. Lately you have time to think _Oh shit, Heartless!_ before you're in the thick of them, fighting for your life and the lives of everyone behind you.

He should have known better than to get so close to Third District. They divided the town into three distinct chunks when their fighting forces increased to cope with putting patrols in each. It used to be that a few seasoned warriors could protect everywhere at once. Those days are even longer gone. Today even the patrols are stretched thin. First District and Second District aren't so bad, despite the recent rise in Heartless activity, but Third District is almost totally lost. Nobody lives there anymore. Every day it feels like more and more ground of the safe areas at the edge of First and Second have also been eaten into.

Perhaps that is why Leon feels constantly compelled to get too close to the unmarked border between 'his' town and the Heartless' territory. He is Captain Leonhart to his core, though he hates it when people use his formal title, even as a nickname. The sense of responsibility that earned him the position is still there and working overtime.

He meets the onrush of new black bodies like a lamb to the slaughter – except that lambs are born with some vestigial trace of survival instinct, enough to at least _try_ to run away from danger, which puts them ahead of Leon in the hierarchy of evolution. He holds the gunblade in a practised grip, keeping his wrists and elbows loose enough to allow maximum movement, but not so loose it can be torn from his hands. Gunblades are heavier than most swords and lot more unwieldy; their centre of balance is skewed by the way the weight lists to one side, and the uneven counterweight of the barrel, made even worse when fully laden with abnormally heavy enchanted shells. Wielding an empty gunblade is very different than trying to wield a loaded one. Wielding a damaged, much-repaired and magically-refurbished one like his should be impossible.

As a cadet in Radiant Garden, his request to specialise in gunblades made his commanding officer laugh.

"The last gunblader was fifty years ago, boy. Take up the crossbow if you really want to shoot things, but don't waste my time trying to convince me to train you in out-dated weaponry."

Squall, as he was then, was persistent. He found a swordsmith willing to repair the old gunblade he had discovered at the back of the armoury, practised at night until he could use his sword techniques with the trickier weapon, and presented his case to his commander again. This time another officer overheard and suggested that Squall's tenacity should at least earn him the right to make his case as all such cases are made – in combat.

"Oh, all right," said his commander. "At least it should be entertaining to watch."

Squall was set against an older, more experienced sword-specialist cadet. Nobody thought he would make it past sixty seconds. Instead, he wiped the floor with the other boy. Nobody clapped harder, or cheered louder, than Commander Braig, the officer who had suggested Squall be allowed the chance to prove himself.

Suitably impressed, Squall's commanding officer grudgingly granted him the right to specialise. Squall used the fact nobody thought he would succeed to blaze a path through the ranks. The word 'prodigy' was bandied more than once. He blew through the competition and got himself a post as a bodyguard in Lord Ansem's personal entourage before he was technically even old enough to vote. Everything culminated in his decoration as the youngest ever Captain of the Royal Guard at the tender age of eighteen. Nobody ever questioned his aptitude again.

He has come a long way since those days, most of which he can only vaguely remember, and some of which he has forgotten altogether. He cuts down three Heartless in a single swipe, as though the blade is an extension of his arm. In that instant his brain flashes to when he was twelve and first held this gunblade, rusted and ignored, flaking and forgotten. The memory is intense but brief, as they always are.

Three more Heartless rise. Noting there are even more to his left, he performs a series of complicated steps while flicking the gunblade from side to side. Heartless pause as if in confusion, before exploding into dust before they can figure out what he's done to them. He has been doing this for so long he knows exactly how to deal with a bunch of Shadows, as they have taken to categorising this type of Heartless. Or so he thinks. It only takes one well-placed crack to collapse a wall.

Leon is a talented and dedicated warrior, but he is also tired. Not just the bone-weariness of someone in a war their back-brain insists they can't win, but also the basic tiredness of long hours and stress. He pushes himself too hard. Everybody says so. They are right, but it is what he has always done. Very few people have ever been able to make him relax. Unfortunately, that doesn't make the effects of overwork any easier.

There are more Heartless than he realised. After the initial rush of adrenaline, his body protests. His muscles start to ache. They haven't healed properly from his last fight. When he brings up his gunblade, his biceps yelp. When he kicks out, his thigh and calf object. His breathing shortens and his heart slams against his ribcage. He is only human; a talented and tactical genius, but still only human. When a Shadow materialises beneath him and tries to rise _into_ his body, he instinctively leaps away, only to slam into another with its arms outstretched. He twists his gunblade at an awkward angle, cleaving it in two, and then sweeps the blade outward in a half-circle of black dust clouds.

He remains off-balance when a Heartless lands on his back. He topples forward, simultaneously jabbing his gunblade behind him, practically parallel to his spine, and throwing out his other hand to brace for impact. His free hand sinks into the near-gelatinous midriff of yet another emerging Heartless. He bunches that hand into a fist, tossing it aside before it can thrust its hands into his chest. The move saves his heart, but he lands heavily on one side. Pain rips through his hip and knee. He is down.

When fighting multiple enemies at once, there is only one hard rule: stay on your feet at all costs. As soon as you hit the floor, you will be overwhelmed so you can't get back up again.

Leon tries to flip to his feet. The Heartless mob him. He hits out, but there are too many. The pile on him like ants ripping up the corpse of a beetle. He is submerged in a sea of writhing little bodies.

It is actually embarrassing that Captain Leonhart should die in a backstreet skirmish with nobody else around. There have been plenty of opportunities for him to die when he has survived by some miracle or other. Was that really just so he could go out here, like this, instead?

His brain flashes on pieces of his past he remembers, and a few things he had forgotten until now: Rinoa dragging him onto the dance-floor of a public function; how she tripped over a loose paving slab when he first met her; the smell of lilies; the jab of springs in his back from that awful orphanage bed; Commander Braig giving him a thumbs-up; snow falling over Traverse Town; Cid spitting out a mangled toothpick; sparks when metal hits stone; the scent of blood; a girl laughing, her face obscured - who is it? He can't see …

Luminous yellow eyes stare back at him. He rams the fingers of his free hand into them, jerking his other arm to stop himself being disarmed. He finds the gunblade trigger and lets loose a concussive blast of magic – something he doesn't do often because the recoil threatens to break his arm. It isn't enough to get them off his chest and torso. He is pulling the trigger again when his heart constricts. He gasps. Long fingers wrap around it inside his chest. There are too many; he can't locate the Heartless that is killing him. Lights go off behind his eyes.

_I'm dying_.

The thought arrives as if someone else has put it there. In a few seconds, he will be dead. Black spots crowd his vision. His soul is condensed and sucked into his heart, ready to be yanked out and crystallised. Every experience that has made him who he is, reduced to a tasty snack for a Shadow.

It's cold. It's so very, very cold …

He hears a roar. At first he thinks it's the blood pounding in his ears. Then the Heartless taking his heart is ripped away. His entire chest floods with warmth. Instinctively, he finishes pulling the trigger of his gunblade and a second blast rends the night air, cutting through the sounds of many Heartless exploding.

"Whoa! Nobody ever said these guys would be shooting at _us_! I thought these were gonna be our allies!"

"I don't think he meant to shoot at you, lad. Look, he's not got his eyes open."

"He singed my tail!"

"Rowrff!"

This last sounds a lot like those dalmatians Aunt Sarah adopted recently, though a lot deeper and a _lot_ louder. Heavy footsteps thud up to Leon's head. Something that stinks of beef-flavoured tofu breathes hotly on his cheek. He is pretty sure he has a concussion, but is still about to leap up to do battle again when his entire body stops listening. It just shuts down with exhaustion and the near-death experience it has just endured. He can only lay there listening as more voices chime in.

"Let me through! Let me through, you big ninnies. Is he okay? Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Is he _okay_?"

"He is unharmed," says the deepest voice Leon has ever heard.

"So why isn't he getting up? Goliath, when you pulled that Heartless off him, did a little crystal heart float away? Tell me!"

"No."

"Phew. So, uh, any idea why he's still lying there like a sack of potatoes?"

"I believe the phrase is … 'playing possum'?"

The hot breath moves away, to be replaced by a small, calloused, but warm hand on his cheek. "Yo, Leon, up and at 'em. The coast is clear. Never thought I'd see _you_ hiding from a fight behind your eyelids."

Slowly, Leon opens his eyes, like he expects everything to be just a hallucination brought on by head trauma.

"Hey there," Yuffie says with a smile. "Um, surprise?"

* * *

Yuffie kicks her heels against the head of a statue. Then she thinks better of it, given present company.

"This will make an admirable protectorate," Goliath says in a voice like a tonne of gravel spilling on hard ground.

Yuffie glances up at him. He stands over her with arms folded, wing-hooks linked in front of his clavicle, staring out across Traverse Town and its rapidly lightening sky. He looks every inch the proud warrior – very macho, even if his skin is a delicate shade of mauve. You wouldn't want him to catch you mugging an old lady in a dark alley, though he looks much more approachable now than when he first awoke from the Sorceress's eternal sleep curse. Back then he and his clan were all wild glowing eyes, even wilder hair, and snarls that could curdle milk still in the cow. By comparison, now they look almost _cuddly_.

Of course, that might be because she got to know them during their journey across the ocean, and knows they aren't savage beasts at all. They are just a bunch of guys who got on the wrong side of the Sorceress, like her, except they did it when she was at the height of her power. They paid the price for refusing to do like all the other magical creatures on that continent and become her minions. They don't talk about it much, but Yuffie has gleaned that there used to be more of them. They are the only ones who stood against the Sorceress instead of joining her, which might be why she kept them around instead of killing them – a big mistake.

Nobody but their leader has a name. It is one of their customs, of which they have many. Yuffie has named them in her own head according to personalities and appearances, but she doubts they would want to respond to her ideas. They understand her sense of humour as much as she understands their habits. Still, Goliath, Batty, Beaky, Tubby, Rover and Old Geezer look on her as their unlikely, puzzling, but welcome rescuer, and repay her kindness every night by acting as her own posse of bodyguards.

"But we kind of rescued each other," she protested at first.

"Maybe so, lassie," said Old Geezer, whose voice reminds her of Cait Sith so much it hurt when he first spoke. "But credit where credit is due."

"We owe you a debt of gratitude," Goliath intoned. "And it is the way of gargoyles to always repay our debts."

"That's something you have in common with ninjas."

"Neen-jahs?" Batty echoed. "I thought you were human."

"Lemme enlighten you, lil' dude. See, ninjas are the coolest of cool; even cooler than pirates …"

The gargoyles brought her home to Traverse Town. Since they can't exactly go back to The Land Across the Sea, Yuffie suggested they stick around and make it their home too. Their old cliff-top territory and all its bad memories and fell into the sea while they were trapped in the Sorceress's lair. It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Seeing how much Traverse Town has changed since she left, it seems an even better one.

"These 'Heartless'," Goliath says without taking his eyes from the horizon. "They are prevalent?"

"Huh?"

"He's asking whether they're widespread," Batty translates. He's not actually mad, but his wings are attached to his arms, sides and ankles, unlike the other gargoyles, who wear them on their backs. He resembles a bat too much for the name _not_ to stick in Yuffie's brain.

"Oh. Well … yeah, I guess. It's been a while since I got an update, but … well, you saw how many of them there are just in this town. They're all over the freaking place. Mucho annoying, not to mention dangerous."

Goliath nods. "Formidable adversaries and people who need protection from them. Invading forces of darkness. Innocents in danger, to be defended by the claw. Those who are willing to shake that same claw in friendship." Abruptly he unhooks his wings and stretches them above his head the way other people stretch and pop their spines. "It is good to be awake again. Though the world is not as we once knew it, some things do not change, and some change for the better. There will always be a need for those who fight evil."

Yuffie look at the houses and shops far below. She knows some, but some are new, and some have changed. Traverse Town didn't wait for her. Why should it? She was gone four years before she hared off, half-cocked, to find the Sorceress, and she's not even sure how long she was held there. The world marched on without her.

It was with no small amount of relief that she, clasped in Goliath's arms, swooped down on her old home to see Leon still alive and fighting. If, like the gargoyles, she'd escaped only to find everything and everyone she knew dead … well, she wouldn't have taken it as well as they have. Evidently gargoyles have more tolerance against life-altering events than piddly humans.

"Hey, Goliath," Yuffie says quickly, conscious of the approaching sunrise and how it will affect him. It is one of the reasons they couldn't just glide across the ocean to get home and needed to build a boat instead. Who needs a saw when you have gargoyle claws? "Are you still on for sticking around this joint now you've had the grand tour?"

Goliath's smile it reminds her of storm clouds lit by lightning, all their dangerous power briefly shown, hidden again seconds later. "Unquestionably. A gargoyle without a protectorate has only half a life. Traverse Town will make a fine new home, and I trust it will not turn us away if we offer our strength in its fight against the Heartless."

"Yeah, and this church is pretty swanky compared to a crumbly old cliff," Tubby puts in. Old Geezer whacks him on the back of the head. "Ow! What? It is."

"This place is a great vantage point for the whole town," Beaky agrees. His brownish skin makes him hard to see against the stonework. "You can see everywhere from up here."

"Yeah. This church is a special place," Yuffie replies dully.

Old Geezer and Goliath exchange a look. Though it may mean being stuck in that position, Goliath hunkers down next to her, bending his back uncomfortably to put his face level with hers. Yuffie often thinks she reminds Goliath of one or more of the gargoyles they lost. You'd never think he could be kind and understanding, since he is so good at being sombre. "Something is troubling you. You seemed much more eager to reach your home during the journey than you are glad to be here now you've arrived."

She shrugs. "Things are more complicated than I realised, that's all."

"Because you did not achieve your goal and take the Sorceress's magic?"

She sticks out her tongue. "That magic was only good for one thing, and that's fizzling out like a snuffed candle. The world is way, way, _way_ (can I stress this enough?) better off without it. No, that's not why I'm bummed."

"Then it is because of your mate, the man with the sword."

"It's a gunblade," Yuffie corrects, before she registers his words. "And he's not my, uh, 'mate'."

"But you want him to be."

She can't really argue with it laid out plain like that. Gargoyles are also good at cutting right to the heart of the matter and dousing it with the kind of logic that burns more than sticking your hand in a bowl of bleach.

She spent four years getting her head in order. One of the things she came to accept was that no matter what happened, and no matter how much she tried to deny it, she never got over Leon. He was her first love and she never really fell _out_ of love with him. Even when very much _in _love with Lea, her feelings for Leon waited in the back of her mind, curled like a sleeping tiger. Spending time away from him allowed her to clarify the contents of her own heart. It was the thought of coming back to him with this realisation that kept her going when she was at her lowest ebb. Somewhere, she had an idea that she would ride into Traverse Town on Fenrir and he would be waiting for her in a role reversal of all those old fairytales where the princess waits for her prince to return. She imagined all the shit and misunderstanding between them would be cleared away like coffee stains with a damp cloth, and they could live happily ever after.

Instead, she royally fucked up with the Sorceress plan, woke up years after Leon probably gave up all hope of her come back, and returned to find him about to die, living in a town swarming with Heartless like a picnic at an ant-farm.

After rescuing him she at least expected the warm welcome Penelo promised she'd get when she left, but not even that was forthcoming. Leon's age-frozen face told her nothing of how long has passed since the Sorceress caught her, and betrayed nothing of his feelings about her return. The brief, stilted conversation left Yuffie feeling unsatisfied, as if she fell asleep and missed a huge chunk of it. It also left her with a good view of his back as he walked away to find Merlin and let her introduce the gargoyle clan to their new home. He never told her about her friends, or asked where she's been, or said … well, _anything_ she expected. Instead he seemed eager to get away from her.

_Why the hell is nothing ever simple and easy? _"Yes," she replies to Goliath's question. "But like I said, it's complicated."

Something nudges her other shoulder. She looks around to see Rover, the gargoyle equivalent of a faithful hound dog, nuzzling her the way he used to when she was tired but restless on the ocean crossing. Yuffie discovered during those two crossings that she suffers from very, very acute seasickness. If she _ever_ sails again, it'll be too soon.

She gives Rover a hug, keeping it brief in case the sun chooses that moment to break the horizon.

"You should be honest with him, lass," Old Geezer advises as he takes up his favourite sleeping pose – yet another thing gargoyles have up on non-magical creatures. When they sleep, they really _sleep_."Life's too short to go wasting opportunities for happiness. You've already lost too much time without doing yourself out of more."

Goliath rises, but keeps his face towards her. "You are a warrior."

"Thanks, oh great and powerful Big Cheese."

"That does not mean you feel no fear. Overcoming it is the key to contentment _off_ the battlefield."

"Um, I guess," Yuffie says. "Is this pep talk part of the whole 'protect the little ninja's hometown' dealie, or is it a freebie?"

"'Freebie'?" Goliath echoes, before streaks of sunlight hit him and his skin hardens into stone, as it does for all gargoyles during the day.

The Sorceress trapped them in this sleep state until Yuffie came along and bungled her way through an inadvertent rescue, defeating her with a combination of accident, fighting skill and dumb luck – one part skill to every three parts accident and dumb luck. Goliath's mystified face is a far cry from the terrifying snarl the Sorceress forced him into for two centuries.

Yuffie spends a long time sitting there. She enjoys the company of the clan, even at rest. There's something comforting about a scary stone statue that can come alive and kick total ass when the sun sets. Finally, she pats Rover before scooching backwards and down the steps in the church belfry.

She enters the main hall of the church from the far side, giving her a direct line of sight to the doors on the opposite wall. The doors lead to the many alcoves and vestibules from when this was a working church. She doesn't even think about it; she just crosses the floor and goes in. it has been years, but her feet know the way.

"Hey, Hero," she says softly. She crouches by the marker. "Long time no see. Sorry, I didn't bring any flowers or anything. I'm pretty crap at remembering stuff like that. Besides, I only got into town tonight, and I didn't have time to stop for homecoming gifts. Heck, speaking of home, I haven't even been there yet." She drops her eyes. "Not that I suppose I _have_ a home to go back to anymore. Ugh, I didn't even think about that. Can you call a place home when you haven't been back in mumble-grumble-cough-splutter number of years?" She enunciates each word, but not even she laughs. "When I saw Leon he was more concerned with the gargoyles than with me. Well, you would be, wouldn't you? Big freak-out lizard men landing in your town? I'm surprised he didn't spike them in their asses and chase them out on the point of his gunblade. Anyhow, there wasn't much opportunity to figure out logistics. You'd never think I've been MIA from the way he was acting."

Zack doesn't reply. Yuffie touches his marker. It's cold. Inexplicably, she wants to cry.

"Dumb town," she mutters, swiping at her eyes. "All that time on the road and I never blubbed, but get back to this stupid dump and my eyes turn into faucets." She sniffs, blinking hard. "I missed you a lot. I'd find all kinds of weird, cool shit and think, 'Hey, Hero would love this,' or 'Hero would laugh so hard he'd probably pee his pants'. Your sense of humour was lightweight, but better than most. You knew how to laugh at the right stuff without being a prude. Travelling's great, but sometimes you really just want to share it. Yeah, yeah, I know – quit being a whiny kid, Yuffie. I got to see the world while you were stuck in this town watching the Heartless take out mortgages, and I didn't even bring you a lousy souvenir." Her smile fades. "I fucked up again, didn't I? Penny was right. I should've come home sooner."

A sharp intake of breath comes from behind her. She leaps to her feet and spins around before the wicker basket has finished hitting the floor. The woman who dropped it has a few more grey hairs and wrinkles, but she is still instantly familiar.

"Yuffie?" Chicha gasps.

"Um, Hi, Cheech." Yuffie wiggles her fingers in a tiny wave. "Miss me?"

She can say no more. Chicha hurls herself into the alcove and hugs her so tight oxygen soon becomes an issue. When Yuffie has made her case for breathing known through choking noises, Chicha holds her at arm's length, tears of joy and disbelief in her eyes.

"I ... but you … you're so _young_," she says incredulously. "I thought you were a ghost. But you're alive. You're really here! You look … is that Merlin's anti-aging powder?"

"How'd you know about that? Oh, duh, Leon and Tifa got hit with it too, didn't they? Doy." Yuffie knocks her knuckles against the side of her own head. "By the way, hello."

"Where have you _been_ all this time?"

"Now _that _is a long story. Longer than my arm. Longer than a piece of string. Longer than all the toilet rolls in this town unrolled and laid end to end. _Long_."

"I want to hear every detail. I can't believe you're really back. It really is you, isn't it?"

"No, actually I'm an impostor called Dave who lives in his parents' basement and makes counterfeit magic crystals."

"Don't even joke about that."

"Why, did something like that happen while I was away? Did Merlin get tight-fisted and start buying cheap crystals instead of the good quality kind?" She schools her face into a mock-stern expression. "Did he blow up your house?"

"You incorrigible girl." Chicha hugs her again, not as long or as tight this time, but there's still a lot of feeling in it. "Merlin can be an insufferable old bore, but he didn't blow up my house."

Yuffie puts her own arms around her and hugs back, replying in a language other than words how glad she is to be home, and also how glad she is someone actually missed her and wants her back.

"Mommy?" A child hovers in the doorway. For one heart-stopping second she thinks it is Kairi. Then reality crashes back: it can't be Kairi. Leon would have mentioned that, wouldn't he? Besides, she called Chicha 'Mommy'. Though she is backlit, Yuffie can see this child has burnished skin, black hair in bunches and the biggest, most beautiful eyes she has ever seen. She peers curiously at Yuffie without a hint of fear. "Mommy, who's that? Why are you hugging her?"

Chicha draws back, wipes at her eyes and finally releases Yuffie.

Yuffie gapes. "_Mommy_?"

She hoists the little girl into her arms, bringing her level to shake Yuffie's hand.

"Hey, good grip," Yuffie exclaims. "I'll bet you punch like a pro, too."

"Pacha doesn't like me fighting," she says seriously. It sounds weird in her high-pitched, breathy voice. "But I think that's just because I'm better at it than he is. He wants to be a hero like Leon, so he doesn't like it when I show him up. I broke Pacha's nose once, only he was asleep under the apple tree, so he said that doesn't count. I just told him Leon wouldn't have let anybody creep up on him, so it does too prove I'm bestest. Why do you have funny spikes on your belt? And why do you have so many pockets and pouches?"

Yuffie grins. "I like you already."

"That's not a proper answer."

"This is Yuffie," Chicha sniffs. "You remember I told you about her?"

"Really?" the little girl gapes. "You mean you weren't making all that up?" She stares at Yuffie.

"Do I look made up to you?" Yuffie spins in place and pokes her on the tip of her nose with one finger. "Do I _feel_ made up?"

She giggles. She can't be more than five or six – certainly no older than Kairi when she disappeared. "No. you feel pretty real. You look real, too. And –" She sniffs and pulls a face. "Yuk, you smell real – real yucky."

Yuffie pantomimes sniffing under her arms. "Hmm, I think I do need a shower. So who might you be, little sceptic?"

"Yuffie," Chicha says, "this is Audrey Sweet, my daughter."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

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**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

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Several characters from the 90s Disney TV show _Gargoyles _appeared in this chapter. _Gargoyles_ was one of my very first fandoms. I used to rush home from school to watch the new eps every Friday, and had paroxysms of glee when the British Disney Channel started showing reruns on weekdays. Imagine a chubby girl with plaits, crouching over an old TV, recording devotedly on an old VHS tape and trying to miss all the adverts by jabbing hard at a remote the size of a brick so as to fit as much cartoon into 240 (long play kicked arse) minutes as she could and you have a perfect picture of me as a pre-teen. The title of this chapter is a side-fling to the opening monologue, spoken by Keith Duffy (now more famous for his role in The Princess and the Frog) as Goliath which appeared at the start of every episode.

However, I am aware that not everyone may remember that show, so for more information on these characters and their world go to www (dot) gargoyles-fans (dot) org or try watching it yourself (because it STILL stands up to scrutiny nearly twenty years after it first aired) the first episode can be found at www (dot) YouTube (dot) com (slash) watch (question mark) v (equals sign) S (underscore) aGG2XtGRw. Happy viewing.


	94. Playing Catch Up

A/N: The fanwork contest has its first entry! padfoot9227 (dot) deviantart (dot) com (slash) (hash) (slash) d39f33h

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**93. Playing Catch-Up**

* * *

"So you and Dr. Sweet got _married_? When I last saw you, you hadn't even had a first _date_. When did this happen?"

"Five years ago. It's our anniversary next month."

"So … how old is Audrey?"

"A very precocious five and a half."

Math has never been Yuffie's forte, but even she can count. "Chichaaaaa!"

"Hush and drink your coffee," Chicha says primly.

Yuffie tries, she honestly does, but the enamel of her teeth screams. She plunks the delicate teacup back in its saucer. It's an interesting contrast of expectations – instead of Chicha's subtle blend of tea and honey, Dr. Sweet's irredeemable coffee stares at her like primordial soup. Apparently not even Chicha was enough to cure him of his addiction. Not only that, he somehow mutilated her taste-buds into liking it as well. Yuffie stares until she realises, doy, you can't win a staring contest with a beverage.

Chicha sips hers. Maybe she is just accustomed to the foul taste. Or maybe she gargles with asbestos. "I don't understand – you were just travelling this whole time?"

"Um, not exactly. I mean, I was for a while, sure. I saw all kinds of neat things. I also saw all kinds of craptitude, but in general things balanced out."

"Penelo told us you were going to the Land Across the Sea."

Yuffie sighs. She really would prefer not to tell this story multiple times, but it doesn't look like she's going to get a choice.

While Yuffie talks Chicha's eyes round, narrow, squint in sympathy, and finally close as she processes the story. "Yuffie …" She doesn't seem able to say anything else.

Yuffie changes the subject with the subtlety of a gummi ship co-pilot leaning across and wrenching the controls sideways. She can't help it. She story has brought back painful memories, plus there is something she wants know more than anything. She has wanted to know ever since she first spotted the colourful smudge of Traverse Town's lights on the horizon, and nobody has yet mentioned it. "Chicha, where's Aerith?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask," Chicha says in a slightly strangled voice, like a doctor breaking the news of a sudden death to an unsuspecting family. More ramifications of a life with Dr. Sweet, or something more sinister?

Yuffie tenses. "Is she dead?"

"No."

"But she hasn't woken up." Her chest simultaneously tightens and opens up to let her heart plummet. Years saving other people and having wild adventures while her friend remains in a magical coma. Yuffie wonders if there is a special definition of coward just for her.

"I'm sorry, Yuffie."

"Why are you sorry? It's not your fault."

"Joshua – Dr. Sweet – has tried everything he can think of, but it's not a medical condition."

Yuffie nods. "I suspected she hadn't."

"What makes you say that?"

"You were carrying seedlings in that basket you dropped. You've been tending her flowers all this time?"

"Yes, myself and a few others, but mostly me. Audrey likes to help. She's quite good at planting, though I don't think she believes the 'lady who sleeps upstairs at Aunt Sarah's' used to do it better than me."

Yuffie looks around at the plush interior of Aunt Sarah's guest house. She finds a lot of the things Chicha has said pretty difficult to swallow. Dr. Sweet bought a house with Chicha, Pacha and Audrey, Kuzco now rooms with Miss Finster, and Leon sleeps and eats here at the guest house. Chicha didn't say 'lives' because the guest house is more of a stopover whenever he is about to drop from exhaustion and everybody knows it. Nobody lives in their old apartment building anymore. Mr. Snoops was lost to the Heartless when the ill-fated Third District was overrun by Heartless two years ago. Nobody goes into that part of town now.

Well, almost nobody. Chicha reluctantly parted with the information that some local teens reached the ends of their tethers, gathered at the border, linked hands and walked straight into Heartless territory.

"Miss Finster tried to stop them. Her arthritis doesn't let her move very fast, but she saw what they were up to and _ran_ after them, but it was too late. Apparently not one of them got more than thirty paces past the border." Chicha choked up while telling Yuffie this. Pacha's friends were among the teens. Yuffie can see her fear at how close she came to losing her son. "It only happened three weeks ago. More than half the town's youngsters, all gone …"

Like a game of chess, everything and everyone has moved around in their attempts to stay on the board, but those teens could no longer face the daily threat and decided to choose their fates for themselves.

"What about Cloudy?" Yuffie asks now.

"Still alive," Chicha says hastily. "Tifa, too. But … well …"

"C'mon, Cheech, spit it out. It's been at least four years since I got any news on anyone. I have blanks that need filling or I'm gong to start imagining all sorts of crappy stuff happening while I was stuck in a magic bubble."

"A magic _bubble_?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

"You didn't mention any bubble."

"Please, Cheech, what's going on with Cloudy and Teef?"

Chicha toys with the edge of the lacy tablecloth. Aunt Sarah has taken Audrey with her to run groceries. Apparently she dotes on Chicha's youngest and is a regular babysitter. She even became her godmother in an impressive bit of wangling that left even Chicha wondering how it happened. Aunt Sarah is a good godmother, against all expectations. Chicha admit something changed after Lea and Reno died. Aunt Sarah softened after tragedy forced her to reassess her attitude to life. Yuffie feels a strange sort of kinship, until she remembers it's _Aunt Sarah_, one third of the Three Harpies, belligerent Mistress of Bitchcraft and Evil Cats.

Chicha takes a breath. "Well first of all, you haven't been away just four years, Yuffie."

Yuffie considers this. "When did Penelo tell you I was going to the Land Across the Sea?"

"Four years ago."

"So I've been MIA from Traverse Town for _eight_ _years_?" The realisation is like a punch to the gut, and leaves her just as breathless. No _wonder_ Leon reacted so badly. Eight years of no contact … he probably thought she was dead. Or maybe he thought she'd made a life somewhere else and just didn't care about her old one here anymore. She swallows. "Right. Okay. Right. Um. Damn."

"Are you all right?"

"Not really, but I'm getting used to unexpected magical mishaps and life-altering wonky stuff. I'll be fine. Go on. You were about to tell me about Cloudy and Teef."

"The last time Tifa checked in she said she lost Cloud for a while and had to search for him by following sightings of him from world to world, even though most of them were quite old. When Cid spoke to her she'd found a world where gods not only exist, but hang around in the mortal world and actively get involved in the lives of their worshippers. Tifa heard a rumour that a man matching Cloud's description started working for one of the gods."

"Yipes! Cloudy sure doesn't do anything by halves!"

"Tifa is in another world, waiting to make repairs on the Highwind right now. Until she can fix the problem, she can't go and confirm it's him, but based on some of her stories … well, Cloud's decision making hasn't been a hundred percent sound lately, put it that way."

"That doesn't sound very promising."

"He may be working for the God of Death."

Yuffie feels sick. "Oh shit."

Chicha flinches instinctively, eyes darting for her children until she remembers they're not there. "That's what everyone said, more or less, but there's nothing any of us can do until Tifa finds out whether it really is him."

"Why the hell would Cloudy go to work for some random god?"

"Nobody's sure. Sephiroth _hasn't_ been to that world, so if it is Cloud, he isn't there chasing that –" Chicha calls Sephiroth a name that shocks even Yuffie.

"Cheech!"

"I have a twelve year old son. I learn all the newest curse words and have to invent creative punishments each time he uses them."

Yuffie closes her eyes, weighing up thoughts of Cloud and Tifa, who are too far away to even contemplate the distance in real terms. So Cloud still hasn't avenged Zack and come home – though she supposes she should be grateful he hasn't given in to the darkness inside him, either. He has been fighting Jenova for eight years, away from his friends and family, and he's still him. Equally, Tifa's been following him for eight years. She obviously loves Cloud more than anybody realised.

Pushing these thoughts aside, Yuffie asks after about Cid and Merlin. There's fresh astonishment at the news that Merlin has a woman living with him. She grills Chicha for details. There aren't many – the woman isn't from here and has magic of her own, but her main concern has always been the fate of a completely non-magical godchild she is convinced was kidnapped from her homeworld before the Heartless took it over.

"Are they an item?" Yuffie tries to imagine Merlin in a romantic relationship and can't – though it does produce some interesting imagery of him serenading beneath a balcony with his hat as a megaphone, or using his staff to punt a gondola.

"I don't know," Chicha admits. "Nobody is quite sure what they are to each other. Merlin is quite private about it."

"I sense the opportunity for much fun and frolics, and possibly even some lampooning – which, remarkably, is a word that has nothing to do with harpooning or whales. Go figure, huh?"

Chicha rests her cheek on her fist and regards Yuffie. "I'd forgotten."

"Forgotten what?"

"Your voice. The way you talk."

"Um, yay?"

"Things have been really quiet here without you."

"Pfft. I hate to point out the obvious, Cheech, but Traverse Town isn't some sleepy little nowhere anymore – or did you miss the raging sea of Heartless through the veil of lovey-dovey-ness whenever you look at Dr. Sweet?"

Chicha blushes. "You make it sound like we're a couple of teenagers."

"You _act_ like a teenager whenever I mention him – even more than me, and I actually look the part."

"Oh, I don't know. You're doing the typical teenager thing of avoiding the subject you really want to talk about. Pacha does it every time I bring up Spinelli, a girl he likes at school."

"Spinelli? That name sounds familiar."

"You're still avoiding the subject."

"I thought this was the subject – Pacha's crush on a girl at school. Man, he was just a little niblet when I saw him last. Is he taller than me now? I'll bet he's taller than me now. _Everybody_ seems to be taller than me now." Yuffie snaps her fingers. "I remember now. Spinelli, the kid with the wrestling fixation. Weren't she and Kairi friends?"

"Yuffie."

"Pacha grew up around strong women, so I get he'd go for the kick-ass type."

"Yuffie!"

"What?"

"Aren't you going to ask about Leon?"

Yuffie falls silent. "I already saw him," she says after a while.

"Yes, you told me that."

"He wasn't pleased to see me. I guess cutting and running – and then, y'know, not speaking to him for eight years – really pissed him off. Understandable, really. I've been _out_ of his life longer than I was _in_ it. I suppose he's got someone too, now. If Beardy has a girl then there's no way a catch like Leon wouldn't have been snapped up by some pretty thing with long legs and a chest like inflatable beach balls. Or is he still pining for Rinoa? He always was the loyal-even-if-it-kills-me type."

"You could say that." Chicha's reply is so weighted with meaning that if you dropped it in water it would sink straight to the bottom.

Yuffie feels uncomfortable. Her heart leaps until she remembers Leon's face and the way he greeted her, and it slips back behind her ribs. That was not the greeting of a man who has been waiting eagerly for your return. It was a very … well, _Leon _response, and look how well that turned out last time.

Or maybe Yuffie is seeing things that aren't really there. This is, after all, the man she has loved since her teens. She is now comfortable enough with her flaws to admit she is apprehensive about seeing him again. He wasn't expecting to see her, and she not only turned up unannounced and _very_ late for dinner, but with five gargoyles in tow. And perhaps her headache is just from drinking this evil coffee and not from over-thinking things.

Finally, Yuffie draws back, takes a deep breath, and says, "I'd like to see her."

Chicha doesn't even have to ask who. Neither does she challenge the change of subject. "All right."

She leads Yuffie to a bedroom on the third floor. Yuffie recognises Lea and Reno's old rooms, and spots a number of familiar cats sleeping on windowsills and in plant pots. They raise their heads, but she has eyes only for the stairs and the upper hallway, and then the door that Chicha pushes open. Chicha gives her a quick, reassuring squeeze of her hand, and then they're inside.

Aerith still wears the same outfit she had on the day she collapsed – right down to the sensible brown boots and gold bangles. That was the first time she put on jewellery in months. Yuffie took it as a sign she was getting better.

Ghostly colours shift across Aerith's skin like a sheath, which has kept her from aging even a second. Her mind and body are trapped in that moment of eight years earlier; that cusp between grief and recovery. For Yuffie, time seems to have stopped. For Aerith, it literally did.

"Hey, Ponytail."

Chicha leaves, pulling the door to allowing Yuffie some privacy. Yuffie reaches out to take Aerith's limp hand in her own, then jerks back, something like static shock zinging over her skin with a chime that rings out as soon as their fingers touch.

"Ow! Oh yeah, I forget about that. Man, did that sting so much before?" She shakes her hand, blowing out air between her teeth. "I think your intruder alert system got a lot stronger since I saw you last. Couldn't stand all the pawing, huh?"

Not knowing what to do, but not wanting to leave, Yuffie starts to ramble about the only thing she can think of – her travels leading up to her quest for the Sorceress. Yet everything she says feels hollow, because Aerith can't hear her. It is worse than talking to Zack. He at least, has an excuse she can understand for not answering. Though she has been gone so long, Yuffie falls immediately back into that jittery pattern of holding her breath and listening for Aerith's to start up again, or letting her eyes wander and then snap back, convinced of movement. She is reminded of just how she reached her breaking point before, living on her nerves but unable to tear herself away – until she did.

"Man, I was a heel," she says eventually. "Although I'll bet after so long with me watching you like a hawk, you were glad of the time alone."

"She wasn't alone, pipsqueak. Neither were you, if you'd taken the time to damn well notice it."

Yuffie jumps up and spins around. "Cid!" In her shock at being snuck up on, and her gladness to see him, she completely forgets to use his nickname.

Of all the people she has seen so far, Cid is the most changed. His back is crooked, his shoulders hunched, and his wrinkles could suffocate an elephant. Grizzled doesn't even cover it – Cid looks _old_. Still, he is smiling. Moreover, he is smiling _at her_, and that's enough to have her flying at him.

"Fucking hell! What the fuck? Since when do you hug people? Since when do you hug _me_?"

"Shut up, Old Fart. I'm pleased to see you. Deal with it."

"Yeah, well … get offa me before I put you through the wall."

"Like you even could." She releases him, still grinning like an idiot. It's exactly what she needs.

Cid scratches his head. "Damn, kid."

She grins more. "You got fleas or something? I wouldn't be surprised. You look totally gross." She pokes at the food stains on his shirt and the smear of oil across his forehead and hair – still blond, though shot through with grey when you got close enough to see it.

"You're one to talk. You really _are_ a brat now."

"At least I'm not _ancient_. You smell like muscle liniment and cabbage."

"I'm old enough to get served in a tavern. How about you?"

"I'm … old enough. I just don't look it."

"Same difference. Would you like orange juice or some other boring non-alcoholic drink?"

She holds up an index finger, but her mouth flaps. "Okay, you win that round. But the war isn't over, mister."

It is so _easy _to slip back into bantering with him. Cid looks at her strangely. For a moment she thinks _he _is going to initiate a hug, which would be cool, if kind of pervy and icky and – gah! She struggles as he hooks an arm around her head and rubs his knuckles in her hair.

"No noogies! No noogies or I'll kick your butt from here to – _!_"

Cid laughs. It rumbles in his chest and makes her ear tingle. "Damn, kid. _Damn._" It's the closest he can get to an 'I missed you'. Though it doesn't take away the pain of being skilfully noogied, it does squash her plans of vengeance.

"Yeah." Her reply is muffled by his stinky armpit, which she will _totally_ gripe about – at length – later, and is going to prompt a trip to his house to make sure living without Tifa around hasn't made him revert to his slovenly ways. "Damn, Cid."

* * *

_To Be Continued … _

* * *

.


	95. I'm Still Here

.

**

* * *

**

94. I'm Still Here

* * *

Tifa drags her arm across her forehead, streaking it with grease. She glances at her arm, sees the blobby mess and lets out a noise of disgust. Her hair feels slimy and unwashed, every scrap of skin dirty, and her eyes rough, as if someone replaced her lids with sandpaper while she grabbed a nap on the mezzanine earlier.

"Hey!" calls a voice below. "Grub's up!"

She leans out, straining against the safety restraints holding her perpendicular to the side of the Highwind. One foot slips, banging her back against it. She yelps with frustration and a jolt of pain.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." She grits her teeth, unhooks the fastener and lowers herself down to the floor. The Highwind stays where it is, suspended in several restraints of its own, each much stronger than hers to compensate for its greater weight. She watches it as she reaches the ground. It is stippled with scorch-marks and spangled with dents, ranging from fist-sized to something that could have been made by flinging a fridge at the hull. "Just peachy."

The boy who called her down looks at the damaged ship. "Is it salvageable this time?"

"Barely." Sudden tears prick Tifa's eyes. She blinks them away, surprised at herself. She has seen and done more than she likes to remember, but never allows herself to cry in front of others. The sight of the Highwind in this state provokes a sadness that clings to her insides and squeezes them like slowly drying taffy. "She got me here in one piece. The least I can do is make her better again."

"You talk about that ship like it's a person."

"She was to the man who made her, so she is to me too. Sometimes ships get personalities." Tifa shrugs. She is tired and filthy. All she really wants is a warm bath and a hot meal. Neither seems likely until she finishes here. Well, as much as she can. The currency in this world is zealously hoarded and cautiously spent by its people. Hiring a mechanic to take a look at the Highwind will be costly. It will take most of what she has left. She wants to do as much of the work as she can by herself first.

Jim Hawkins studies her expression. He is a short boy, not stocky, but not thin either. He is fifteen with a face that can easily be mistaken for younger until you see his eyes. He usually stares sullenly at the floor, so few do. Jim lives the role of Angry Teen like it's a calling. He radiates adolescent defiance the way a fire gives off heat, but his eyes hint at something more. Beneath his surface, Jim is complicated. His eyes reflect old pain, regret, guilt, rebelliousness, indifference and slivers of innocence and hope not yet extinguished.

Jim's life has not been an easy one. Usually, when funds allow, Tifa stays at the inn he helps his mother run, Mr. Hawkins having abandoned them when Jim was five. Ten years of fighting off guests' unwanted advances and keeping her beloved inn alive have made Sarah Hawkins melancholic but tough. Her son, on the other hand, deals with life by fighting it. His small victories – not doing chores, ditching his studies, cheeking his mother – aren't earth-shattering, but they help him get through each day without exploding into a messy pile of hormones, angst and abandonment issues. He latched onto Tifa straightaway. She can see in him a desire for travel and adventure that reminds her of her friends back home in Traverse Town. Maybe that is why she started teaching him about gummi ships, the way she once imagined she and Cid would teach Kairi and Pacha how to fly when they got old enough.

"Here," Jim says, breaking her from her gloom before it has chance to take hold. He thrusts a crackling bag at her. Tifa unwraps the brown paper, but the smell is already making her mouth water. "Mom said she made too many. You don't have to pay."

Tifa bites in before she has time to think. Her body moves on its own, seeking fuel and consuming it – though she retains enough sense to hold the bag and keep her oily fingers off the sandwich. Tangy cheese and a collection of other tastes punch her taste-buds. She has to pause. Exhaustion and hunger make eating an intense experience, and Sarah's pantry is always stocked with the best ingredients she can barter out of market traders.

Jim's stomach growls in the silence. Tifa chokes. He doesn't blush, but his eyes are fixed on the floor.

"This is yours, isn't it?"

He shrugs.

Tifa tears off part of the brown paper, breaks the sandwich in half and holds out the unbitten part. "I'll shove it down your throat if you don't take it," she threatens when he puts his hands behind his back. Her tone isn't hostile, but there is a note in it that warns of … things. Possibly bad things. If you act like you expect people to do as you say, generally they do it. Confidence is one of the biggest con-jobs in all worlds.

Reluctantly, Jim accepts. They eat together in companionable silence. Maybe they should sit down, but it feels natural to stand in the middle of the shed, looking up at the Highwind and the makeshift workshop Tifa has set up around it. The shed belongs to Sarah, but contained only a broken-down skimmer that Tifa hauled out and broke up for spare parts after Sarah said she could use the place. When Tifa first arrived in this world she saved Sarah from a pack of Heartless and the woman has been grateful ever since. The decision to still pay for her stay when she comes here is Tifa's. Sarah isn't rich and Tifa would feel too awkward freeloading inside the inn as well.

"How did it happen this time?" Jim finally asks.

"Would you believe an evil queen turned into a dragon, climbed to the top of a skyscraper and tried to barbeque me as I flew away with her stepson's ex-fiancée and the ex-fiancée's new squeeze?"

Jim blinks at her. "Really?"

"It's complicated."

"Did you beat the dragon-lady?"

"Actually she fell off the building and exploded into magical dust when she hit the ground. Like I said, it's complicated. It was really two worlds that lived side-by-side and sometimes smooshed together in weird ways."

"Weird like how?"

"They sang. A lot. And danced. A lot."

"Did you dance?"

"Somehow I ended up in a conga around one of their parks, and I played coconuts with a steel band. I don't even know how to play coconuts. I can't carry a tune to save my life, either. I've tried playing and singing since, but nothing happens. What was weirdest of all, though, was that nobody batted an eyelid when it started or when it stopped."

"Weird."

"You're telling me." She sighs and shakes her head.

"No Cloud?"

"No." Tifa wonders whether disappointment still etches her voice. "No, he wasn't there."

Tifa was quick to tell Jim and Sarah her reason for travelling. Sarah was sympathetic, recognising why someone would go to all that trouble for someone who didn't return their feelings, but Jim treated her quest with the dissatisfaction of a teenage boy who hasn't yet decided girls are more interesting than adventures beyond the stars. He was much more interested in the places she goes than her reason for going there. Tifa considered taking him with her once or twice, but her travels tend to be dangerous and she won't take the last of Sarah's family from her.

"You should forget about that guy already," Jim sniffs now.

"I could never do that," Tifa says softly.

"It's not like he appreciates it or anything."

Part of Tifa would like to agree, but every time she thinks maybe that is true, something happens to change her mind and make her continue her journey.

On one occasion, when she was careening out of control in her once-again damaged ship, Cloud appeared as if from nowhere and guided her safely to a world where she could make repairs. He left again, but not before making sure she was all right. Another time, she found him facedown in a place called Sherwood, in a world filled with animal-people, and got him through a forest crawling with Heartless to a local healer. Once again he left her as soon as he was well, his unnatural healing ability making that sooner than she liked, but while he was stuck in a straw bed she had time to see his face properly; to look into his eyes and see the pain underneath the indifference he has stretched across his features like a badly fitting mask.

Cloud hurts every moment of every day. Tifa isn't convinced he can't forget the past so much as he won't let himself forget. Either way, he copes by constantly moving on, looking for Sephiroth and, he thinks, a way to make up for the events of eight years ago. In Sherwood he was vulnerable – a state he rarely allows – and Tifa saw that pain in his eyes the moment he woke and didn't know where he was. Cloud _does_ need her. He may tell her to go home and leave him alone whenever they meet, but he needs someone to look out for him. He may be invulnerable, but he isn't invincible, and Tifa will never give up on him. To do so would be to accept his assertion that he isn't human any longer, and that is something she will never do.

Jim crumples his brown paper into a ball and tosses it into the air a few times. Tifa finishes her food, snatches the ball and tosses both pieces into an empty oil drum she uses for trash.

"Score!" Jim smiles a little. His eyes are a little like Cloud's. When they crinkle at the edges Tifa remembers life as it used to be, when Traverse Town held all they needed and the worst problem she faced was keeping her feelings hidden so Cloud could be happy with Aerith and Zack.

_This will all be over someday. Then we can both go home, and there won't be any stupid Sephiroth, or Heartless, or – _

"Tifa?" Jim waves a hand in front of her face, startling her.

"What?"

"I said, where are you sleeping tonight?"

"Oh. Um, out here I guess."

Jim's features fall into their habitual glower, but he doesn't comment. He sighs, says something about chores and leaves, but Tifa is already thinking about mechanic's bills and how to pay them. She is back up by the Highwind when the door opens and Sarah Hawkins enters.

"I hear you have plans to sleep next to your baby tonight," she says mildly.

"I have to. I can't fix her all by myself this time and I need to conserve money to pay for it." Tifa pats the side of the ship. "But she's worth it."

Sarah raises one eyebrow. She is a not-unattractive woman, but life has worn at her features like sandstone in a constant draught. Her fine-boned face is smudged with dark circles and wrinkles – from frowning more than age. She must have been young when she had Jim. In unguarded moments – lifting her feet on a stool after a busy day, laughing at a bad joke, wiping dirt from Jim's face with spit on a hanky – the years fall away. Something about her reminds Tifa of Chicha. They both put their children above everything and like to treat the rest of the world the same way, regardless of age.

"I have a friend," Sarah starts.

Tifa cuts her off. "Sarah, no. I can't accept any more help from you calling in favours. You need to keep some for yourself."

Sarah waves away her protest. "I've accrued more than enough over the years. I can afford to spend a few. Besides, this friend is a workman who would give his left tentacles at a chance to work on a gummi ship."

Tifa stares. It shouldn't surprise her after all this time, but she still echoes with astonishment, "Tentacles?"

"He's a Hobotnican." At Tifa's blank look Sarah explains, "Six tentacles, two legs, four arms, one head and a tail."

"That's … a lot of limbs."

"The tail is small and curly. Grubbo hates when I call him piggy." Sarah's smile is a little wicked. It takes years off her face. "Planet Hobotnica is almost completely made up of ocean, but there is some land, so the indigenous people are amphibious. All those extra limbs make Grubbo an excellent mechanic with no subordinates to pay, and he isn't above doing pro bono work if it interests him. Trust me, if he finds out he had a chance to work on a gummi ship and I let it slip away, he'll never forgive me."

"In that case, how can I refuse?"

"Now," Sarah says briskly, "as to the matter of where you're sleeping –"

"Sarah." All possible protests are in the way Tifa says her name.

"Tifa." All possible rebuttals are in the way Sarah replies. "You saved my life and my inn from the Heartless. You kept Jim from being an orphan. You may not have noticed, but our world isn't exactly kind to waifs and strays, especially those of Jim's … disposition." She catches Tifa's eye. "He has his father's wanderlust but none of his cruelty. He'd set out on his own and be eaten alive in no time – maybe literally. You have no idea how grateful I am to you, Tifa, and I'm going to keep trying to look after you whenever you're here until you understand. Now clean yourself up, march up to the inn and don't try to tell me the half-sandwich my son snuck you is a proper meal. I have some stew leftover and some bread baking. You will eat, you will rest, and you will say thank you. Are we clear?"

Tifa resists the urge to click her heels together. "Yes, ma'am."

Sarah pauses. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget not everyone needs to be talked to like a teenager or a customer who won't pay their tab."

"Don't worry about it. Sometimes people need to be talked to that way to remind them when they're being impractical." Cid's face flashes into Tifa's mind. She smells cigarette smoke through the motor oil and can hear, for a moment, the exact cadence of his voice as he grumbles about what she has made for dinner. A lump rises in her throat. "Thank you, Sarah."

* * *

Tifa jerks awake as if shocked by a live wire. At first she operates purely on instinct, as her conscious mind fights to catch up with what her senses have already registered. At the second scream, however, she is out of bed and running almost before her feet hit the floor.

The hall is full of smoke. "Sarah?" Tifa ducks under the biggest pall, but she is already coughing. "S-Sarah! Jim!"

The door to Sarah's room is ajar. Inside, she can see a mass of writhing black shapes. No matter how many times, Tifa has never been able to stop that first jolt of fear. It is automatic and has saved her life more than once, but also skates close to making her freeze up with fear. More than anyone, she knows how much damage Heartless can do.

"Sarah!"

Smoke billows from the bedroom. A pinpoint of light moves back and forth. Sarah waves her candle in one hand, tugging at her long curtains with the other. Outside the horizon is splotchy with sunrise, but this is nothing compared to the glow of the flames. The burning curtains drop onto the Heartless surrounding Sarah's bed. In a display of astonishing agility, she bounces once to get some height, springs off her mattress and propels herself over them towards the door. She stumbles, but Tifa catches her arm and yanks her out of the room.

"Wh-where's J-Jim?" Sarah coughs.

"Isn't he in his room?"

"With all this noise?"

Guests stream from their rooms in a stunning mass of unusual shapes. Scales flash, antennae wave, more legs than Tifa has ever seen skitter through the hallway, out of windows and down the stairs. Everyone wants to escape the Heartless. Yellow eyes and distinctive black bodies shamble after them. Impossibly, the slower Heartless look more dangerous than the razor-toothed, sharp-clawed people they chase.

Tifa's jaw sets. She scoops Sarah into her arms and vaults along the corridor, bouncing off the walls to reach Jim's room. She boots the door and lands inside. "Jim!"

The room is empty, the bed perfectly made. It has clearly not been slept in. The Heartless haven't come in here. Why bother going where there are no hearts to steal? The window gapes and the curtains flutter accusingly.

"He snuck out," she says to Sarah.

"For once, I'm not mad at him," she replies in a croak.

"We have to get out too."

Tifa heads for the window. Behind them, the corridor flickers as flames spread along it, helped by the sudden influx of oxygen. The ground seems very far away – or would to someone who can't leap entire buildings. Tifa channels chi into her legs, braces her muscles and jumps. Sarah's scream is loud in her ear, but she tunes it out. She has to get the landing right. Buttressing herself with enough chi that her shin bones don't shoot through her kneecaps is second nature to her now, but it's different when she has a passenger. It's a jarring thump that could snap someone's neck if she doesn't take care.

The inn burns. Flames shoot up through the roof. Tifa is amazed at the speed of its destruction. The dry wood catches easily, turning the whole place into an inferno. Heartless waver in the windows. They can burn just like everyone else. She takes a grim sort of satisfaction in that, but it dies when she sees Sarah's face. The inn is all she has in the world besides her son. Now one is being destroyed before her eyes and the other is missing. Sarah's expression is tight with fear, shock and the effort of keeping herself together.

The inn's front door hangs open like a wound. Heartless scuttle out like rats leaving a sinking ship. Some turn towards the two women.

"We have to run," Tifa says. "We can use the Highwind." It may not be safe for off-world travel, but it's still faster and more defensible than being on foot or using one of the tiny skimmers people use to get around out here.

"I'm not going anywhere without Jim." Sarah's tone brooks no argument.

Luckily, Tifa is used to Cloud using that exact same tone. She never listens to him, either. It makes it easier that Sarah is still in her arms. "I can force you, but I'd rather not. See sense, Sarah."

"Not without Jim," Sarah says stubbornly.

"He wasn't in the inn. He probably snuck out to go solar-surfing." A hybrid of sky-surfing and windsurfing using a solar-powered rocket, solar-surfing is another of Jim's rebellions. Sarah hates it and it often gets him in trouble with the authorities, since the best areas to surf are dangerous and restricted from public use. All that just makes it more thrilling to Jim, and gives his mother regular anxiety attacks. He claims worrying her isn't his intention, so he tries to hide it when he does it. It isn't impossible that he could have gone out to catch a little practise before his morning chores. It wouldn't be the first time.

Sarah apparently thinks so too. "The quarry. We'll check the quarry."

"In the Highwind."

She bites her lip. "If he isn't there …"

Once upon a time, a platitude would have come easily. Tifa would have reassured Sarah that everything will be fine, and would have done it without a second thought. Now she knows better. She has too many bad experiences behind her, and too many awful memories, to say 'it will all be okay' and sound like she means it if she doesn't.

A Heartless rises out of the dirt at Tifa's feet like a diver emerging from a still pool. She leaps backwards and runs for the shed. Sarah hunches in her arms like her belly hurts, but says nothing. Tifa doesn't either. There doesn't seem much to say.

The Heartless. Always the Heartless. Tifa bites the inside of her cheek and silently promises to find Jim, to reunite at least this parent and child, or at least find out what has happened to stop them being together. It isn't much, but it's something she can do.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_**I'm Still Here**_

- Reference to the theme song of the same name from Treasure Planet, written and sung by John Rzeznik.

_"Would you believe an evil queen turned into a dragon, climbed to the top of a skyscraper and tried to barbeque me as I flew away with her stepson's ex-fiancée and the ex-fiancée's new squeeze?"_

- Side-fling to Disney's _Enchanted._

… _she found him facedown in a place called Sherwood, in a world filled with animal-people …_

- Side-fling to Disney's _Robin Hood_.

* * *

.


	96. Return of the Ninja

**A/N:** Sorry for the late update. Exam season is almost upon us and work has been crazy.

* * *

**95. Return of the Ninja**

* * *

Yuffie is back.

The thought has Leon reeling.

Yuffie is back, here, in Traverse Town. She's alive, she's okay, and she has come back after all this time. Even better, he can see no hint in her of the torment that drove her away. She seems like a mellower version of her old self; more comfortable in her skin, and back to using that overeager grin so glaringly absent before. The grin that made him fall in love with her when he was trying so hard _not_ to.

Cid summed it up when Leon ran into him and told him the news: "Fucking _hell_!"

Leon knows he has to talk to her. He also knows the conversation they already had was nowhere near the one they need to have. Admittedly, her new friends were a dampener on top of his shock at seeing her again, so Leon did what he always does in situations to which he has no pre-programmed response: he withdrew and left it up to Captain Leonhart. Captain Leonhart saw the gargoyles and immediately started thinking about how they can help defend Traverse Town against the Heartless. He focussed so much on that he all but blanked Yuffie. The idea was that would give him time to figure out what to _say_. Instead all he did was run away like a coward.

He has never known how to react with stuff like this. It just isn't in his nature. Rinoa had to make the first move on him because he … wasn't _scared_, just brainless about what to do when faced with the girl of his dreams.

He remembers her dragging him onto the dance floor at one of Lord Ansem's formal dances. All cadets were supposed to keep dance cards and write down the names of those they'd agreed to dance with. They were supposed to keep to their allotted times so there were always enough of them on the edges to leap into action in an emergency. The girl in the extremely short cream dress wasn't even _on_ his card, but she grabbed his hand and led him out anyway. She brazenly put his hand on her waist in full view of his peers and commanding officers. After that dance she giggled, pecked him on the cheek and disappeared into the crowd.

It wasn't until later he found out her name was Rinoa Heartilly. Even more surprising, she was a cadet in the female corps, training to be a guard just like him. She never acted like it. She was giggly, immature, frivolous and unnecessarily playful – unless there was a crisis. _Then_ she was a force of nature, and good luck to anything stupid enough to stand in her way.

Yuffie has that same hair-trigger between carefree and fierce. Unlike Rinoa she has always been hesitant about admitting her deeper emotions. From the first time he met her, Yuffie was all about the surface; appearances and not letting people see beneath until she is ready. Where Rinoa was straight-talking and hated concealment, Yuffie always hid behind overconfidence and a brash personality that easily offended. She pushed the envelope until there was the hint of someone pushing back, and then ran for cover. When she finally stopped running and stood her ground … that was when he knew her feelings were serious. It freaked him out so much he stopped pushing and _shoved_ back with all his might. It worked. He shoved her away from him – and toppled her right into Lea's waiting arms.

The rest is history. Leon would be surprised if anyone amongst their friends doesn't know how he feels about Yuffie by now. You can't wait for someone for eight years and expect the people around you not to realise. Maybe some took longer than others, and maybe they didn't approve after the way he treated her, but by now his sincerity is clear. Eight years of celibacy, staring at an empty Locator Map and refusing to accept she might be dead, even when others have given up hope, is a pretty convincing argument.

Some days he wakes up and even he is surprised. Those are the days he feels guilty about Rinoa, like he has betrayed her by falling in love again. He might as well still be a gawky teenager himself, brainless and waiting on the edge of the dance-floor for divine intervention to kick his sluggish hormones into touch. Now if only he could figure out what to do next, so he doesn't spend _another_ eight years alone, that would be just great.

* * *

"Wow, pipsqueak." Cid shakes his head in disbelief. "That's some story."

"It's all true," Yuffie says indignantly.

"I never said it wasn't."

"Yeah, well … just you remember that."

He gives her a funny look, but he's still smiling. She didn't know Cid could keep a smile this long. "I knew you'd have a good reason for fucking off for so long. That was some plan. Goin' after the _Sorceress_? Ballsy. Pretty crazy, too, since she ain't even supposed to exist."

"She doesn't. Not anymore." Yuffie dips her head. "The plan didn't work out so well. I messed up. As usual."

"Quit that before I make you quit, an' I won't be gentle. I didn't wait a coon's age to hear your mouth overload your butt with self-pity. Sure, maybe the whole time magic thing weren't what you were expectin', but think of it this way: at least now you ain't gotta choose between us and your family."

"I … guess so."

"You got a lotta new allies outta it too – powerful ones – plus you got the satisfaction of knowin' you saved 'em from oblivion."

"They saved my sorry butt as much as I rescued theirs. It was a mutual butt-saving experience."

"Whatever. All I know is I wouldn't wanna meet any gargoyle creature in a dark alley when he's pissed an' I'm the only target."

"Only because your mouldy old butt couldn't run away fast enough. How old _are _you now?"

Cid coughs into his fist, muttering something inaudible but probably disgusting. "So what's all this about a book? You cashin' in on that Great Redeemer shit?"

"As if. I am _so_ over that."

He gives her a funny look, as if she has surprised him. "Huh."

"What 'huh'?"

"Just huh."

"With you, Old Fart, it's never 'just huh'."

"I never figured you for a poet or nuthin'."

"That change of subject was subtle. Poets write poetry. The clue is in the title. Anyhow, it's not like I didn't start writing before I left. I've been working on that thing since before Lea died."

Cid's entire posture stiffens, though his face doesn't change. His eyes dart around her face, obviously looking for something. Yuffie offers a smile, telling him without words that it's okay.

It will never be easy to remember Lea. All her memories are tainted by his death, but she has resolved a not to let that stop her savouring the good times. They were together for a relatively short time, especially compared to how long she has been without him. He made a big impact on her and she will never forget that. His long-ago trash-talk on a tavern roof flicked the first domino in her confrontation with the walls she set up around herself after Wutai and Ragdim. She is much happier because of that, and she will always be grateful for Lea kicking her metaphorical ass on top of that first domino and holding her in place until it fell. Yuffie is a survivor, but even survivors sometimes need help to go from surviving to living.

"You wanna read my book?" Yuffie reaches and stops. "Oh hell, I left my bag on the roof of the church."

"With those gargoyles?"

"Don't worry, they won't bite you. Well, the dog one might, but he'll be gentle about it. He considerately always leaves one kidney behind."

Cid looks uncertain.

"Joke!"

"Is it true they turn to stone during the day?"

"Sure is."

"They ain't been seen on this continent for hundreds of years. Some people thought they didn't exist no more."

Yuffie shrugs. "They were wrong. Better for us – no gargoyle-Heartless that way. Now do you wanna read my book or not?"

"I ain't really one for readin', kid." Cid sees her expression and sighs. "But since you worked so long on the damn thing, I'll make an exception."

"Don't do me any favours, you insensitive bastard."

He reaches to cuff her, but she slips away, stepping closer to Aerith's bed. She checks herself before she crashes into it.

"You cuss too much for a pipsqueak."

"Hey, I'm twenty-two in here."

"Twenty-six."

"Huh?"

"You were eighteen when you left. That was eight years ago."

"But I lost four years. To me, they never happened, so in my head I'm still twenty-two."

"Oh. Right. I forgot about that. Shit, it's getting' hard to tell what the hell's goin' on in this town without a scorecard. What is it with people around here never lookin' their fuckin' age and always playin' Sleeping Beauty?"

"What's Sleeping Beauty?"

"Some ol' fairytale from back on my world. A princess pricks her finger on a magic spinnin' wheel an' falls asleep for a hundred years, then wakes up when a handsome prince kisses her, and she ain't aged a day."

"Eeew!" Yuffie pulls a face. "That's totally gross. It has the distinct whiff of necrophilia about it. The fairytales on your world stink as much as the ones here."

"Hey, I didn't write 'em. If I had, there'd be more useful mechanics and fewer namby-pamby princes who can't tell a horse's ass from a carburettor."

"Someone once told me all stories are true somewhere in the multiverse," Yuffie says thoughtfully. "And that anybody who writes stuff is, like, tapping into another universe with their mind and stealing ideas from there."

"Don't give yourself too much credit, pipsqueak. You ain't psychic. An' getting' back to the subject, you may be twenty-two in your head, but to me you'll always be a precocious, loud-mouthed, shit-eatin' brat who steals my tools."

"Thanks, Old Fart. That makes me feel really special. Truly."

* * *

"Is that a post-box?"

"Yup."

"There's a postal service now?"

"Yup."

"But do people still use pigeons?"

"Yup."

"Does that post-box have a tongue?" Yuffie stares. "That post-box has a tongue."

"Yup."

She kicks Cid on the ankle. "Stop that. Answer me properly."

"Shit, kid!"

"And I'm not a kid."

"You got lead weights in those boots?"

Yuffie looks at her feet. "Nope. These are genuine yak-hide from the North Mountains. They're so tough they don't _need_ lead weights."

"Says you."

She takes a moment to consider her appearance. While on the road she never much cared how she looked. She was more concerned with wearing clothes that didn't let her freeze to death, overheat, catch pneumonia or get barbequed by falling fireballs, depending on the weather and wildlife where she was. As a result, her outfit is a mishmash of colours, styles and regional details, like a tourist guidebook come to life. Breeches woven from harpy-hair are stuffed into her yak boots, her tunic smells of the crushed beetles used to dye it red, her linen shirt is beginning to wear through at the elbows and armpits, and her mottled belt has a tear that has been repaired with expert stitches. She remembers the lamia preying on babies in a southern village, which she took down when it failed to realise how sharp Glory of Wutai is. The village doctor and his wife made her a present of the belt and several bottles of venom, which was icky, but also kind of cool. The venom, especially, came in handy in the mountains. Apparently ogres won't come near an encampment if it reeks of lamia.

The only things she still has that she set out with are the leather-and-fishnet gloves from Esmeralda and her yellow scarf. She keeps the threadbare scarf in a pouch at her waist. Even her headband was a gift from a southern tribal chief after she saved his daughter from crocodile-Heartless. Traditionally, ninja inscribe the name or symbol of their tribe on their headbands, but Yuffie has deliberately left hers blank.

"Traverse Town has had some facelift while I've been away," she remarks.

"A lot of it got destroyed in Heartless attacks. We got help rebuildin' from Disney Castle, but their magic is kinda -" Cid grimaces "- _cutesy_."

Yuffie looks at the signposts with their white gloves and pointing fingers, the wiggly streetlamps and other charming touches. "I like it."

"_You_ would."

"What's that supposed to mean? It's uplifting. Ooh, and look! They rebuilt the fountain; and they got it working again! Oh and it's full of adorable centaurs and cherubs. Too bad they're just emptying water from vases. I saw some cool fountains in Toddlewaddle where the statues peed and spat."

"What the fuck is Toddlewaddle?"

"A tiny but really cool place on the Western coast. I'll take you there someday. They make the best almond cakes in the world, and all their humour revolves around toilets and farting."

"Remind me to introduce you to Huey, Dewey and Louie. I think you'd get along like a house on fire."

"Huey, Dewey and Louie?" Yuffie echoes. "And you thought Toddlewaddle was a weird name?"

* * *

At sunset, Yuffie goes to the church roof to welcome the gargoyles back to the world of the living. She is much more informed than when she left them this morning, and absolutely exhausted. She hasn't slept properly in over thirty-six hours. Only the adrenaline of coming home has kept her on her feet this long. After seeing Aerith, she and Cid went everywhere, and seemed to see everyone. Not one person was upset at her return, which has left her with a curious sense of belonging that is as welcome as it is familiar. The last time she felt like this was when Zack was still alive.

Of course, some faces were notably absent. Yuffie learned of losses as well as gains. Mr Snoops, in particular, was a painful forfeit. The poor guy's life seemed to trip from one piece of bad luck to another. She hopes that wherever he is now, he is finally happy.

The spray of stone skin from the gargoyles flicks her in the face. "That is so gross."

"Good evening, Yuffie," Goliath deadpans.

"Holla!"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Something I heard some of the teens in town saying." Yuffie's tone slips a little. "Those who are left, that is."

He stares at her in that way he has; a blend of intimidating and concern that wouldn't work nearly so well for someone without wings, a tail and a chest-span like a mountain. "You have been learning things about your home."

"Well, duh."

"Which means you have not been sleeping."

"Well, _duh_."

"Which means," he growls, "you are very stupid to be standing on a rooftop right now."

"My sense of balance is impeccable, thankyouverymuch." Someone shoves her in the back. "Whoa!" She topples forward until Goliath catches her. She twists out of his grasp to glare at the person behind her. Rover pants and woofs. "Bad doggie!"

Goliath insists she get some rest, but Yuffie refuses until he assures her he and his clan want to start patrolling their new protectorate as soon as possible.

"But don't you, y'know, need me to explain modern life to you? Things have changed in two centuries."

"Goliath?" Batty looks up at him hopefully. He was quite taken with his brief glimpse of Cid's shop yesterday, and even more when she told him what it contains. When she told Cid about Batty's interest he seemed open to talking with the gargoyle too. Yuffie wonders how much he has missed having a student since Tifa left. They might be good for each other.

Both Beaky and Tubby echo Batty, but Goliath is firm.

"You have all slept. Now it's time for Yuffie to do the same. Yuffie, where shall we take you?"

"What?"

"While this is an admirable place for our slumber, it will not fulfil the requirements of a human."

Yuffie draws a blank. In all the events of the day, she never resolved where she will be staying. The apartment is definitely out. She runs through her other options before answering. "I guess … Aunt Sarah's guesthouse. C'mon, I'll show you where it is."

* * *

"So this is the friend you told us about," Goliath says, far softer than Yuffie would have thought possible if she hadn't heard him.

"Yeah, this is Ponytail. I mean Aerith."

"She has not awakened." It wasn't a question. Yuffie told him about Aerith, Zack and Cloud during their journey. Gargoyles don't take partners the same way as humans, so he didn't find their relationship odd, which was a relief. For some reason, she wants the gargoyles to like her friends and family. Goliath, in particular, speaks for his clan, but his personal respect is something Yuffie values. Goliath may be temporally out of touch, but he isn't a fool.

Yuffie shrugs in answer to his question. "No."

"You are disappointed."

She shrugs again. "I guess. I was kinda, sorta hoping that maybe, since she got magically sick while I was here, she'd get magically better while I was gone."

"Magic is not predictable."

"Tell me about it." Of course, she doesn't have to. Goliath knows all too well what magic can do to screw up your life.

He looks down at Aerith. The room isn't small, but he makes it seem tiny. Aerith may as well be made of matchsticks compared to him. "As far as I am aware of human standards of attractiveness, she is very beautiful. You are sure you wish to stay here?"

"I'm sure." Yuffie makes a shooing motion at him. "Now scat and go do what you have to do. I'll meet you on the church roof at dawn."

"_If_ you are well-rested enough. Do not even think of climbing all those stairs unless you've had enough sleep."

"Thanks, _dad_."

Goliath frowns slightly. Too late, Yuffie remembers about the eggs the Sorceress destroyed when she froze the clan. Maybe some of those were Goliaths. Maybe he lost even more than he has admitted to.

"Sorry, big guy. That was out of line."

"I do not pretend to understand the exact phrase you just used, but I understand your meaning. There is no need to apologise to me, Yuffie. Although," he says as he goes back out to the balcony, "if you were my child, I like to think I would not take so much cheek from you."

"You wish. Teenagers are always cheeky. It's in the handbook."

"You are not a teenager."

"Tell that to my boobs." She looks sadly down at them. "I'm back to being totally deficient in the chesticle department."

Goliath makes a stifled noise and swings himself off the balcony. The others are waiting for him outside – one giant in the little room is enough, without them trying to cram inside as well. He digs his claws into the brickwork to haul himself up to the roof. Gargoyles can't fly, only glide, and need a high place to leap from if they don't want to become street-pizza. Yuffie leans out to watch him. She immediately resolves to introduce the whole clan to the concept of pants instead of loincloths. She watches the awe-inspiring sight of gargoyles passing in front of a full moon.

"I will never get tired of that," she murmurs, before turning back to the bed. "Man, Ponytail, I wish you could see it too."

There single chair is wicker and uncomfortable as hell. The extent of her exhaustion shows when she falls asleep in it anyway. She wakes to a crick in her neck and the discomfort of a butt that has fallen asleep so badly her legs are numb too. It's hardly the best position to be in when you realise the guy you like is leaning against the wall in the perfect spot to see you snore and drool.

Shit, has she really drooled? She checks and finds herself mercifully spit-free, but that doesn't change the shine of Leon's open eyes in the gloom. He can sleep standing up, she knows, but he isn't asleep now. Having him watch her like that is unnerving. Yuffie twitches her feet to encourage the blood to flow back into them.

"Still all mean n' moody, brusque n' broody, I see." She tries for flippant. It comes out squeaky. Hell.

"You're back."

"Give the boy a gold star. Yes, Captain Obvious, I am. Got a problem with that?" _Because you weren't exactly welcoming before. No, wait, tone it down, Yuffie. Don't come across all aggressive. You want him to stay so you can talk to him, remember? Now's as good a time as any._ "You look pretty good for someone who got beaten up by a bunch of Heartless."

"We've all learned how to manipulate small bits of healing magic using Merlin's resources."

"Really?"

"We had to."

The bed tugs at her gaze. "I suppose so."

Leon doesn't move away from the wall or switch on the lights. She gets the feeling he is more comfortable in the dark. "I never believed you were dead."

"Oh." She doesn't know how to respond to that. "Well … that's great. Nice to know you had faith in my survival skills."

"Penelo kept her word. She never told us where you'd gone until nearly two weeks after you went." He doesn't sound pleased. He doesn't sound _anything._ "We tried to go after you."

Yuffie's eyes widen. Neither Cid nor Chicha mentioned that part. She wonders if they knew. "Who tried?"

"Cid. Merlin. Me. We left the town practically undefended except for some rookies. We made it all the way to Wander Harbour and borrowed Panchito and José's boat, but we couldn't cross the sea. Storms sprang up whenever we tried. They wouldn't die down even when Merlin tried his magic. Likewise when we tried to fly in one of Cid's Gummi Ships. We crashed. Panchito and José had to rescue us."

Embarrassment floods Yuffie's cheeks in a hot rush. She bows her head, even though he probably can't see. There are enough shadows in here for her to _shinobi-iri_ her way to freedom inside ten seconds. The impulse to just _go_ is there, but so is the desire to stay. "That was probably my fault."

"_Your_ fault?"

"Yeah." She sighs, ready to tell the humiliating story once more. "Penny told you why I went to the Land Across the Sea, right?"

"You went to steal magic from the Sorceress."

"Time magic. I wanted to fix things, but nothing's ever that straightforward."

"You wanted to save Lea." There is a heavy, dead quality to Leon's voice.

"There were a lot of people I wanted to save."

"Including Lea."

"Well _yeah_." She refuses to be apologetic about that, and frankly he shouldn't expect her to. She sits up a little straighter. "Can you honestly tell me you wouldn't, if you could? You wouldn't go back and save Rinoa, or your other Royal Guards, or any of the people the Heartless have taken?"

"No."

"Exactly." She slumps back. "But it didn't work out that way." Her voice cracks. _Damn it_.

Leon doesn't say anything more.

"Simply put, I found the Sorceress. I was right about her being alive and not as powerful as she used to be, but that's where my rightness ended. Her time magic wasn't about jumping forward and backward _in_ time, it was for _stealing_ time from other people. That's why she always needed a young sacrifice, though the whole pure and innocent virgin girl thing was totally for effect, I swear, otherwise there's no way I would've qualified when she caught me."

"She caught you?"

"Yes, embarrassing as the idea is, it can happen even to a fantabulous ninja like me. She held onto me for four years. See, the Sorceress's time magic was basically this thing she called a Time Compression – a big bubble she stuck people in, which sucked their youth out and siphoned it into her. The more youth she stole, the more powerful she got. When she'd taken all their remaining years they finished up as a pile of dust. Only I, stuck as I am at the zits and hormones stage, was a smorgasbord of youth. With her being so weak after all that time, I was the best thing that could've come her way. No matter how much youth she took from me, I always had more because I can't age. That's probably how she was able to beat you guys back when you tried to come rescue me – which I do totally appreciate, by the way. Really, I do. It's just sucky that you couldn't get to me, because spending four years as some old lady's snack treat sucks major ass."

"It … must have been very traumatic."

"Not really. I was unconscious the whole time. I may have stayed that way forever if it hadn't been for Fenrir."

"I did wonder what happened to him. He didn't come back with you. I presumed the lifespan of a chocobo was less than however old he –"

"No." Yuffie shakes her head, suddenly choked up. This is the worst part of the story, and the part she hates telling. "The Sorceress didn't think he was important. When she first captured me she blasted him and left him for dead. Of course, buzzard-beak was way tougher than she expected. He was always way tougher than anybody expected. I don't know how, but he recovered and spent years trying to find me. When he finally did, he burst into the caves where I was being kept and attacked the Time Compression. He just … threw himself at the thing. It may have been this super-duper way of keeping her juiced up, but it was way weak against being physically attacked from the outside. He interrupted the flow of the magic. He got me out. I'd still be I there if it wasn't for him, but … but the recoil when it exploded …" She stops.

Leon pushes off the wall. She makes no effort to rise. She is too busy forcing down the lump in her throat.

"It killed him. Not immediately. He led me to the mouth of the cave before he … aw, fuck. I never thought I'd actually be grateful to that stupid featherbutt, let alone owe him my life." Her voice softens. "Or miss him so much. I was so mad, I picked up Glory of Wutai and this weird-ass curved sword I found in a pile of weapons she'd tossed in a little side-cave. You'd have loved it there. All sorts of weird blades and stuff, probably from all the warriors the Sorceress defeated in her heyday. Anyhow, I picked them up and went tearing off to find her. I don't know what I intended to do. All I know is that on the way I got totally lost in the caves and ended up in this, like, secret grotto thing where Goliath and his clan were being kept. They were all frozen as statues around a Zen pool thing. She'd turned them into part of a _water feature._ I had to climb over them to get through it without drowning. Goliath woke up while I was standing on his tail, and man, was he pissed. He thought I was one of the Sorceress's goons! After I explained I wasn't, y'know, a bad guy, he made me stay there while _they_ went and took care of the Sorceress – which they did. I heard them. It was a bad battle. If I'd gone to face her alone … well, let's just say that they saved my life by making me stay put and setting Rover to guard me. No way was I giving up Glory of Wutai, but Old Geezer kept the sword to make sure I wouldn't use it. He looks pretty good with it, don't you think?"

"I don't understand; _how_ did you wake them up if they'd been frozen by magic for hundreds of years?"

Yuffie bows her head again, even more warmth creeping into her face. Her ears start to burn. "They were under an enchantment. I broke it. I didn't know they were really alive, did I? I thought they were all just overgrown lawn ornaments. I was crying about Fenrir and I guess I must've dripped on Goliath. It only took one of them waking up to break the whole shebang."

"But why did crying on him make any difference?"

_Oh well, here goes nothing_. "Because every enchantment from back then had to come with a … failsafe, I guess you could call it. The incantation had to finish with a bit on how to break it, otherwise the magic wasn't balanced and wouldn't work – the universe is all about balance, right? The one holding Goliath and his clan ended like this:

"'The saddest tears are salt and sweet,

And when with your stone skin they meet,

Your time this spell shall no more borrow,

If broken by a maiden's sorrow.

This maid, forsooth, entwinéd be,

In love or else no light you'll see.

If you can find this maid to give

Her tears to you, then you shall live'."

Yuffie shuffles her feet uncomfortably. Leon looks a lot like a statue himself. He's barely moved a muscle while she recited. She can't tell anything from his body language.

"Hm," he says at last.

Hm? _Hm?_ That's worse than Cid's 'huh'. She just spelled out that she is still in love with Leon and the best response he can come up with is a freaking _hm_? It's not even a word. It's 'him' or 'hum' or 'hem' without a vowel – just a noise that could mean anything. Anger spirals up inside her like smoke from two sticks rubbing together. She hasn't waited eight years to play ring-around-the-rosies. Not anymore.

"And that means what?"

"It means …" Leon pauses, perhaps searching for the right words, or just wondering how he managed to get himself into the same position as nearly a decade ago.

"Yes?" Yuffie prompts, a little sharper than necessary. She sandpapers the edges of her voice to make them softer, but they just end up coming out rough and scratchy instead.

She prays this won't be a repeat of last time. She has dissected that debacle so many times it resembles a fourth-rate biology lesson, but decided to take the plunge anyway. What else could she do? Faced with dying in the Land Across the Sea, Rover at her heels in the caves, waiting to see if the Sorceress would defeat the gargoyles and come for her again, the person uppermost in Yuffie's mind was Leon. She regretted not seeing him once more before she went. She regretted … well, a lot of things, but she was given another chance. She _has_ been given another chance. Or at least she thought so, but his responses so far have been less than encouraging.

"It means what?" _What's with the shrillness? Dial it down a notch, you idiot! Oh, yeah, really smooth. You're not too invested in his answer, honest. You don't really care what he thinks of you. Insert sarcasm here. Idiot!_

Asking forgiveness is a complicated affair; a delicate balancing act between stiff-necked pride and tearful remorse. Unless you truly open up to the other person, every apology sounds hollow and false. Even worse is admitting you're wrong, or that you love someone. The possibility of rejection makes a lot of people not even try. However, if you get over that invisible first hurdle, the worst thing by far is waiting for a response. Yuffie scrutinises the gloom, trying to spot Leon's face and the expression on it. Screw reading his silence and body language; she wishes she could just pry open his head and read his brain.

"It means you must love Lea very much for your feelings to help you break such a strong enchantment."

Clang.

She wrote Leon a note before she left. Did he read it? He had to – she stuck it to his bathroom mirror, after all, and he didn't vacate his apartment until two years ago. Did she tell him she loved him in that note? She thinks she did, but this whole situation makes her question herself. How did she phrase it? She can't remember. She can't have been clear enough if Leon thinks she is still choosing Lea over him.

Or maybe _she _has the wrong end of the stick. Maybe she has been too arrogant, thinking it is her right to choose – that it was ever her right to choose how this went. Near-death experiences make you selfish. You want to grasp life by the collar and either kiss it or choke it, and no half-measures will do. Leon has never told her he feels the same way. The most he ever expressed was friendship, and that was tentative after Zack died and people dropped out of their lives one by one. Her suspicions he felt more came from other people. Could she have read too much into his behaviour _yet again_?She just assumed …

Oh, gods, how _embarrassing_ would it be if she rushed back over an entire freaking ocean, assuming they could live happily ever after, when Leon is as romantically interested now as he has ever been – i.e. _not_.

Or maybe he is covering things up. Maybe he is just trying to dodge the bullet. Maybe he brought up Lea just now so she would openly admit how she really feels so he won't have to do it. Leon has never been big on shows of emotion, and he sure as hell has a relationship history that would make him want to avoid rejection.

Okay. No more beating around the bush. Time to get this sorted _out_. But … where to start? The entire messy sprawl of their history opens up between them like a gulf. Yuffie's teenage crush. Leon's role as mentor, followed by his thorny, awkward, fragile friendship. The ever-present spectre of Rinoa. Yuffie dragging the part of him that was still Squall into the light. Fighting together. Training together. _Playing_ together, when she could get him to loosen up enough. Him teaching her to read and (almost) how to use a gunblade. Her teaching him how to laugh, or at least how to let go of his Mr. Grim face for five seconds at a time. Living just a floor apart, often circumvented by sitting together on the roof, or using the bathroom window more than the door.

And then breaking apart for reasons she still wasn't too clear about; a detonation she didn't predict, and which left her scrabbling about in the ashes for slivers of a friendship that whisked away like smoke, until they were less than they had been when they first met. The hurt became raw confusion, which was more enraging than painful over time. She remembers trying to win him back with that stupid jacket, before it sank in that he didn't even want friendship anymore. She remembers him throwing it back in her face. His rejection steered her course away from his so sharply, she crashed straight into Lea's heart instead.

Leon's reaction to _that_ was even more confusing. If he had ignored them, she would have assumed he was truly done with her. She would have assumed everything between them, which had taken so long to grow, really had been blown away in a heartbeat. Except that Leon had acted out of turn – jealously, part of her yelled, while the rest took his dislike of Lea at face value. Leon was an asshole. He had always been an asshole. Except when he hadn't. Except when she saw in him the heart of a good man, made hostile by grief and suffering. Leon didn't want to be hurt again, so he had reacted by making sure he wouldn't experience happiness only to have it taken away again. Or so Yuffie told herself.

She remembers being so happy, young and in love with Lea, but still with Leon in her heart as well. She remembers the misery that followed when the Heartless returned and everything turned black with poison around her. Her own happiness rotted like putrid flesh, just as Leon's once had, breaking off in people-shaped chunks that hurt like ripping off her own limbs.

And Leon had come back. When she was hurting and had needed him, he had come back to her. Leon's strong presence next to her during that dark time pulled her back from the edge and held her in the light, just as she held _him_ there after he admitted how he was torturing himself over Rinoa. No matter what came before, Yuffie is so grateful to Leon for just being there. He said the things she needed to hear, and understood, the way nobody else could, how it felt not only to lose someone you loved, but to feel responsible for their death and not being able to save them.

Leon helped her rebuild the skeleton of a life, and she enjoyed his company, despite everything that had happened between them. Miraculously, he seemed to enjoy hers, too – but not even that was enough to keep her here after Aerith's coma, when her newly and carefully constructed walls crumbled, and her sense of self frayed so much at the edges it was either leave Traverse Town or go insane.

People made mistakes, she told herself. People could do and say the wrong thing. Hell, she was living proof. She had said and done some crummy stuff in her life, but had any of her friends held that against her? So many wasted opportunities, crossed wires, and lack of communication. Second chances are great, but what about third? Or fourth? Is there a time when you tell your heart to shut the hell up already, or do you keep going back to the one who stuck a flag in it the first time you saw him in a darkened street, on a lonely night, when he found you in his town and helped you find your friends after your world got pulled out from under you?

_Man, we're so fucked up_.

A thousand questions stir inside Yuffie, but only one can make it to her mouth at a time. She needs to go right down to the wire if she is ever to make the only choice she _knows _is hers to make: between moving forward together or finally getting some closure and going on alone. "Leon, can I ask you something?"

"That depends."

"Did you _ever_ love me the way I loved you?"

Silence. The empty kind, not flashy. Silence like the moment between two beats.

"Yes."

Yuffie's brain doesn't react. Neither does her tongue. Nor her body. Only her heart responds. It swoops. It buckles. It gives a cheer and falls deathly silent in the same moment, reminding her that this is what love _feels_ like. Love is feeling sick and happy and nervous and curious at the same time, and feeling it all so intensely it threatens to overturn you like a little boat on a colossal sea if you don't hold yourself together.

"Can I ask another?"

Leon waits a moment before replying. "Yes."

"When?"

She can't see his face properly. She wants to see his face! She can just about make out his scar, more livid in the dark than in the light, but nothing else. Are his eyes shut? Why can she only see that damn scar? It is a constant reminder of Rinoa and his past; everything he once had and lost, which she can't replace no matter how hard she tries. Leon is Yuffie's first love, but she is not his, and that scar is proof. Yuffie knows from experience that your first love is your biggest simply because it _is_ your first. Rinoa changed him when she died, turning him from Squall to Leon. He changed who he was – _is_ – for Rinoa.

Oh yeah, there it is, the other part of love – the part where you're confused twenty-four-seven and it feels like only the person you're in love with can set you straight again. Being in love is the biggest pain the in ass in the history of the multiverse – but when it works out, it is also the most wonderful, and the possibility of it working out is enough to make millions of people risk the hurt and try anyway.

"Yuffie," Leon says, "I'm not -"

In a stunning display of the kind of horrible timing that characterises their whole lives, whatever he is about to say is cut off by Yuffie's own yelp. She thunders past him on instinct, executing a flawless side-kick. She uses the momentum to deliver a whip-kick that barely misses his left ear as she switches standing legs. She follows through with a swift uppercut, turning the pair of Heartless coming through the wall behind him into sprays of black dust.

Leon drops back, groping for his gunblade. He finds it missing and raises his fists instead.

More Heartless pour into the room, passing through the brickwork as easily as water. Yuffie snaps a roundhouse that connects so hard the exploding Heartless fires out backwards, coating the one behind it. Glory of Wutai gleams next to the wicker chair. She took it off when she sat down to sleep. Now it seems further away than it should.

"Hey, Leon," she barks. "You remember how to fight with a giant shuriken?"

He picks it up and holds it in a passable grip for close-combat. Yuffie's grin is almost feral. Adrenaline dumps into her system. Her whole body feels alive as she turns it into a weapon. Once upon a time she wanted this feeling more than anything in the world, and felt like a failure when she couldn't deal with the trade-off of murdering undeserving people to be a proper ninja. Now she is past that, using skills traditional for killing to protect instead. The mental projection of her father hasn't said a word against her choice because it was hers to make. She is much stronger than he ever gave her credit for, though perhaps not in the ways either of them expected.

"I don't understand," Leon hisses. "They never attack here. Aerith's heart isn't beating – they can't sense her!"

"So maybe it's not her they're after." Yuffie's fist crashes through another squidgy round head, finding no bone resistance. Heartless don't have regular skeletons, nor do they have exoskeletons like insects. Their bodies are covered in a thick, malleable outer skin that contains the darkness and whatever else they're made of, making them feel something like evil stuffed toys. She isn't sure how they're able to stand up without spines, but Yuffie isn't sure of a lot of things when it comes to the darkness, except how to fight it.

"Yuffie, duck!"

Trusting Leon instinctively, she ducks. Glory of Wutai whizzes over her head, slicing straight though the Heartless about to drop on her from the ceiling. One blade lodges in the wall, not having enough room to boomerang back to him.

"Not bad." Yuffie vaults, wrenches it free and brandishes it like the expert she is. "But rusty. Remind me to give you lessons sometime. That was a pretty sloppy throw, unless you were _trying _to disarm yourself."

From this angle she can see his entire face in the moonlight from the French window. He looks at her with surprise, like she's a cat that suddenly started reading one of Merlin's most intimidating books – out loud. It's so far from the grimmer-than-grim scowl she was expecting that for a second she is flummoxed.

A Heartless head-butts her from behind. She thrusts Glory of Wutai backwards without looking, slicing it from groin to throat and jumping away as it empties black dust over the floor – but not before the one creeping up on her left has launched itself.

Leon slams into her, knocking her out of its way. It is a silly move, since they are in a confided space and it just makes her ricochet painfully into the wall, but he seems determined to make sure the Heartless doesn't touch her. Too bad he has actually hurt her more than it would have. Her left arm goes numb from the impact. She yelps in pain.

"Yuffie! Shit."

Yuffie sees him submerge under three of them. He sputters gasps and grunts of pain. She cringes at the blood flying from his nose like a grotesque pennant. He has taken on this many Heartless without his gunblade before and beaten them. What's the problem this time?

"Get up, Leon!" she shrieks, cutting a path to him and yanking him up by his shoulder. "You're embarrassing yourself."

They stand back to back, slotting together easily. The Heartless don't bother with Aerith. They are totally focussed on Yuffie and Leon. Yuffie feels a thrill of physical memory. They have stood like this before, fighting this enemy. It feels familiar and _right_. Even though the situation is lethal, she is consumed by a perverse pleasure, nothing between them and oblivion but trust in each other. It's the closest connection they've ever had.

"Time to show me what you've learned while I was away."

"Likewise," he replies, the muscles of his back shifting against hers as he raises his fists. She shivers. Then she focuses. They definitely need to live through this. Their story isn't over, and she has waited too long, and put up with too much hellish shit, not to find out the ending.

"Sure thing. Banzai!"

* * *

To Be Continued …

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_She remembers the lamia preying on babies in a southern village, which she took down when it failed to realise how sharp Glory of Wutai is._

- Lamia are half-snake, half-women creatures from mythology, who can trace their origins to the legend of Lamia, a beautiful queen of Libya who became a child-eating demon. Lamia had an affair with Zeus, the king of the Greek gods. When Hera, Zeus's notoriously jealous and vicious wife, discovered the affair and the children that had resulted from it, she became enraged and magically forced Lamia to kill the children. Driven insane with grief and corrupted by Hera's magic to break pretty much every taboo the goddess could think of, Lamia began devouring other children in an effort to ease her grief. Her monstrous appearance was a result of Hera's wrath, the pain of grief and madness over what she had done.

* * *

**A/N: **The fanart contest is still open, and the deadline has been extended to May 31st. Thus far there is only one entrant. C'mon, people. Don't make me beg. I have little enough dignity as it is after face-planting in a field and getting dragged three feet by my dog chasing a squirrel up a tree today.


	97. Aliens, Heartless and Pirates – Oh My!

.

* * *

**96. Aliens, Heartless and Pirates – Oh My!**

* * *

Tifa yanks hard on the controls. "Hold on!"

"To what?" Sarah barely has time to shriek.

If Yuffie were here, she would give some inappropriate answer. Tifa just grips harder and tries to avoid smashing into the sides of the canyon. The Highwind groans but turns this way and that, only once clipping a wing on a rocky outcropping.

"This is going to be bumpy!"

This time Sarah doesn't reply to Tifa. She just clutches the seat of her chair and shuts her eyes. Her mouth moves, repeating the same few silent words: a prayer, a mantra, questioning the sanity of riding in a damaged gummi ship at all?

The Highwind bounces – once, twice, three times – before slewing sideways and kicking up a dust cloud that shelters its bone-shaking halt. It creaks as it rolls to a stop in a fissure that acts like a wedge. Tifa cuts power to the overheated engines and checks the fuel gauge to make sure they aren't leaking anything that will blow them sky high. Finally she breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thank you for flying Highwind Airways," she murmurs. "We know you didn't have a choice, but thanks anyway, and we hope the exits are still intact enough to let you disembark."

"I don't know what Jim sees in solar surfing," Sarah says shakily. "That was terrifying, and we had a ship around us. Why would anyone want to do that with nothing but a plank and some cloth?"

"Thrills," Tifa says. She gets to her feet. "Excitement. Adrenaline."

"Idiocy," Sarah counters, unbuckling her safety belt. "This looks like the North Valley."

"It is."

"We travelled all that distance in a few hours?"

"If the Highwind hadn't been so damaged, we would have been here in minutes." Tifa hadn't wanted to push the ship more than necessary. They didn't know how far they would have to travel to find Jim. Not having a craft would be worse than having a slow one.

After losing the Heartless and discovering Jim wasn't at his usual haunts, they progressed further afield to places he had been once or twice while searching for the 'perfect surfing high'. Tifa can see why the North Valley would be a draw for a thrill-seeker. There used to be a mining operation here. While the owners have gone bankrupt and the mines long since closed, lots of the equipment was abandoned because it was too expensive to dismantle. Over time the power-cells have corrupted, leaking energy into the valley. Dangerous surges periodically knock out anything from your guidance system to all your electrics if you happen to be flying over at the wrong moment. If you are lucky the surge ends and your craft kicks in before you hit the ground. If not … well, there is a reason the authorities put up signs everywhere: 'No Entry – Restricted Area'.

"If he isn't here, Sarah, we're going to the authorities," Tifa says.

"The police?" Sarah almost keeps the snort in. "They labelled Jim a delinquent a long time ago. They won't have time for him now. They'll be busy dealing with the Heartless aftermath and we'll be stuck in their headquarters, signing paperwork they'll probably throw away instantly, while somewhere out there Jim is … is …" She is shaking, though with rage, fear or grief, Tifa doesn't know. Maybe all three. They have found no trace of Jim anywhere. To be alone at night, unarmed, when Heartless pour into your world isn't quite a death sentence, but it is as near as makes no difference. The elephant in the room stamps its feet. "Please, Tifa. We have to keep looking."

"The Highwind won't take much more punishment," Tifa has to say bluntly. "Correction; it _can't_ take much more punishment. I want to find Jim just as much as you do, but we have to be realistic."

Sarah puts her face into her hands. "I can't lose him," she whispers. "He's all I have left. He needs me, Tifa. I can feel it: he's still alive and he _needs_ me."

Once upon a time Tifa would have questioned this certainty, or chalked it up to a mother's desperation making her say anything to secure help in the search for her son. Now she knows better. She has seen miracles, curses, sorcery, magician duels, battlefield magic, fairytale enchantments, witchcraft, spell-singers and other weird things she can't even put names to. Sarah says Jim is alive. Until they find proof otherwise, Tifa will go with that. How could she live with herself if she didn't, was wrong and Jim died as a result?

She flips on the sensor array, surreptitiously checking the ship's power levels at the same time. They are pretty low. Maybe they should go to a mechanic's next. They can work out how to pay for it afterwards. Assuming they can even get off the ground, of course. She wonders when the next energy surge will hit this valley. One more like the last one could finish them.

"No life signs," Sarah says morosely. She has heard the steady 'bing-bing-bing' enough times to recognise it by now. "No heartbeats."

"Only in the immediate area." Tifa hits a few buttons and widens the search.

Sarah's smile is thin and brittle. It vanishes when the binging suddenly speeds up and rises in pitch. Her mouth drops open. "Does that mean life signs?"

"Hang on." Tifa twiddles and fiddles. She jabs and stabs. Finally she nods. The binging takes on three different pitches, playing one after the other like a doorbell. "Three of them."

Sarah's expression becomes shuttered. "Three?"

"It's possible it's Jim and he's with his school friends, if they snuck off solar-surfing together."

"Jim doesn't _have _any friends at school." Sarah doesn't say this pityingly or apologetically; merely stating a fact. "Is it him? Can we get a visual?"

"Wait just … one … second …"

Tifa coaxes power into the remote visual display, but the screen flashes only vague, blurry images, as though someone has smeared Vaseline over the lens. Nonetheless, one of the figures has clothes that look remarkably like the outfit Jim wore yesterday. The other two are as different from him – and each other – as possible. One is tall and thin, the other shorter, hunched over and wider than the other two put together.

All three abruptly keel over like pins hit by an invisible bowling ball. One set of binging becomes a screech. The message that flashes onto the screen has Sarah leaping from her chair: LIFE SIGNS TERMINATED.

"Jim!"

"Wait!"

Sarah thumps her fists against the door control and leaps into the waiting canyon. Tifa follows, stumbling slightly. The sand is powdery and conceals several potholes. She channels chi into her feet and legs, leaping right over Sarah's head. She lands and throws out her arms, blocking the woman's path.

"Don't go running off without thinking!" she snaps. "You're not armed and you don't know what's out here."

"My _son_ is out here!" Sarah snaps back.

"And a lot of good you'll do if you die in front of him, or get your heart taken by Heartless before you even reach him."

"You said there weren't any Heartless in this area! I have to get to my son!"

"Sarah, no!" Tifa holds her back. She is so much stronger than Sarah, despite her struggling, that restraining her isn't a problem. "I'll go. You get back into the ship."

Sarah says a word Tifa would not have expected out of her. "We're wasting time! You saw the message. Jim could be hurt, or dying, and you're keeping me from him!"

Tifa grits her teeth. She gathers Sarah into her arms for a second time and makes another powerful leap towards the source of the signal. Sarah doesn't make a sound at even one jarring landing or stomach-churning jump. Her fingers tighten, but she stays focussed on their destination.

They find the three figures behind a set of rocks. A battered buggy is nearby, looking in worse shape than the Highwind. Two of the figures look up at Tifa and Sarah's approach. The third stays on his back, face contorted in a mask of frozen pain.

"Mom?" The smallest figure scrambles to his feet. "Tifa! Mom! You're alive!"

Tifa lands as softly as she can and sets Sarah down. On wobbly legs, she runs to Jim. She throws her arms around him, crying and laughing until her legs give way and they sink down, a tangled mass of limbs and incoherent noises.

"I thought you were dead," Jim says in a muffled voice, since his face is pressed into Sarah's shoulder. For once, he doesn't seem to care about looking tough. "When the Heartless came … I was on my way home and I saw … they attacked me on my board, so I had to come back on foot, and the inn was burning and I thought … I thought …"

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay," Sarah shushes. "You're alive, I'm alive, and we're back together. Everything will be fine now."

"Tifa saved you again?"

"She did."

Jim raises his head. "Thanks, Tifa." He doesn't offer more than that, but it's enough.

Tifa half raises a hand. She has a sudden lump in her throat. Apparently she hasn't become as hardened by her travels as she thought. It isn't an unwelcome revelation. "But how did you survive, Jim? If you were out on your own like that –"

"The Heartless should've had me for dinner? Yeah, they would've, especially since they busted my board, but Delbert saved me."

The tall man stands. Tifa can now see he has features somewhat like a dog, replete with floppy ears and a snout on which perched a pair of half-moon glasses. Fur ruffles backwards as they slide down towards his nose. "Nonsense, Jim. I merely escorted you from the scene. I was on my way back from the opera and when I saw the flames coming from the inn. I naturally went to investigate, but no sooner had I found young Jim here, those blasted Heartless creatures set upon us."

"We barely escaped with our lives, Mom." Jim pulls away from her, glancing behind to the prone figure on the ground. "Well, some of us did."

"Who is he?" Sarah asks softly.

"His name's Billy Bones. He was injured when we found him. He crashed his ship not far from the inn, so he was pretty badly hurt anyway. We were taking him to town, to the hospital, and we got this far, but then Delilah, Delbert's lizardino, got spooked by the energy surge and bolted." He gestures to the two-legged lizard creature crouched a distance away. It looks a little like a green, scaly chocobo with eyes like ping-pong balls. "The buggy crashed. Billy had some kind of heart attack and just … died." Jim is coherent, but the disbelief in his voice is clear. He has just seen someone die. He may act tough, like he doesn't care about anything or anyone, but it has affected him.

"Oh, Jim." Understanding radiates off Sarah. "You did the best you could." She hugs him again. Over his shoulder, she says, "Thank you, Delbert."

"What are friends for, if not to rescue each other from small shadow-monsters that defy all rational explanation?" The dog-man's smile is a rictus. Tifa can see the strain in his eyes and posture: this is a guy way out of his comfort zone.

"I don't believe we've met," she says to distract him. "I'm Tifa Lockhart."

"Doctor Delbert Doppler," he says, apparently without moving his lips. "Yes, I've heard of you, Miss Lockhart. Young Jim's favourite topic next to solar surfing and how awful his life is."

"Delbert!" Jim cries, muffled by his mother once more.

"Does nobody else think we should cover the dead man with a sheet or something?" Dr. Doppler runs a hand through his hair. It is mussed, showing he has done this a lot lately. "Do you have a sheet, Miss Lockhart?"

"Uh, no, I don't."

"It really does come to something when a man can't even go to the opera without things reaching into his ribcage and touching … touching …" His left eye twitches.

"The Heartless touched your heart?" Tifa says in alarm. That rates equally high on the list of traumatic experiences nobody should have to go through.

"Touched it. Squeezed it. Played tic-tac-toe on it." He rubs his chest. "At least, that is what it felt like. A very unpleasant experience indeed."

"Ow!" Sarah abruptly pushes Jim to arm's length. "What's that?"

Jim holds up a small gold sphere. Its surface is pockmarked with strange designs and interconnecting segments, as if someone has taken a tiny planet and stripped off its oceans and topsoil, leaving the tectonic plates exposed. "I'm not sure. Billy gave it to me before he died. He kept saying someone was after him and I shouldn't let them have it. He said that, since I'd tried to help him, it was a gift from him to me." Jim holds it up to the light. It glitters and shines so brightly that Tifa has to squint. "Any clue what it could be?"

"Trouble," Dr. Doppler says bluntly. "Correction: _more_ trouble."

"Someone was _after him_?" Sarah echoes.

"I couldn't leave him, Mom," Jim says defensively. "He wasn't a bad guy, and he was hurt. What was I supposed to do: just run away and leave him to the Heartless?"

"No, of course not, but …" Sarah trails off. "I thought you were dead."

"I nearly was." He glances at the body. "You're right, Delbert, we need to cover him up. We can't just leave him like that."

"I have some pieces of cloth in the ship," says Tifa. "We can't stay out in the open. It's too dangerous. Let's all of us go back to the Highwind. Then I'll come back and fetch," she gestures, "Billy."

"Thanks, Tifa," says Jim. "I didn't know him long, or well, but he deserved better than this."

"Anybody deserves better than a death like this," Dr. Doppler says tartly. Then his tone softens. "Sarah, I'm sorry about the Benbow Inn."

"Everything I own was in there," she replies. "But everything that matters to me is here." She refuses to let go of Jim, as though he will disappear if she doesn't hold onto him. She laces her fingers with his.

For once, Jim doesn't fight off her affection. Being around death makes you crave life. Tifa knows this all too well. Just like when you come into a bright room from a dark night, everything is sharper and clearer afterwards. You see and feel things more, and brushing against death, even slightly, is enough to make you perceive the life around you differently. As Tifa turns to look in the direction they left the Highwind, she hears Jim murmuring to his mother.

"I … was really worried, Mom. About you, I mean. I was really worried about you. I thought … I wanted to look for you, but the Heartless were everywhere, and I was … the inn was on fire; there was nothing left and I was …" He can't get the final bit out. Tifa's brain puts in a few suggestions: _scared, worried, unconscious._

Sarah rescues him. "Like I said; you're alive, I'm alive, and we're back together, so everything is going to be fine now. The inn was just a place. We can rebuild."

_With what?_ Tifa wonders. Dr. Doppler's expression shifts enough for her to know he is thinking the same thing. Sarah and Jim were living on the breadline as it was. What will happen to them now they have no home and no income?

Sarah looks Jim in the eye. "You do realise you're grounded for life, right? As soon as we have a place to keep you inside, you're grounded until you graduate."

"Mom! That sucks!" Jim protests, but even Tifa can tell he doesn't mean it.

* * *

Montressor Spaceport is like a cross between Mosey City and Hollow Bastion. It hums with energy and the mad jangle of people, robots, vehicles and animals for which Tifa doesn't have names. She has to jump aside more than once to avoid being run over.

"Move yourself!" bellows a man with a neck-frill like a lizard.

"Move it or lose it!" yells another, bright purple and at least ten feet tall. He towers over their little party, pushing what looks like a wheelbarrow filled with glowing yellow crystals. "Dangerous load coming through here."

"Then why the hell are you carrying it through a crowded – oof!" Jim rockets backwards into Doppler. "Sorry, Delbert."

"Quite all right, Jim. I didn't need those toes anyway."

"Mind your backs!" yells a woman in a poncho. She is stunningly beautiful – flawless skin, almond-shaped eyes and a chest the loose fabric can't disguise. Hers is the kind of face that draws everybody's attention, whether from jealousy or admiration. Tifa finds herself craning to see as she vanishes into the crowd, noticing only at the last second that her bottom half beneath the poncho is that of a giant slug oozing slime.

The voices continue around Tifa, people thronging and knocking into her with no apology, until a knot of claustrophobia starts in her stomach. She has had enough of this. She is tired, sweaty, her feet hurt and her clothes are still liberally streaked with Heartless dust. All she wants is a warm bath and a chance to sit down. Even her growling stomach comes second. The spaceport and the town around it, however, have other ideas.

"Get the lead out!"

"Outta the way!"

"You get outta the way!"

"You wanna start something, buddy?"

"Hot chestnuts for sale!"

"Chicken-parrot guts on a stick! Make your tummy say 'mmm' by putting some fried guts in your guts!"

"Shift over, lard-ass."

"Move it, slowpokes!"

"Hey, I'm walking here!"

Tifa catches Sarah before she can fall over. "Is it always this rowdy?" Sarah asks breathlessly.

Jim stares at everything, wide-eyed as a child in a sweet store. "Whoa …"

Irritated and tired as she is, Tifa has to admit the place is impressive – and dangerous. She pushes away the hand of a child reaching for Doppler's waistcoat pockets. The child hisses, revealing needle-sharp teeth, before scampering away down a storm-drain. Tifa watches it go and reflects that Mosey City's thieves would have their work cut out for them to compete in this place.

They have come from the undertakers where they left Billy Bones to be tended. His final end will be the same as everybody's on this world: cremation and storage in a sealed ampule, which will be kept for a year and then jettisoned into space if nobody comes to claim his remains. Based on what Tifa has seen of other cultures on other worlds, this is positively urbane.

"My rooms aren't far from here," Doppler assures them. "Watch yourself, Sarah. And, uh, Miss Tifa."

"Just Tifa will do," she says, but her voice is lost to traffic. At least isn't calling her 'Miss Lockhart' anymore. Doppler's accent and mannerisms are painfully upper-crust, which begs the question of how he and the Hawkins family came to be so close. Sarah is a fine woman, but things like fine wine, fine art and fine living are beyond her area of expertise, while Jim's idea of propriety means using a plate rather than eating over the sink.

Doppler's 'rooms' only further emphasise his status. They all stand out on the sidewalk to gape as he climbs the steps and rummages in his pocket for a key.

"Come, come, now, don't dawdle. The sooner we're inside and have some nice, hot tea inside us, the better. Marta!" He gets the door open and bellows inside. "Tea please! And crumpets! With the real butter!"

"You live _here_?" Jim whistles. "Far _out_."

"Actually, far in. This is situated in the centre of the municipality, for ease of access when my family wishes to leave the ancestral estate and visit the business headquarters next door. They purchased these rooms for me, though I bought myself out of indebtedness with my savings, which irritated Daddy most agreeably – oh." Doppler pauses. He has been babbling, as if trying to drown out something only he can hear. He stops himself. "You mean 'far out' in the vernacular sense. Do people still use that phrase? I had thought it was rather hackneyed by now. Well, no matter. I presume your words as a compliment and will respond to them as such. Thank you, Jim. Now come inside, all of you."

"You know," Tifa says as she follows Sarah and Jim, "I once knew a wizard who talks that way."

"A mesmerising fellow, I'm sure. Marta! Martaaa!" Doppler shuts the door firmly. He is halfway down the corridor before he registers what she just said. "Wait a second, did you say _wizard_?"

* * *

"Fascinating." Doppler leans back in his chair at last. "Truly … _fascinating_. So you're not lying?"

"No."

"You're being completely, one hundred percent truthful?"

"Yes."

"Magic exists on your plane of existence."

"My world, yes."

"I rather think this may be a matter extra-dimensional physics. The logistics alone are staggering. I thought the Heartless might be some kind of refracted dark matter implosion byproduct and their name nothing more than a quirk invented by a gullible collective mindset. To think they are actually inter-dimensional travelers and that you, Miss Tifa, have traversed the spaceways far beyond anything anyone has ever dreamed. I have heard of portals that transport matter from place to place, but they are certainly only theoretical. Why …"

Tifa resist the urge to yawn. Doppler has spent much of the past hours quizzing Tifa over her home and the other worlds she has visited. While the outside of his home is sumptuous, the inside's sumptuousness is covered in books, scrolls, battered manuscripts and loose papers that drift like snowflakes whenever anyone moves. Great piles of books dominate the high-ceilinged rooms like modern art or a library after an earthquake.

"Magic exists!" Doppler exclaims for at least the thirtieth time. "I simply cannot believe that magic exists!"

"Not here," Jim mutters distractedly.

"Well, yes, but the bare fact it exists _somewhere_ is amazing enough." Doppler's eyes shine. "You must tell me _everything_, Miss Tifa. Leave out no detail. Miss no fact. This is a monumental discovery –"

"Delbert," Sarah chides. "You're doing it again."

"What?"

She gives him a look.

"Oh." He glances at Tifa, who has just about conquered her yawn. "Oh dear. I am, aren't I? I do apologise, Miss Tifa. I simply can't help myself when it comes to learning new things, exploring the depths of the known – and unknown – universe, wrapping my significant brain around conundrums that have foxed the greatest scientific minds since – "

"Delbert."

"Sorry."

Tifa felt awkward at first, since there are more important matters to think about right now, but until this brief exchange Sarah seemed to have finally succumbed to shellshock. Jim is content to huddle in another armchair, fiddling with the golden ball. Doppler's eyes finally lost their panicky gleam as he listened to her stories. Acting the part of a scholar seems to be his preferred coping mechanism; he submerges stress and fear with learning, burying them with facts the way his furniture and carpet have been buried by books. Their conversation filled what might otherwise be desolate silence. Distraction isn't a solution to their problems, but it can be a cushion until they are ready to face them.

"It all sound frightfully exciting," Doppler says, sipping his tea. He pulls a face. It has obviously gone cold. He rings a small bell on the arm of his chair. "Marta! More tea, please!"

Someone answers from beyond the little staircase half hidden by a pile of scrolls. "¡Holgazán! ¡Consiga sus propias bebidas!"

"Thank you!" He smiles benignly at Tifa. "I have no idea what she's saying, but she's such a good worker and her pastries are second to none."

Tifa isn't sure what the housekeeper said either, but she doubts it was anything pleasant, judging by the tone – or the face of the surly woman who enters with a loaded tea tray. Her iron-grey hair falls into her eyes but doesn't mask the fire in them.

"Thank you, Marta."

"No escupí en el pote este vez. Sea agradecido."

"Uh, quite. Run along now. I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to us natter."

"Trabajo día duro y noche. Usted sienta y bebe té. ¡Usted habla todo el dia! ¡Usted visita la ópera en la noche! usted es perezoso y la consumición de los pasteles le está haciendo la grasa."

"Thank you very much, Marta. The same to you, I'm sure."

She sighs and shakes her head. "Necesito un aumento salarial."

Doppler twiddles his fingers in a childish wave goodbye.

"Su familia está correcta no tener fe en usted. Usted es tan inútil como dicen."

Sarah looks up. She narrows her eyes at the housekeeper. "Tenga más cuidado sobre lo que usted dice. Usted no es pues entendido mal como usted piensa."

The woman flushes scarlet and scuttle outs.

"You speak Gunga?" Doppler says with surprise.

"A lot of my clientele are from Gung." Sarah winces. "Were, I mean." She focuses on Doppler, distraction at work again. "You still haven't made up with your father, Delbert?"

He lifts his fresh teacup to his lips before replying. "No." The shortness of the reply speaks volumes.

"You should –"

"No."

"But –"

"No."

"Delbert –"

"No."

"We've been over this –"

"Indeed we have."

"You should talk to him –"

"I have attempted to speak with him on numerous occasions. I stopped when he finally did see me in his shipping offices. The words 'layabout', 'good-for-nothing', 'poindexter' and 'smarty-pants' featured heavily in the conversation, as did 'egghead', 'loafer', 'waste-of-space' and 'no son of mine'. Needless to say, my father still believes a man proves his true worth with deeds rather than doctorates." The teacup chinks loudly back into his saucer. "If I have to hear the story of how he turned grandfather's meagre courier service into a thriving interplanetary business, while all I have is poxy pieces of paper from the 'hack money-grabbing banks posing as universities' I will –" The teacup chinks into its saucer. Doppler stares at the handle still in his hand. "Oh dear."

Tifa winces. She opens her mouth to change the subject, but a whoosh of light cuts her off.

"What the devil –?" Doppler drops the broken handle and grabs for his glasses before they slip off his snout. He lifts the teacup above his head like a shield.

"Jim!" Sarah exclaims.

A grid of green light blossoms out of the sphere. Its gold plates shift madly, spinning beams into patterns above and around them. The room is suddenly ablaze. Pinpricks shoot towards Tifa like lasers, pass through her abdomen and out the other side without hurting her. A swirling mass skims Sarah's cap but doesn't disturb the hair poking from under it. Tea sloshing everywhere, Doppler leaps out of his chair to avoid what looks like a crescent moon –

"Oh my stars and garters! That's the planet Montressor!" He whirls to see it better, but the tiny replica is already gone. It is like being sucked down a tunnel, or thrown headlong into a movie screen. He points and cries out in recognition. "That's the Magellanic Cloud! The Coral Galaxy!" He faces Sarah and Tifa. "It's a map. Jim has cracked the code. That sphere is a map – and one more complex and detailed than I have ever seen before. Why, this shows areas of the galaxy all other texts list as uncharted." He points again. "Oh! That's the Cygnus Cross! And that's the Kerian Abyss. And that's, um …" He peers at a planet as the letters 'T.P.' appear above it, along with a set of coordinates.

Jim interrupts. "Treasure Planet."

Doppler shakes his head. "It can't be."

"That's treasure Planet!" Jim insists.

"Flint's trove? The loot of a thousand worlds?" Doppler's tone turns awestruck. "Impossible. There were verifications that a Captain Flint did historically exist, but that was just happenstance. So much of his story was thought to be balderdash. Claptrap. Bunkum, even. He was just a space pirate surrounded by legend – nobody could rob so many ships and simply vanish every single time. Nobody could evade capture for so long."

"Flint did," says Jim. His gaze is fastened on the little planet floating above them like a piece of mistletoe at Yuletide. "Mom, do you know what this means?"

"Jim …"

"It means that all that treasure is only a boat ride away," Doppler replies. "Whoever brings it back would hold an eternal place atop the pantheon of explorers! He would earn the ultimate respect of all his compeers. He would receive adulation from high and low society alike. He'd be able to experience – my goodness!"

The lightshow sucks back into the sphere. Jim holds it tight, like a child with a fabulous new toy all the other kids want to steal.

Doppler uncovers his head. He is wearing his teacup like a hat but doesn't seem to notice. "What just happened?"

"It's a kind of code," Jim says. "If I rotate these segments a certain way, it unlocks the map. If I put them back, it locks it up again."

So that's what he was doing while they were talking. Tifa can't help but admire his handiwork. None of them knew what to make of the sphere and Jim not only figured it out, he unlocked its hidden secrets as well.

"Let me try!" Doppler advances on him eagerly.

Jim holds the sphere even closer. Tifa could swear his hair starts to puff up like an angry cat.

"Jim!" his mother snaps.

Resentfully, he hands it over.

Doppler leans to peer at it and the teacup slides off his head, coming to rest hanging off his snout. He stares at it so hard he goes cross-eyed. "Who put that there?"

The brief tension breaks. Jim looks at his mother. He is smiling. "Mom, this is the answer to all our problems."

"It seems to be stuck," Doppler mutters. "No matter. With my superior intellect I'm sure I can … nggg … hrrrm … I can simply … oof!"

"Jim," Sarah says doubtfully.

"Don't you remember?" Jim insists. "All those stories you told me when I was a kid?"

"That's all they were – stories!"

"Um, excuse me?" Tifa steps between them, eager to defuse an argument, but also curious about what has got them all so excited. "What stories, who is Captain Flint, and what is Treasure Planet?"

Mother and son exchange a look. "Captain Flint was a pirate," Jim says.

"In a story," Sarah adds.

"Yeah, now he's just a story, but like Delbert said, he was real once.

"Jim –"

They all turn at a crash and the sound of books hitting the floor.

"I'm all right!" Doppler jumps back to his feet in time for a particularly thick tome to land on his head. "Maybe not." He keels over.

"Delbert!" Sarah rushes to his side.

"Mommy?" Doppler slurs. "Can I have my crumpets toasted on both sides today?"

"Delbert, snap out of it. How many fingers am I holding up?"

He blinks. "Without my glasses, Sarah, I can't even tell how many hands you're holding up."

"Here they are." Tifa scoops them up in one hand, the sphere in the other. Evidently Doppler dropped it when he the force of trying to prise it over made him fall over. She hands the sphere to Jim and the glasses to Doppler. Then she notices the name of the book that clonked him. "_Pirate Stories and Legends_?"

"That's the book to used to read to me when I was a kid," Jim says with a note of triumph. "It's a sign."

"It's coincidence," Sarah retorts. Nonetheless, she picks up the book, flips to a chapter near the front and begins to read. As she does, another miniature spacescape unfolds, this one playing out her words like a movie floating above the pages of the book. "On the clearest of nights, when the winds of the Etherium were calm and peaceful, the great merchant ships with their cargoes of Arcturian sura crystals felt safe and secure. Little did they suspect that they were pursued by pirates."

_Yuffie would love this kind of book,_ Tifa thinks, as a tiny black flag with skull and crossbones hoists itself up the mainsail. _Kairi too. And probably Zack. He'd love to dress up as the hero in a pirate story._ She pushes aside these bittersweet thoughts to better follow Sarah's words.

"And the most feared of all these pirates was the notorious Captain Nathaniel Flint. Like a Candarian zap-wing overtaking its prey, Flint and his band of renegades swooped in out of nowhere. Then, gathering up their spoils, they vanished without trace. Flint's secret trove was never found, but stories have persisted that it remains hidden somewhere at the farthest reaches of the galaxy, stowed with riches beyond imagination. The loot of a thousand worlds – Treasure Planet."

"And we have the map that leads straight to it." Jim's eyes widen. "Now it makes sense!"

"What does?" Tifa asks.

"Billy said some guys were after him for this thing. He said it was important and not to let anyone else have it. He must have known what it was. Mom, it _has_ to be real. Someone chased him into crashing his ship on Montressor, and they were after this. You don't do that for a hoax."

A chink begins to show in Sarah's resolve.

"With Flint's treasure, we could rebuild the inn a hundred times over!"

Her expression flickers, but then hardens. "Delbert, you're a scholar. You're intelligent. Would you please explain how ridiculous this is?"

"It's totally preposterous," Doppler agrees. "Traversing the galaxy alone in search of a treasure trove widely considered nothing but a folktale."

"Thank you."

"Which is why, if you're going, I'm going with you."

Sarah's mouth drops open. "Delbert!"

However, Doppler is once again lost to that passion Tifa noted earlier: the gleam of a researcher with a new topic to learn. He leaps onto the pile of books behind him, climbs to the pinnacle and starts throwing volumes behind him as he digs for the one he wants.

"This is the opportunity I've been waiting for! The perfect marriage of academia and physical deeds! I can prove, once and for all, that scholarly pursuits are just as important as –" He slides down the stack on his backside and ends with a little pirouette. "Well, you get the idea. I'll use my savings to finance the expedition. I'll commission a ship; hire a captain and a crew …"

"You're not serious!" Sarah yelps.

"I most certainly am. All my life I've been waiting for an opportunity like this. Now here it is, screaming: 'Go, Delbert! Go, Delbert!'" He waves his arms in something like a rowing gesture, if the rowman was having an epileptic fit.

Sarah's eyes find Tifa. Before she can appeal for help, Doppler has grabbed an old-style doctor's bag, undone the top clasp and brought out a calculator. His fingers fly over the keys. Tifa realises it isn't a calculator at all, but a communication device. A small holographic figure appears over the display. It bows at the waist and twirls a moustache so bushy it hides most of the mouth beneath. For this reason Tifa takes several moments to realise the figure is actually a fox-man with a long tail that swishes as Doppler talks.

"Reynard, I'm coming to see you directly. I have a brand new project and I need finances for it."

"Another one, Mr. Doppler? The bank –"

"That's _Doctor_ Doppler, and yes, another one. Please be ready for my arrival in, ooh, half an hour."

The figure startles. "Ah, yes sir. Quite so." It bows again and vanishes.

Doppler replaces the device. "I must be off. Places to go, people to see, daring-doos to do. If Mr. Bones was indeed being followed for this map, then it is imperative we move swiftly."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this." Sarah holds out a hand to press against his chest. "Stop right there. This is getting way, way out of hand."

"Mom –"

"Sarah –"

"No!"

"Sarah." Tifa puts a hand on her arm, gently pushing it away from Doppler. "Whether or not there's any reliability to this map thing, it may be wise to leave Montressor. The Heartless attacks here are getting more frequent. You've been lucky so far – you all have – but luck doesn't last forever. Not where the Heartless are concerned. Trust me."

Sarah's expression flickers again. "But …"

"You could go stay with friends until we get back. Mrs. Dewberry is always saying you can stay with her on Kakaboot."

"I don't …"

"Mom." Jim rubs the surface of the sphere as if for luck. His words don't come easily. "Look, I know I keep messing everything up. I know ... that I let you down. A lot. I know that. I know I haven't … made things easy for you. Understatement of the year, huh?" His fingers squeak sweatily. "But this … this is my chance to make it up to you. I nearly lost you today. That scared me. A lot. A _lot_-lot. When I thought you were dead, I kept thinking about all the stuff I'd done wrong; how I'd disappointed you and … stuff. I need to set things right, Mom."

Sarah's expression flickers one last time and then cracks. "Jim, you don't need to make anything up to me."

"Let me do this. Please." His eyes are huge and earnest.

Sarah bites her lower lip. She glances at Doppler, Tifa, the floor, and then back at Jim. She seems to deflate. "All right."

Jim punches the air. "Yes!"

Doppler does likewise. "Yes! Go Delbert, go Delbert –"

"But I'm going too."

They both stop to stare.

"What?"

"But the inn," Jim starts.

Sarah folds her arms. "Oh, hang the inn. That was important yesterday. Today, you're more important. Tifa's right; this world isn't safe anymore. I'd rather be with you than sitting at home on my hiney, wondering whether you're okay, or when the Heartless will try invading again. That's the condition, Jim. You can go, but only if I'm along for the ride."

"There are much worse remedies than some character-building time in space," Doppler muses.

This time it is Jim's turn to look between the faces surrounding him. "It doesn't matter what answer I give, does it?"

Sarah shakes her head. "Nope."

He sighs. "Great. I finally get to go on a real pirate's treasure hunt and my mommy comes along to hold my hand."

She plants a kiss on his forehead. He squirms but doesn't pull away. "Now Jim, how can I possibly hold your hand? You'll need both to scrub the decks properly."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

"It all sound frightfully exciting," Doppler says, sipping his tea. He pulls a face. It has obviously gone cold. He rings a small bell on the arm of his chair. "Marta! More tea, please!"

- Marta is a side-fling to the housekeeper of the same name from Frasier, in which Doppler's voice actor, David Hyde-Pierce, plays the neurotic Niles Crane.

"_¡Holgazán! ¡Consiga sus propias bebidas!" _

- "Idler! Get your own drinks!" according to Babelfish's English to Spanish translator. Please don't tell me if I've gotten this wrong. I make no pretence at speaking Spanish and rely totally on online translators, which are iffy at best in terms of accuracy.

"_No escupí en el pote este vez. Sea agradecido__."_

- "I did not spit in the pot this time. Be grateful."

"_Trabajo día duro y noche. Usted sienta y bebe té. ¡Usted habla todo el dia! ¡Usted visita la ópera en la noche! __usted es perezoso y la consumición de los pasteles le está haciendo la grasa."_

- "I work hard day and night. You sit and drink tea. You talk all day! You visit the opera at night! You are lazy and eating pastries is making you fat."

_She sighs and shakes her head. "Necesito un aumento salarial."_

- "I need a wage increase."

"_Su familia está correcta no tener fe en usted. Usted es tan inútil como dicen."_

_Sarah looks up. She narrows her eyes at the housekeeper. "__Tenga más cuidado sobre lo que usted dice. Usted no es pues entendido mal como usted piensa__."_

- Marta is saying (roughly): "Your family is correct not to have faith in you. You are as useless as they say." Even more roughly, Sarah is replying: "Be more careful about what you say. You are not as misunderstood as you think."

"_That's the Magellanic Cloud! The Coral Galaxy! … Flint's trove? The loot of a thousand worlds?"_

- A lot of this exchange is taken from the actual script of Treasure Planet, available on Script-O-Rama.


	98. When the Devil Drives

.

* * *

**97. When the Devil Drives**

* * *

Preparations aren't immediate, but it seems to Tifa that in next to no time Doppler is announcing he has hired a 'sturdy, steadfast bunch of crewmen types' and showing around pictures of the R.L.S. Legacy, the ship commissioned for the voyage. She takes a polite interest, but underneath she is impatient to leave this world already. She knows she won't come back for a long time – not without Sarah, Jim, the Benbow Inn and the promise of a rest with people she trusts. She never realised how tired she gets chasing after Cloud. She will never stop, but the constant rejection is wearing in a way she doesn't realise until the promise of that rest is gone. She will have to find somewhere else to make her stops and repairs from now on. That is, if she can do them this time and get off Montressor.

Money worries. Was money always this much trouble? She can't remember it being like this in Traverse Town, or even in Hollow Bastion. Her parents were never short on cash, although they lived frugally. She took the job with Cid to help out when she first arrived in Traverse Town, but she can't remember ever going short or struggling to make ends meet. Now she always seems to be scraping and just getting by. In years to come, maybe there will be stories about her travels, but she would bet her back teeth they won't mention going to sleep in the pilot's chair, belly tight with hunger, not knowing whether your left wing is going to detach the next time you try to take off because you've held it together with duct tape, spit and good wishes.

Doppler houses Jim, Sarah and Tifa without question. Opening his home to a virtual stranger may not be the smartest move, but Tifa decides not to bring that up. Sleeping in a soft bed in a room bigger that the entire Highwind, with breakfast provided and a real shower with actual hot water …

"I think I've died and gone to heaven," she murmurs the first time she steps into it. Grime and Heartless dust wash off her, leaving her skin tingly. She stands until the water runs clear. Then she stands some more. And some more. "If I get out, this will probably turn out to be some wonderful dream."

It isn't a dream. The fluffy pillows aren't a dream. The duvet isn't a dream. The canopy isn't a dream.

The part where she is jolted to wakefulness to find the bed is made of Heartless, which hold her down while a figure holding a huge katana towers over her – that part is a dream. She wakes properly with a scream hovering on her lips, sweat streaking her neck and chest beneath her robe. The shower's healing effects have been ruined by her nightmare. Her hair is tousled from not being brushed before she fell asleep and her entire body feels grimy again. She rubs her arms and hugs the robe tighter, but the feeling doesn't go away.

It isn't the first time she has had nightmares since starting this journey. She sits and waits for the images to fade, as they always do. It is just a case of mental strength. Sometimes she can drive them away by keeping busy, but mostly they fade if she sits and tells herself it was just a dream.

"He wasn't really here," she whispers into the gloom. Her eyes dart around the unfamiliar furniture. There is no towering figure, no glint of a blade or flash of blue feathers. Doppler's décor is old-fashioned but competent. Things are functional, included for usefulness rather than what they add to the look of the place. There is nowhere for a six-feet-plus man with silver hair, wings and a sword to hide. She is being ridiculous. The events of the day simply overwhelmed her. Even so, her heart continues to thump. "He wasn't here. He has never been to this world. There is no one here but me; no Heartless, nothing but me and … myself …"

It doesn't work. The feel of small hands on her wrists and ankles doesn't go away. Neither does the memory of looking up into cold, dead eyes. Tifa has met Sephiroth only once in the last eight years. It was the most terrifying experience of her life. It isn't often you can meet someone's gaze and know they could – and would – kill you without a thought and probably forget they'd done it a minute afterwards. She escaped only because Sephiroth is chasing Cloud as much as Cloud is chasing Sephiroth. She is on the fringes of both their stories and neither wants her there. Cloud wants her to go home. Sephiroth doesn't even acknowledge her existence without Cloud around to give her meaning. If she were standing next to Cloud when she met him, things would have been different. Probably she would be dead.

_No, don't think about things like that._ She shakes her head. _Be positive. Think of happy things. Time for a pep talk!_

Her gummi ship is too damaged for off-world travel.

She has no funds to fix it.

She is chasing a man who doesn't want her and runs away at every opportunity.

She hasn't been home in years.

She misses her family and friends.

She misses Cloud the way he used to be.

She misses everything the way it used to be.

She misses her old life.

She is lonely.

She is awful at giving herself pep talks.

She reties her robe and decides to go back to the kitchen. Cookie, the aptly named cook of the house, told Tifa she could help herself to the muffins in the pantry after Tifa helped with the washing up after dinner. Marta is the housekeeper and reminds Tifa of a dried up old prune. Cookie is everything Tifa imagines a housekeeper should be. Plus she looks like she tests out all her recipes before making them for others. Cookie is _big_. She also seems to hate Marta, which makes her extra preferable in Tifa's book.

"That woman tries to stop you from coming in here, darlin', you just tell me. I'll knock her blinkin' block off!"

The kitchen is large and the pantry is not just a cupboard. It is an entire separate room disguised as one. Tifa stares in shock at the shelves and shelves of food: jars of homemade pickle and bottled vegetables, cured meat in greaseproof wrappings, at least fifteen types of bread, rice, dried fruit and nuts, cakes under protective plastic domes, puddings, biscuits, sweets – the list goes on. And on. And _on_.

Tifa steps carefully inside and scans for muffins. They must be somewhere near the cakes and things; that would be the most logical place. She walks along the shelf, scanning the rows of brightly coloured jars. What the heck are 'senfgurken'? And what are 'cornichons'?

Eventually she finds the muffins. They are at exactly head height and beckon the way unsuitable foods do after midnight. Tifa is just lifting them down when the sound of voices freezes her in place.

"You're being unreasonable."

"I didn't think getting a glass of water was unreasonable."

"You know what I mean!"

Tifa looks at the tray of muffins and the one already halfway to her mouth. Should she walk out of the pantry and pretend she didn't hear that theatrical hissing?

"I do know, Delbert. That's the problem." She recognises Sarah's voice.

"A voyage of this magnitude is no place for a … a …"

"Woman?"

"That's not what I was intending to say."

"But you were thinking it."

"What I am thinking is that you shouldn't go."

"But it's perfectly fine for my teenage son to go."

"Yes. No. I mean … you're twisting my words!"

"Save it, Delbert. I'm going with you. End of story. If I don't go, Jim doesn't go."

"But he's the only one who knows how to open the map!"

"Exactly. Excuse me; I'm going back to bed. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Sarah."

"I can forgive you following me down the corridor and badgering me to this point, Delbert, but if you try to follow me upstairs to carry on this conversation, this glass of water is going in your face."

"I would never be so impertinent!"

"No, I suppose not. You're the perfect gentleman."

"… Not so perfect."

"Yes, well, I guess nobody's actually perfect. I learned that a long time ago."

Doppler lets the pause go on longer than Tifa expects. "You still miss him, don't you?"

"Don't." Sarah's voice has dropped. It isn't quite a growl, but something growly lurks around the edges. "Go back to the library, Delbert. I'm tired and I need some sleep."

"Sarah!"

"Let go of my arm, Delbert." Sarah's low voice makes the back of Tifa's neck itch.

"Sorry. Sorry, Sarah. I wasn't … I just … I'm worried about you, that's all. You've been through a great trauma. I'm just worried that you aren't thinking clearly right now."

"Which is why your hand is still attached to your arm. I know you're worried, Delbert, and I appreciate it, but I'm a big girl. I've weathered enough in my life to know that I can handle this."

"I know how much you've, ah, weathered." Delbert pauses before speaking again. "I was there, remember?"

"I remember," Sarah says, equally softly. They must be standing quite close to the pantry door; otherwise Tifa wouldn't be able to hear them. Part of her wishes she couldn't. It is past the point where she can just leave without embarrassment. Maybe she could stuff a muffin in each ear to block them out. "You were staying at the Benbow, hiding from your father. You never thought he'd find you slumming it there. I remember your face when you saw your room for the first time."

"Was I that bad?"

"Worse. You got better, though. I've always been grateful for your help … back then, and for your friendship ever since; but that doesn't mean you're allowed to dictate to me now."

"But Sarah –"

"The situation stands, Delbert. Jim and I are a package deal; take us or leave us." When he doesn't answer, she huffs as if in triumph. "Goodnight."

"But –"

"_Goodnight_."

After a long silence, Tifa is about to chance poking her head out. She nearly makes a noise when Doppler speaks, so close he must be right outside the door.

"I already told you I'd take you both in a heartbeat." He sighs. "At least in my head." Tifa hears a few shuffling footsteps as he moves away – or so she thinks. "Who left this open? Cookie really should be more careful. I could have stubbed my toe, or banged my nose, or –" The pantry door shuts.

Tifa hurries to it. There is no handle on this side. She pushes, but it stays firm. She could easily tear it off its hinges if she channels chi into her hands and arms, but that would be a bad idea. She is a houseguest, after all. Besides, that would be rather a big hint she was in here eavesdropping. She gives a few more experimental shoves using only regular human strength with that flats of her hands and her shoulder. When she door doesn't budge she realises she will have to wait for Cookie to arrive in the morning. She said she will be here early to make breakfast.

_Typical,_ Tifa thinks ferociously. _I finally get to sleep in a real bed and instead I spend the night cosying up to smelly cheeses, pickles and bags of flour. _She turns with her back to the door and slides down, coming to rest with her arms across her knees and her head pillowed on her arms. Her gaze lands on the tray of untouched muffins on the shelf. _Well at least I won't go hungry._

It may not be the moist comfortable place, but one thing can be said for the pantry: it is difficult to have a nightmare in there. Sephiroth has no place amidst the loaves and condiments. Tifa eventually drifts off, her belly pleasantly full, lulled by the scents and the silence. She has slept in worse places.

She wakes when the handle rattles on the other side of the door. She is about to leap up when it opens and she tumbles out backwards. She stares up into a disapprovingly bleak face.

"Good morning," Marta says in a clipped, heavily accented voice. "Did we have a nice midnight feast?" She eyes the empty tray, which has rolled out next to Tifa.

"Um." Tifa squints and suppresses a yawn. "Heh. Um, could you tell me where you keep the teabags, please?"

* * *

Several mornings after the unfortunate eavesdropping incident, Tifa descends the staircase from the guestrooms, when she hears voices from the drawing room. One is Doppler's, which is unusual in itself, as he rarely gets up before noon. He often conducts communications and several science experiments from his bed by means of a long pole. Sarah's voice accompanies his. They haven't acknowledged the midnight spat again, and Tifa hasn't brought it up.

"I'm so grateful you could come at such short notice," says Sarah.

"Yes, it really is quite a pickle," Doppler adds.

"As if I'd miss an opportunity like this?" A stranger replies, sounding like someone with a mouthful of treacle. "I'd be crackers to miss out! So, can I have a butcher's now, like?"

"Um …"

"A butcher's. A shufty. A _lookie-loo_."

"Oh, you mean you wish to inspect the craft." Doppler's laugh is a little strained. "Quite. Well, you'd have to ask Tifa's permission, of course."

Sensing her cue, Tifa knocks on the drawing room door. "Knock-knock," she adds for effect. "Can I come in?"

"Ah, the lady herself!" Doppler exclaims. "Yes, yes, do come in. There's someone here you'll want to meet forthwith."

"Crikey!" splutters the stranger. "You lot didn't tell me she were a sight for sore eyes!"

Tifa struggles not to say something along the same lines. The person sitting in – and oozing over – one of the wingback armchairs is a study in anatomy – the kind where someone threw all the leftover body parts in a bag with some crazy-glue and jiggled to see what happened. Splotchy green and purple tentacles ripple over the armrests as if in a breeze. A rotund body, belly exposed, is sheathed in skin so translucent she can see internal organs pulsing beneath. Two separate shoulders on either side are stacked like epaulets over the tentacles, making them look like mutated armpit hair. Four arms push the body up onto a pair of strong, short legs at Tifa's approach. All four extend in a handshake. Each arm is a different length, however, which means the lower right one gets to Tifa while the upper left is barely long enough to require an elbow. It is the tail – short, curly and piggish – that tips off her memory.

"Grubbo McGrubbins, atcha service." The apparition doffs an imaginary hat.

"You're … Sarah's friend?" Tifa doesn't intend this to be a question, but her voice turns upwards on its own. Sarah nods, pleased. "The Hobo … Robo … um … mechanic?"

"Too right, luvvie. And the word you're scrimping your grey matter for is 'Hobotnian'. Although frankly, between you and me, even if the old lady –"

"Hey!"

"– hadn't called, I'd have offered my services in a Farzac second. I'd be gutted if I'd found out there'd been a gummi ship in these parts and some other bugger had half-inched my chance to have a bash at it. And I do mean bash! Some of these nancy-boys are a right lot of villains, let me tell you. No honour and no pride in their work. So then, any chance of a crafty jab?"

Tifa blinks at him. She feels like she used to when talking to Cait Sith. She is reasonably sure Grubbo just used real words, but she hasn't a clue what half of them mean. "Huh?"

"He's here to see to the Highwind," Sarah translates.

"Oh." Tifa's confusion morphs into pleasure. "Fantastic. We stored her in a warehouse downtown."

"Not in the harbour?" Grubbo frowns in confusion. He has a face with the regular number of eyes, nose, ears and mouth, but only scales where hair would usually go. "How do you mean to cast off your anchor, like?"

Tifa understands that question at least. "Vertical take-off as standard."

"Wow…" His lipless mouth widens into a grin. His teeth are all the same height and pointy. "Lead on, luvvie!"

* * *

"Crikey!" Grubbo says for at least the hundredth time. His voice echoes around the warehouse.

Doppler kindly paid for the place when Tifa needed a place to stash the Highwind. Tifa tried to protest at the time, but he told her it was payment for transporting him and Delilah home in un-Heartless-strewn pieces. Her renewed money worries mean she didn't put up as much of a fight as she should have.

"The specs on this puppy are _brillo pads_!"

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I mean they're brill." At Tifa's continuing blank look, Grubbo explains, "Brilliant. She's a very impressive ship. I thought I was going to be seeing something so space-casey I'd admire from afar but wouldn't have the foggiest how to handle her. But get beneath this beauty's sci-fi exterior and she's a real traditional bird at heart. I've seen some internal bits and bobs like hers in the Ranger, the Delivery and the Queen Anne's Revenge – all good, solid ships who put out into space and put in to port with nary a bad word from their engines, sails or crews."

"So you can help me repair her?"

"I most certainly can and I most certainly will." While Tifa lowers herself down on the pulley system rigged next to the Highwind, Grubbo uses his tentacles to swing and sucker his way back to the floor. It is both a graceful and grotesque sight, like a man-eating octopus dragging a half-digested meal behind it. "Gratis, naturally. No way can any bugger undercut me at that price." He grins, revealing a crooked combination of fangs and flat teeth.

"For free? That's too generous," Tifa protests. "We've only just met. You can't do this much work for nothing."

"I make a tidy profit on my other jobs. I have a reputation that keeps my customer base intact and always returning when they need repair work sharpish. Sometimes they need to leave the harbour ASAP and so old Grubbo does a rush job they'll gladly pay double the price for." He shrugs innocently. "I can afford to be choosy with my hobby projects." He rubs his hands together. "This'll be _fun_. Don't deny me that pleasure, sweetness. It'd break my poor old ticker, sure enough."

"Well …" Tifa stares. She could swear he just tried to bat his eyelids at her, which would be far more effective if he actually had eyelashes. "Um … all right."

"Lovely jubbly!"

Tifa wonders whether language will be a barrier they can overcome if they're to work together.

"There is one thing." Grubbo becomes serious. An air of professionalism gathers around him like clouds obscuring the sun. Through his hideous exterior, Tifa glimpses the expert Sarah painted him as, back before the Benbow burned and everything changed. "While labour is free, the parts won't be. To be honest, some of them are going to have to be custom jobs. I can see what's needed and where it'll all need to go based on the damaged components in place right now. Mostly there are still placeholders I can use as templates – you didn't break off chunks or blow them out of your engines, you just wore them out, and the structural damage is easily fixed with a few buttresses of good metal. The things that need to be replaced will cost you, though."

Tifa's throat turns dry. "How much?"

"An arm, at least. Maybe a leg." Grubbo smiles; sunshine piercing the clouds. "Don't look so worried. We can work something out. The true high-quality, mutt's-nuts materials are the ones you gather yourself from the source, anyhow."

"Gather from the source?"

"Go to an ore mine. One of the pukka ones, mind you – no second rate operations where they see you coming and immediately triple the price and give you the stuff that spilled out of the carts as they were bringing it to the surface. Haggle with the bosses. If you fetch stuff yourself you skip out on transport costs, which are skyway robbery anyhow, if you ask me. The best metal ore is neartmhor, although starbhanta is fairly good too. Mixing them together is your best bet – that gives you laidir alloy, which is damn near unbreakable. You can get them from the mines on … let me see …" Grubbo taps his chin with one tentacle. "Planet Gramail has the best neartmhor mine. You'd have to go all the way to Deoch for starbhanta, though. If you could get those together and bring them to my workshop, I could get a mate of mine to make the alloy and then we'd be quid's in."

"Uh …"

"We'd be ready to fix up the poor girl," Grubbo says, thinking she needs another translation.

She doesn't. What she does need is a miracle. "How do I get to those planets with no ship?"

"Book passage on another one, I suppose."

More than she can afford. Tifa looks up at the Highwind, her heart sinking. What is she supposed to do now? "I'll … have to think about it."

"No worries." Grubbo folds his arms – and four of his tentacles. "Something will turn up. Things'll turn out all right in the wash, luvvie. You'll see."

* * *

Tifa pores over paper maps of the known galaxy and resists the urge to cry, scream, fall facedown on the tabletop, or do all three.

"I really want a muffin right now."

She shuts her eyes to keep her eyeballs from leaping out. They want to escape the terrible headache beating a tattoo inside her skull. There is no way she can get what Grubbo needs to make the necessary repairs to the Highwind. Maybe an inferior metal would do? One more readily available … and more likely to crumple like tinfoil the first time it is put into the kind of dangerous situations that make up her life.

The rattle of crockery draws her attention. Marta plunks a tea tray next to her, on top of a map she was readying. The surly housekeeper makes no apology. "Cookie says you should not go hungry," she says in a tone that clearly states she doesn't agree. She sniffs and leaves, passing Doppler in the doorway.

"Tifa!" he says so jovially she knows immediately that it is as real as a friendly Heartless. "Would you mind if I joined you for a spot of tea?"

"Sure, I guess. I haven't drunk this much tea in … years." Not since she left Cid behind. Her chest cramps. Will she ever see him again? It is looking increasingly unlikely.

"Tea is good for the soul and good for the nerves. Oh, and I see Cookie has sent up muffins as well!" Doppler draws out a chair next to her and gestures at the maps. "May I?"

Realising he wants to look at them, she nods. "Knock yourself out."

"What a curious idiom. You're looking for Planets Gramail and Deoch, correct?"

"Actually I'm looking for a way to cure a headache. I found Gramail and Deoch." She points to each in turn.

"You're quite well-versed in reading star-maps, I see."

"I've learned a few things over the years." She shrugs. "It doesn't help much now. I know where I need to go, I just can't get there. Anyhow, even if I find a way to get there and back, I can't buy the metal ore I need to fix the Highwind."

"Without which you are trapped in our little universe."

Tifa looks sidelong at him. "I wouldn't say _trapped_ –"

"I would. I would also say stuck, ensnared, confined and held against your will." He fiddles with his glasses, peering through them at the map instead of her. "Don't think you're being insulting to use those words. You are here and you need to be elsewhere, yet you are prevented from doing so by circumstances beyond your control. I would say that's the very definition of 'trapped'." He pulls a pen from his top pocket and starts scribbling on the parchment. "I asked Jim about your young man. He already mentioned him to me before, but those times you were rather more at the forefront of his stories than Mr. Strife."

Tifa frowns slightly. She doesn't begrudge Doppler knowing about Cloud or her history with him, but he should have come to her, not Jim.

"You're very loyal to your young man, aren't you?" Doppler goes on.

"He isn't my young man." _He isn't young and he isn't mine,_ she thinks sadly.

"But he is important to you and you want to go to him. Am I right?"

"Yeees." Tifa senses a 'but'. She eyes the tea. Maybe she can distract Doppler with it. She has had enough bad news already today.

He sets down his pen and pushes the map back towards her. "Can you tell me what that is?" He has drawn a squiggly line from point to point, like someone making a picture out of 'join the dots'.

Tifa tilts her head, winces and sighs. "No."

"That, my dear, is the route the R.L.S. Legacy will be taking on its journey to Treasure Planet. It's a big ship. We won't be taking any passengers, just crew, so there will be plenty of storage space available. She is also a strong ship. Robust enough to carry, say, metal ore …" He leaves the sentence hanging.

Tifa stares at him. "You'd fetch it for me? But I couldn't pay you –"

"Myself and the Legacy will fetch, carry and pay for the materials you need. In return, I would ask that you partake in our little voyage in a defensive capacity."

Tifa's eyes widen. He can't be serious. "You can't be serious!"

"Indeed I am." Doppler leans towards her. His glasses slide down his snout, forcing him to push them back up again several times. It is as if someone once told him that lowering your face and staring myopically is good when trying to convince someone to do something they may not want to do. "To be frank, your skill as a combatant and your expertise on the Heartless would be invaluable, not to mention," he glances at the door, "reassuring. Having you on board would lay my nerves to rest." He shudders. "Those horrid, horrid things. Simply ghastly. If they were to attack again, I don't think anyone would know what to do, and a panicky crew is a mutinous one. Your presence may stem a mutiny even in the event the Heartless _don't_ appear."

"But –"

"I implore you to consider my offer. It really is the best all around. This way, everybody gets what they want. You can restore your fine, ah, 'gummi ship' to working condition. As soon as we make port back in Montressor, you can jet away to your young – uh, to your friend. Meanwhile, I and my crew are free from worry, Jim gets his adventure at sea and Sarah stays safe while she makes sure he eats three square meals a day. She's going to be our cook, you know. One of the crew I hired will be working under her, which he wasn't happy about, but sometimes you have to do things you don't like in order to get what you really want." Doppler nods, as if there is nothing more to say.

And perhaps there isn't. "So you want me to come along as a glorified bodyguard?"

"As a valuable resource." His pause is barely long enough to count as one. "And a bodyguard. You are quite strong in a, uh, physical sense. On board a ship headed for parts somewhat-unknown that would be advantageous."

"A bodyguard and a dogsbody." Tifa mentally checks herself. She shouldn't be catty. This is a golden opportunity.

Doppler watches her carefully. "Please," he says after a moment, in quite a different tone. She remembers it from the other side of a pantry door; quietly imploring, like a man nearing the end of his tether but unwilling to admit it, even to himself. "Consider the offer. I … Jim is a bright, brave lad – far braver than I, which is a discomfiting knowledge I'd rather not get into. He's well-used to getting in and out of scrapes unscathed. Neither of us was expecting Sarah to come along. To be honest, I would much rather she stay here, but she won't hear of it. She needs to be safe," Doppler says quietly. "I've known her a very long time. She has weathered a great many things. You're my best chance of ensuring she comes to no more harm and loses nobody else she cares about."

And suddenly something makes a lot more sense. Tifa watches Doppler fiddle with his handkerchief, which he has drawn out of his pocket and is busily twisting around each finger. The habit is dextrous enough to be a longstanding one. The look in his eye is one she recognises from looking in a mirror: the look of someone who knows they will always be a friend, has irrefutable proof of that fact, and yet still, deep down, can't let go of the wish to be something more. It is the kind of look that makes you hop in a gummi ship and spend eight years playing wild goose chase across the cosmos.

She wants to say 'I'll think about it'. She should explore other options first. She can't waste time on a treasure hunt. Cloud needs her. Who knows what he has already gotten himself into while she swans around in this world? The bite of muffin she has taken sits like concrete in her stomach. She wants to tell Doppler she has already saved enough lives and deserves to get on with her own. She wants to tell him not to make her mistakes and waste his life chasing a dream that can't decide if it's a nightmare. He should find someone else, the way she should have years ago, before her feelings dug their roots deep inside her and refused to let go.

Instead, she squashes all those responses and says, "All right. You've got a deal."

Doppler beams. "Splendid!" He claps his hands, his elbow upending the teapot. A lake of scalding brown liquid floods the table, turning his squiggly line on the map into a blurry mess. "Whoops! So sorry. Do forgive my ineptitude. Martaaa!"

Tifa shuts her eyes. _I'll be there as soon as I can, Cloud. I just need to take care of this first. I need to take care of these people. You know how it is: you have to take care of your friends when they need you. _

She remembers a blond boy and his two best friends once taking a heartbroken girl into the mountains to say goodbye to her dead mother, and how that boy was half-stolen by a demon for that his kindness. Tifa doesn't blame herself. She has had a lot of time to think about it and knows that wasn't her fault. Still, Cloud is a part of her and has been since that time in the far-distant past, when they were all kids and didn't know how much joy and heartache lay in store for them.

_You taught me __how important friendship is. I'll be there soon, Cloud. Don't do anything ridiculously stupid in the meantime, okay?_

* * *

Hades, Lord of the Underworld, is having a crappy day. Actually, he is having a crappy eternity. Not only has he been relegated to this dump, set to watch over the dead by his arrogant brother, Zeus, and viewed with distaste by mortals and immortals alike, his new allies are a bunch of assholes.

Well, that goes without saying. They _are_ the vilest nasties their worlds could hork up like a case of bad sushi. They are the crème-de-la-crème of assholes, working to conquer as many worlds as possible and increase their asshole power base by gathering those floozy princess broads. Hades doesn't have a problem with that. Compared to the gods on Mount Olympus, his new allies are a better class of asshole.

No, his problem is one demi-god who screwed up his plans when he was working alone, and now looks like he'll screw up his plans as part of a group too. And does Maleficent care? No. She just told Hades to deal with it and swished away like the ice-queen she is. Hades was tempted to set fire to her robe. That would sure make the bitch move. Or melt.

He stares down at the three women in front of his throne. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Lachesis, tallest of the Fates, wags a bony finger at him. "We don't kid."

"We don't need to kid," says emaciated Clotho, her worm-like hair swaying as she shakes her head. She gives Hades what he thinks is supposed to be a winning smile. Since she looks like a reanimated corpse that has already rotted a bit, it is a disgusting sight. Hades knows she has a crush on him. He tolerates her only because he can use it to make the Fates come to the Underworld every so often. Plus it bags him free prophecies while they're here.

Right now he wishes he hadn't bothered. He was hoping for a way to defeat Hercules once and for all. Instead, all he got is more garbage.

"We know everything." Short, fat Atropos stares balefully at him. The eyeball all three women share doesn't look so odd in her single socket. Hades wonders whether she is related to Cyclops. Then he thinks better of it. The logistics are too revolting to contemplate.

"_Everything_-everything?" he persists. "Or just _mostly_-everything."

Atropos glares. "We. Know. Everything."

"Just –" His hair flames briefly red. "– checking. So let me get this straight: unless I find someone to kill Hercules before the year is out, everything I've been working towards goes down the proverbial toilet?"

"Definitely proverbial," says Atropos. "They haven't been invented yet."

"You only know about them because we told you," simpers Clotho.

"Yeah, thanks. Yet another gem you left me with when I wanted to know how to overthrow Zeus." Hades tries to marshal his temper. He holds it back – barely – using both hands a cattle prod. "Like this one. I need someone to kill Hercules. I can't just do it myself. Why?"

"You won't succeed. That isn't how the Tapestry of Fate is woven."

"Beautiful. Can't you unpick it and weave it with me at the top of the heap for once?"

All three glare at him – even Clotho. Being glared at from empty eye sockets is even creepier than usual stuff he puts up with down here.

"You need a champion," Lachesis states. "Someone to fight for you; to bear your name and your mission as their own."

"Even more beautiful. Everybody loves that freaking kid. Nobody will fight against Hercules. I don't suppose you ladies are going to tell me where I can find a guy dumb enough to try. Or is it a girl? If it gets me what I want, I'm willing to go with equality."

"You need a winner who is a loser."

"Well _duh._"

"Your champion's loss will be your gain, Lord of the Dead."

"All will be revealed in due course," Atropos says sombrely.

"Peachy." Hades sinks back in his throne. "Just _peachy_. You can't give me more than that?"

"We've told you enough already." Lachesis frowns at Clotho. "_More_ than enough."

Clotho smiles coyly. "Enough, perhaps, to get an invite to din–"

As if on cue, the far end of the chamber bursts open in a shower of broken bones. Hades sits up straight. The Fates vanish in a trio of cries and puffs of smoke. He can hear the edge of a cackle as the smoke dissipates, and something like a sob, but he is more concerned with the tiny figure who just busted his down his door.

"You couldn't knock?" he immediately snipes. He knows instinctively this isn't a dead soul looking for passage someplace else. Souls are incorporeal when they leave their bodies. At first he thinks this must be a Mount Olympus flavoured asshole come to bother him. Then he realises the figure isn't giving off the glow that signals immortality. This intruder is mortal.

This intruder is _human_.

Or not. Something about him smells … off. He marches forward like he owns the place. Hades rises and folds his arms. The human stops before the throne and looks up. He doesn't glare, frown, or gape; he just looks very intently. Despite this attentiveness, there is a strange blankness behind his eyes that Hades doesn't recognise. It is as if this mortal is a blank slate on which someone squiggled dirty words, then only half rubbed them out. A flicker of something else lingers behind his eyes; something not mortal, but not immortal either. At least, not the kind of immortality Hades is used to.

"You're the God of the Underworld," the human says. He speaks in a monotone.

Hades raises an eyebrow. The kid has nerve, he'll give him that. He'll also give him a fireball to the face if he doesn't start being more respectful. "What was your first clue?"

"I hear you like making deals."

"I also like having a freaking _front door_. Why do all you heroes bust in here like that? Would you barge through the gates onto Mount Olympus? No! But Hades has a new door; let's go smash it –"

"I'm not a hero," the stranger says.

"You're the villain?"

"No! I'm…" The human pauses, brow creasing slightly as if in confusion. He blinks like someone emerging from deep sleep.

Hades already noticed the massive sword in his hand. No mortal should be able to lift something like that. No mortal should have a demon's wing on their back, either. The sword is wrapped in bandages. Hades can smell the stink of binding magic coming off them – the expensive kind used only on monsters and really nasty demons. That level of magic makes even the gods think twice. Freakier and freakier.

"So what are you, then? Hurry up." Hades's hair flares. "I'm in the mood for barbeque."

The human shakes his head. The hollowness returns to his eyes. "You work with the villains from other worlds."

That stops Hades in his tracks. His hair dims. Nobody else knows about Malificent's crew.

The human meets his eye fearlessly, like an equal. "You travel to other worlds to meet with them. You can also resurrect the dead if you want to."

"Is there a point to all this?"

"Are these facts?"

"Bored now."

The bound sword levels at Hades. "Are these facts?" the human asks again in that same monotone.

By contrast, Hades's temper boils. "You dare to point a piddly little toothpick like that at me?"

"Could you combine the two?"

"Who the hell are you, pipsqueak?"

"I've heard your story. I can defeat Hercules for you." The sword lowers, but not enough to indicate the human is standing down; more that he knows he has Hades's attention and means to keep it. "I hear you like making deals."

Hades freezes. Atropos's words come back to him: _All will be revealed in due course._ Smug little hag. He links his fingers together and rests his chin on them, the picture of jaded nonchalance. "Okay, so you got my attention. That's a pretty big claim. Can you back it up?"

"I can."

When he doesn't elaborate, Hades says, "Gonna need a little more proof than that, sweet-cheeks."

"Test me if you like, but first, I need to know you can do something for me in return."

"What the hell." Hades shrugs. "Name something. I'll tell you if it's a fair exchange."

"Bring back a soul from the dead." The stranger's eyes shine as if backlit; neon blue in the darkness of the chamber. "Bring me back my light."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_What __the heck are 'senfgurken'? And what are 'cornichons'?_

- Senfgurken are peeled gherkins pickled with mustard seeds and other spices. Cornichons, on the other hand, are baby pickled gherkins no bigger than your little finger.

_I've seen some internal bits and bobs like hers in the Ranger, the Delivery and the Queen Anne's Revenge – all good, solid ships who put out into space and put in to port with nary a bad word from their engines, sails or crews."_

- All famous Elizabethan pirate ships.

_The best metal ore is neartmhor, although starbhanta is fairly good too. Mixing them together is your best bet – that gives you laidir alloy, which is damn near unbreakable. You can get them from the mines on … let me see …" Grubbo taps his chin with one tentacle. "Planet Gramail has the best neartmhor mine. You'd have to go all the way to Deoch for starbhanta, though._

- This is where I raid the Gaelic dictionary. _Neartmhor _means 'strong and powerful', _starbhanta_ 'strong and robust', _laidir_ means 'strong, powerful, secure and fortified', deoch means 'strong' (as in liquor) and gramail means 'strong, vigorous and having the power to resist'.

"_We don't need to kid," says emaciated Clotho, her worm-like hair swaying as she shakes her head. She gives Hades what he thinks is supposed to be a winning smile. Since she looks like a reanimated corpse that has already rotted a bit, it is a disgusting sight. Hades knows she has a crush on him. He tolerates her only because he can use it to make the Fates come to the Underworld every so often. Plus it bags him free prophecies while they're here._

- Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos are the canon names of the three Fates from Disney's 1997 film _Hercules_, which I found atDisney (dot) wikia (dot) com (slash) wiki (slash) Fates.

* * *

.


	99. Living in Dreams

.

* * *

**98. Living in Dreams**

* * *

The shop bell tinkles. Aerith turns, a smile lighting up her face. "Hey."

"Hey, babe." Zack's grin is wide and infectious. He leans on the counter, all strong arms and easy confidence.

Her arms are full of Sweet-Peas, so she can't greet him with anything more than a chaste peck on the cheek in case she drops them. He pouts, which makes her giggle.

"Is that all I get?"

"Don't be greedy."

"I'm not being greedy. I just chopped all that firewood for you. I deserve a reward."

"Not while you're all sweaty."

"There are better ways I can get sweaty." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. If her hands were free she'd smack the back of his head. Then again, if her hands were free and she went anywhere near his neck they'd doubtless end up wrapped around it and he'd get his way after all. "C'mon, Aerith. Can you at least stretch to a proper kiss?"

He looks so forlorn that she rolls her eyes. "You can have a reward if you're willing to wait until I've put these flowers in water. Mom's out and she left me in charge." Aerith takes her duties very seriously. Being the only flower shop in Hollow Bastion means she and her mom are always inundated with orders. The fact they have the best stock this side of anywhere also helps. "Where's Cloud? Wasn't he with you?"

"He's just putting the axes away. You can't be too careful leaving sharp objects unlocked with Yuffie around." Zack pats that hilt of the Buster Sword above his shoulder.

Aerith frowns slightly. "Were you wearing that when you came in?"

Zack gives her a strange look. "What kind of question is that?"

She shakes her head. "A dumb one, I guess." But she was sure … She shakes again. "Never mind."

Zack shrugs. "I saw Tifa earlier. She's still on for dinner if you and Chicha are cooking."

Aerith pauses in looking for a free storage bucket. Chicha? Chicha doesn't live in Hollow Bastion. Yet Zack doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with what he has said. He smiles at her in that way that makes her tingle from her scalp to her toes. She shoves the vague doubt away. Everything is all right. At least, it always feels that way when Zack smiles. She gives one of her own and retreats to the back room.

There are no free buckets. Flowers of every available type and colour have taken up all the space. She finds a cracked jug they rarely use, lines the inside with a plastic bag and is running water into it when someone taps her on the shoulder. Thinking Zack must have slipped behind the counter despite her orders to keep his dirty boots away from her clean floor, she turns – and gasps.

The girl is dark-haired and dark-eyed. She looks a lot like Tifa, except in the smaller details. Her skin is paler by a good few shades, but not so pale that she looks sickly. Her eyes are slightly downturned, giving her a young, almost doe-eyed appearance. She is a little taller, her body leaner, with smaller breasts and narrower hips to balance the extra inches. She has on some kind of uniform, but not one Aerith recognises. The insignia on her breast pocket is like a stylised cross until the bottom, which is more like a number three tipped on its side.

_Lord Ansem's crest_. The thought pops into her mind even though there's no way she could know that. It comes fully formed and certain, as though somebody who does has placed it there. She shoves it away. Panic makes a knot in her stomach. _Get out of my head!_

The girl's smile is bright but a little sad. Yet nothing catches Aerith's attention as much as the pair of huge wings on her back. The joints are so tall they touch the ceiling, and the feathers at their tips trail on the floor, somehow staying white even though they should be stained with dirt and dust. They seem to _glow_.

Images cascade into her mind. A castle topped by blue turrets. White walls, so clean they hurt her eyes. A rose garden. She can see every bloom so clearly she can almost smell them. The memory is perfect. She has been there before, to that place. But that can't be right. She has never left Hollow Bastion and there is no castle like that here.

"Hey," the winged girl says. Her voice is friendly. "You're Aerith, right?"

Aerith pushes past the pictures scrolling through her memory. "Who –"

"You _are_ her!" The girl claps her hands. "_Fi_nally! You have _no_ idea how difficult it's been to find you."

"What?" Aerith backs up against the sink. If she needs to, she can use the half-full jug as a weapon. Yet somehow, despite the impossible wings and the fact she _wasn't there a moment ago_, there is nothing threatening about the girl. That might just be because of her resemblance to Tifa, though she has a spark in her eyes more like Yuffie's. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Hey, hey, don't worry." The girl raises her hands, palms towards Aerith. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." She rubs at the back of her head. "This isn't going as well as I'd hoped."

Aerith continues to eye her suspiciously. She wonders whether, if she shouts for Zack, he could get back here before the girl could do anything. How fast can those wings move? Swans can break a man's arm with one beat of their wings and these are much, much bigger than a swan's.

The girl gives another of those sad smiles. Something clutches in Aerith, like panic and dread of something she can't quite define. "It's time to wake up, now."

"Excuse me?"

The girl folds her arms and taps her foot, glancing around as though looking for someone else. "What am I doing? I shouldn't be the one saying this to you." She raises a finger, the universal symbol for 'wait here'. "Hang on." She steps back and stretches her wings. The room isn't tiny, but it is still far too small to accommodate such a massive wingspan. Aerith watches in amazement as the walls and ceiling wobble and bend at the wings pressing against them. Her mouth drops open when they tear open like tissue paper. The building doesn't tumble down around them. Instead, she stares into the blackness showing through the rip, as though the shop has become a painting on torn canvas.

"What … how …" Her half-formed questions stop.

A foot has appeared in the tear that runs from the light fitting to the cornice. It kicks the hole open, allowing another foot to hook onto the other side and push, widening it further. When it is wide enough someone drops through. He lands with a thump that rattles the floorboards.

"I thought you were going to keep hold of me," he says. "You know I can't find my way around without you."

"Don't be such a baby," the girl replies. "You can find your way around just fine. You've had more than enough time to learn how to walk the spirit pathways. _You _found _me_ in the first place and asked for my help, remember?"

"Yeah, but you're faster at navigating them than I am and things go a lot simpler when we stick together. For instance, just to pull an example out of thin air, if you lose me and I wander around like an idiot, you have to rip things up to let me in, exactly the way you always tell me _not_ to damage stuff. Way to keep a low profile."

"Have you finished complaining now? Because there's someone here you need to speak to, and I think she's about to have a heart attack."

Aerith's jaw works but no sound comes out. She darts past both of them to the doorway to the shop front. Zack is still there, his back to her, resting his elbows backwards on the counter and blowing hair from his eyes. He looks young and strong and – she turns back – exactly like the man who just dropped through her ceiling.

"What's going on?" she demands, keeping the tremble from her voice. "Who are you people?"

The Zack out front looks up, visibly tensing. "Aerith?"

"Who are you people?" she asks again.

The winged girl and the man with her don't make any move towards her. They are like children with a new pet rabbit, nervous about frightening it if they move too fast or make too much noise. The girl has lowered her wings and the room has returned to normal. Even the hole in the ceiling seals like the lips of an old wound changing to a scar.

"Aerith?" Zack vaults the counter and comes to stand behind her. He startles when he see himself standing there – and again at the imperfect double of Tifa with wings. His arm settles around Aerith's shoulders, protective and a little possessive. "So the lady doesn't have to repeat herself, who are you people?"

The girl doesn't look at him. She is fixed entirely on Aerith, like he isn't even there. "It's time to wake up, Aerith," she says again.

"What are you talking about?" Aerith moves closer to Zack. She can feel the reassuring beat of his heart. For some reason that is important. Her arm snakes around his waist. He is solid, his presence calming. Nothing can hurt her while he is with her. He is the town's hero, after all.

_This is real_, whispers a voice in the back of her mind. She wonders why that popped into her head. Of course this is real. If anything is not real, it is the weird doubles before them.

"No it's not," says the girl. "It's not real, Aerith. None of this is real."

Aerith's mouth tightens. "You're reading my mind."

Zack looks down at her. "She is?"

"Who _are_ you?" Aerith asks one more time. The afternoon has changed from normal into a slice of the surreal. Aerith is so glad Zack is here. He and Cloud have always a source of strength.

"Aerith," says the other man, who looks so much like Zack _but isn't him_. "That's not me."

_This is real_.

Zack pushes Aerith behind him and draws the Buster Sword.

_This is real. _

The other man doesn't have a sword, which just proves he isn't real.

_This is real_.

Zack would never go anywhere without the Buster Sword. Never.

_This __**is**__ real._

He stares straight at her. "I don't have it because it's still alive. Cloud has it now, remember?"

_Cloud?_

The shop bell jingles. "Hey, guys," Cloud shouts. "I hope you made lunch. I'm starving after all that work."

Aerith glances behind her. Her heart lurches. It _is_ Cloud, but not the Cloud she knows.

_This is real_.

Half his face is concealed behind a tattered red cloak. What is visible is dirty, his hair uncombed, standing up in spikes taller than she has ever seen on him. He is taller, too, his chest broader. He looks like someone who battles monsters for a living – like Zack if she didn't keep insisting on baths and sewing up the rips in his clothes.

_This is real. _

But it is Cloud's eyes that truly hold her. They are lost and angry and distant, full of a regret she can't even begin to put a name to. When he speaks, his usual cheerful voice comes out. It is jarring – as much as seeing Zack's Buster Sword in his hand and one bat-like wing on his back.

_This is real_.

Zack already has the Buster Sword in _his_ hands. There can't be two. That can't be possible, can't be real …

_No, this is real. This is real!_

"Aerith?" Cloud says. "Zack? What's going on?" The glazed look in his eyes frightens her. His pupils have contracted to slits and the irises shift constantly between blue and a green, as though the two colours are fighting for dominance. He looks at Aerith and she is filled with the certainty that he isn't the only one looking at her. There is something else behind his eyes; something that shouldn't be there. Looking through his eyes is something dark and obsessive and painful.

_This is real_.

"You know what's going on, Aerith," says not-Zack.

"No, I don't." Her voice rises in pitch. "I don't know what is happening here. Who _are_ you?"

"I'm Zack."

"No, you're not!"

"You know it's the truth." He takes a step towards her. Her own Zack pushes her further behind him.

"Don't you touch her," he growls.

The not-Zack halts, but he doesn't stop staring at her. "You know me," he says softly. "You know I'm telling the truth."

She shakes her head so she can't meet his eyes.

"Aerith," he says, even softer. "It's time to go back."

_This … is … real .._.

Something tingles in Aerith's head, like a half-recalled childhood memory – a certain smell, a few notes of music, an expression without a face to go with it.

_This … is … _

"Aerith." Not-Zack comes towards her. When the real Zack tries to stop him, he walks right through him like smoke.

Aerith backs up, but that takes her closer to Cloud. She presses herself against the wall, hands rising in front of her chest, refusing to meet the not-Zack's eyes. He stands in front of her, so close she could touch him if she twitched. She squeezes her eyes shut.

"Look at me."

She shakes her head.

"Aerith, _look_ at me."

"No …" Her voice is childish, a thin whimper, like a little girl forced to leave the playground and come home before she is ready.

_This …_

He puts a hand under her chin and tilts her face up towards him. His other hand strokes her bangs off her forehead, the way he always used to as they lay together in bed, before the alarm went off and they had to hurry to get to work, to get Kairi to school, to get breakfast ready, to …

She opens her eyes. His face is achingly familiar, though he is much older than the Zack she knows. There are faint lines around his eyes and mouth from smiling. And the eyes themselves … their colour is so much brighterthan all the other colours in the room. It is as if everything is suddenly washed out and faded compared to them. Suddenly Aerith wants to cry.

_This isn't real_.

"Way to go." He touches her cheek. She grabs his hand, holding it there. She rubs her face against his palm and lets the tears fall. "You already knew, didn't you?"

"Sort of," she hiccups. "It was all kind of hazy. I wanted to think …"

"Go on." Zack's tone is coaxing. "You have to say it."

She shakes her head, but she doesn't let go of his hand. "I don't want to."

"You have to say it, Aerith. Only you can end this."

"But … I'm afraid." Her voice is barely a whisper. "I don't want this to end."

"Aerith, it already has."

She opens and closes her mouth a few times. Finally she takes a deep breath. Her grip on him tightens. "You're dead."

Everything – the shop, Cloud and the fake Zack, Hollow Bastion, all of it – shatters like breaking glass. Aerith's fingers cramp, but the Zack touching her doesn't disappear too. He, she and the winged girl remain standing on something solid but invisible. All around them is infinite black that laughs at depth perception.

"Well done." The girl comes over, clapping her hands. It doesn't seem mocking, though it should. "It's never easy, letting go of a dream you like better than reality."

Aerith stares at her. She is familiar in a different way than Zack is – and not just because of her resemblance to Tifa. Aerith _knows_ they have never met before, but she senses a connection anyway. She narrows her eyes, as understanding dawns. "Rinoa?"

Rinoa ends with a single emphatic clap. "Bright as a gumdrop, just like Zacky-poo said."

"Hey!" Zack protests. "Less of the Zacky-poo."

Aerith turns his hand towards her. He is warm. She can feel him. "You're dead." Saying it again doesn't make it any better.

The humour drains from his voice. "Yeah, I am."

"Then how are you here?"

"The better question," Rinoa interrupts, "is 'where _is_ here?' You've been asleep for a long time."

"Asleep?"

"Sure. Don't you remember?"

"A little." She was in their bedroom in Traverse Town. Yuffie was getting … something. She was alone in the room. She felt weak and dizzy, and then she … fell? Things come back now the fake world of her memories and dreams is gone. Not having that distraction allows her to remember the truth. "My … mother. She was there when I fell unconscious. My ancestors … they were all there to greet me. They were … teaching me things. How to use my powers properly. Stories about the Cetra …"

The words spark tendrils of green to rise around them. Zack pulls Aerith close. Rinoa steps in front of them both, wings slightly flared. What looks like a green flower blossoms out of the nothingness. Ifalna steps out. She looks unhappy and guilty; like a child caught doing something it knew from the start was going to get it into trouble.

"Mother?"

"I'm sorry," she says. She keeps her head bowed so Aerith can't see her face. "It was wrong of me, but after you came here, I just couldn't bring myself to let you go again. You were overwhelmed by grief. I couldn't bear to see you that way. We helped you through it and taught you things you should have learned from me if I'd been alive, but you were always so _sad_. When you'd learned all you needed to, you were ready to leave, but you seemed so sad to go back to the real world. We were separated for so long that I wanted to keep you close anyway, and since all that waited for you there was more sadness, I thought …"

"That I'd be happier in a fantasy world than the real one," Aerith finishes.

"Yes."

"Nice," says Zack. "Real nice."

Ifalna winces. "I know I was wrong. I just wanted my daughter to be happy."

"So you lied to her?" says Rinoa.

"I gave her what she wanted."

"But not what she needed," Zack replies.

"Stop it." Aerith know she should feel angry at being deceived, but she can't. She can sense her mother's sincerity. Maybe her methods were wrong, but her goal was kind. "You just wanted me to be happy."

"I was selfish and foolish." Ifalna wrings her hands. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Aerith knows she can. She doesn't even have to think about it. She feels more serene than she can ever remember. Maybe it is being so close to Zack again – the real Zack, not the false one fabricated by her own mind. Maybe it is an aura thrown off by Rinoa. Perhaps it is just from being in this place for so long, where the spirits of the Cetra sway like grass and new leaves.

She remembers bits of her lessons here. Cetra magic is complicated. It isn't linear, or even very understandable. Often you can't comprehend how it works, and especially how it fits into your own life, until you are standing on the other side, looking back at the intersecting circles that make up coincidence, fate and dumb luck through a veil of green energy –

_Death is never very far from life, and life is never very far from death._

Her serenity falters. Accepting that she is on the wrong side of the life-divide means accepting Zack's death, and accepting that means losing him all over again. She buries her face in his chest. "I don't want to go back. I want to stay with you."

"Now that's just crazy talk." He hugs her, but then holds her away from him by her shoulders. "They need you back there. Cloud needs you. The others, too. Are you really going to let them all down?"

"But … I never thought I'd see you again. How can I let you go now?"

"You'll see me again." He flicks her nose with the tip of his index finger. "But not too soon. If I catch you joining me on the spirit pathways within the next fifty years, I'll be very pissed. You're supposed to _live_, Aerith."

"You too."

He shakes his head. "Not me."

"This isn't fair."

"Whoever said life was fair? Cheer up. At least we get a proper goodbye this time."

His words remind her of how he died. The emotion that rips into her is as fresh as the day King Mickey and Merlin brought his body home. Her fists tighten in his shirt. "Cloud …"

Zack's face darkens. "He's on his way back to you, or he will be soon. Events are being set in motion, Aerith. Big things. Whopper things. Stuff is beginning to happen that'll change everything. You have to be there to help him when he needs it if he's going to make it through. Sephiroth and Jenova have done a real number on his head, but it's not unfixable."

"Not unless you stick around here," says Rinoa. "If you stay here, you won't be there to help him."

Zack glances at her. "Rin, can we have a minute?"

"Sure, sure, as long as you quit calling me Rin."

"I will when you quit calling me Zacky-poo."

She grins. "I'll think about it."

Ifalna comes forward. She keeps her hands clasped in front of her, as though afraid she'll grab Aerith and drag her back into another dream prison. "You already know how to go back."

"No, I don't." Aerith stares at her. Her mother is dead too, but looks far older than she possibly could have been when she died.

Aerith has learned so many things since she came here, drawn by the indefinable link of blood between herself and her ancestors. She has learned secrets of the history of the Cetra, of her powers, of the thread of magic that connects them all down the millennia, and also her own personal history. She knows that if it wasn't for a madman and his investigations into the darkness of the heart, she never would have been born in Hollow Bastion. She would have been born someplace else, would never have met Zack, Cloud, or any of the other people she cares about. That alone is enough that she doesn't hate him for what he did to her mother. Ifalna suffered before she died, but her final act was to make sure Aerith didn't die with her. Aerith owes it to her now to live to the fullest and not waste her life.

"You're so much stronger than I am," Ifalna says, a hint of pride in her voice. "You may not realise it yet, but you are. You've always had the knowledge inside you of how to go back."

"See?" Zack brushes a strand hair from Aerith's face, the way he used to when it came loose from her ribbon. She is wearing her pink ribbon now, even though she knows this is just a projection of herself into a part of the astral plane reserved for her people. The way she perceives herself is defined by her most precious memories. "My part in this fight is over, but you can still make a difference. Cloud needs you to help him realise his light isn't as far away as he thinks." His jaw tightens. "Making sure he has you is about all I can do for him now."

Suddenly Aerith is blinded by images that aren't quite memories. She sees a temple in a shining silver forest. Its stonework is whiter than bone, distorted slightly where water laps from a great lake. People gather inside it, laid out like corpses, though she knows with absolute certainty that they are alive. Warriors prowl the temple's edge, threading between pillars, giant swords in their hands.

Aerith sees a forge, the air wobbly with heat. An enormous man wields a hammer, which throws off sparks as it hits the blade on his anvil. She jumps backwards and forwards in time, seeing molten metal spill like liquid fire, a woman with her own face slashing her palm, blood dripping into the whiteness, the same woman handing the finished sword to a young man and then laying down in the temple to sleep while he guards her. Before shutting her eyes, the woman looks straight up, as if she can sense Aerith looking down at her from far away. Aerith can see that they don't share the same face, but there are definite similarities – the tilt of the nose, the arch of her neck, and the green eyes of the Cetra.

Aerith sees the temple burning. Bodies go up in flames, not screaming. They sleep all the way to their deaths. The warriors rush like ants, flinging themselves at the enemy destroying their charges. Long blue arms sweep them away easily, until one young man leaps from a hidden ledge and plunges his sword deep into the demon's back. Ten feet tall and willowy like a beautiful woman with flowing blue hair, the creature screams like a monster and bats him into the wall with monstrous strength. He hits so hard that his armour becomes his enemy. When he falls to the floor he leaves a gigantic red splotch on the white stones. His sword clatters down beside him, blood-stained and hungry for more. It knows the one who helped forge it is still alive. It sees her wake and flee as the demon searches for more strong warriors to test her strength against, but its wielder is dead and there is no-one else to use it. The demon laughs and slaughters the way a child plays with toys, eventually coming too close and kicking the sword into the lake, where it sinks and can see no more of the battle.

Aerith sees the empty temple, dusty and dark. A piece of the bone-white stonework moves, letting light in at last. Voices resonate in the hollow space – but not as empty as it seems. The sword senses life after countless centuries surrounded by death and decay. It reaches out blindly. There are three minds moving around above it. One is laced with jealousy and bitterness. It avoids the poisonous thoughts that one generates. One is noble and strong, but instead of that one, the sword focuses on the last mind. This one is also noble and strong, but underneath is a space for love that the second mind has already filled with dignity and reserve. The sword fastens on the third mind and shouts with all its power, until finally a hand plunges through the water, grasps it and pulls it free, as shiny and sharp as the day it was forged.

Aerith sees Cloud dressed in black, drawing back the Buster Sword to attack a leaping Sephiroth. Suddenly he glows, though he doesn't seem to realise. Reality around him pulses, as though someone has taken the fabric of space and time and plucked it. Unseen hands grip the hilt just below his, and an unseen heart beats in time with his to give him strength when he needs it most. The strength of will that can break through reality like that is more than a match for Sephiroth's onslaught. Cloud meets him head on, and the entire scene erupts in brilliance. She gasps at the vividness.

"Aerith?" Zack cups her face with both hands, concerned. She blinks at him, back in her own mind and still reeling from what she has just witnessed.

Cetra magic isn't linear. Past, present, future – they're all the same. Aerith stares into his eyes. The Buster Sword chose him, she remembers. It is as though she _is_ that sword, created long ago to protect her people and as linked to her bloodline as it is to each chosen wielder. She recognises the calluses of his hands and tastes a strange blend of metals that leave an aftertaste like blood on the back of her tongue. It chose him. It is still linked to him, as it is also now linked to Cloud – and to her. They are more connected than they ever could have known.

"I don't think your part is as over as you think."

Zack blinks, not understanding.

"Um, I hate to interrupt this heart-warming moment, but I'm going to have to hurry you guys." Rinoa peers into the blackness like she can see things in it. She squints, wings twitching in agitation. "Hey, Aerith, could I ask a favour?"

"You rescued me from my own imagination. I think you've earned the right."

"Pfft, that? That was just payback for what you did for Squall when you told him I forgave him. That's how I was able to get me and Zacky-poo into this place. Technically nobody but the Cetra are supposed to be here, and no way are we supposed to leave the spirit pathways, but you linked with me before so we have a connection. I bent the rules a bit and stepped off the path to find you. What I'm asking now is an extra."

"Of course you can ask a favour."

Rinoa smiles and holds up an index finger. "When you see Squall again, first you've got to make this sign at him. He'll know what it means, and he'll know the message is really from me."

"All right."

"Tell him I approve, so long as he gets his butt in gear and stops putting things off."

"Will he know what that means as well?"

"He'd better. He already spent eight years thinking about it. If he makes himself miserable over me for one second longer you have my permission to smack him." She blinks rapidly and cranes her neck to one side like she can hear something nobody else can. "Whoops. Time to go. C'mon, Zack. We're breaking a million and one rules by being here. If the powers that be catch us, we're toast."

Zack steps away from Aerith, but hesitates. In an instant he grabs her up in his arms and kisses her so fiercely all she can do is cling to him, committing him to memory. Yet as she feels his lips against hers, his hands on her back, the smell of him in her nose, she realises she already knows him by heart.

When he breaks the kiss she whimpers, "I miss you."

"I miss you too, but this isn't the end." There's a catch in his voice too. "It wasn't Cloud, Aerith. Sephiroth was controlling his mind. And it was quick. Everything that bastard said about me screaming and Cloud torturing me, it was all a lie. You've got to let him know it wasn't his fault. It was all Sephiroth –"

"Zack!"

"I will." Aerith keeps hold of him as long as she can, but in the end she has to let go. Her hands slide along his arms as he steps away. She catches his fingers in her own, hooking them together. When she uncurls them and he is no longer touching her, she leaves her arms outstretched.

"You better put those by your sides, or I'm likely to run back into them," he says. "And I'm already in a heap of trouble for coming to find you."

Aerith lowers her arms. She watches as he backs towards Rinoa. The other girl grabs his elbow and tugs at a corner of the blackness, prising it up.

"I love you!" he shouts desperately. They are gone through the rift before Aerith can reply.

Ifalna pushes her slightly in the small of her back. "It's time to go home, sweetheart."

Home? That place where's there's no Zack, no Cloud and no Kairi, just a life without them. Endless years with little hope, if any. Terror grips Aerith at the prospect, but Zack's words make her pull herself together. Still, she can't tear her eyes away from the spot where he and Rinoa vanished.

"Sweetheart?"

"I know."

"Before you go, I have something for you." Ifalna takes one of Aerith's hands and turns it upwards, holding her own in a similar position slightly above it. A pinprick of light blossoms in her palm, growing into a small sphere. It throws off such an intense white light that Aerith is momentarily dazzled. "This is Curaga," Ifalna says, tipping it into her hand. It tingles like warmth returning to cold-numbed fingers after a snowball fight. "It's a gift from all the Cetra for the Keyblade Master. We helped to save all worlds once before when they were threatened. We won't let it be said that we didn't do our part this time too."

"The Keyblade Master?" Aerith echoes. She has had no lessons about keyblades. That abruptly strikes her as stupid. She should stay, to learn more, whispers the part of her that is terrified to go home. "I don't understand."

"You will. The king is going to send two of his most trusted allies to look after him. You need to explain to them about the things you've learned here from me and my past in Ansem's dungeons, and about the Heartless, so they can use the information to help the chosen one in his quest. They'll lead you to him. Make sure he receives this." Ifalna closes Aerith's fist around the sphere. "It's very important. He's going to be the lynchpin on which all futures hang. Everything that has come before now, however significant, can't compare with what is still in store for all worlds."

Aerith can't quite believe that, and yet … she also can. It's very confusing. "Everything?"

"Everything that has led to now was only the whisper of war; the merest murmur of the great shout to come." Ifalna leans to press a kiss to Aerith's forehead. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart."

Fresh tears spring to Aerith's eyes. Ifalna lets go of her hands, retreating back to the green tendrils. Aerith watches her fade into them, a part of their magic now that her physical body is gone. In response to this thought, something tugs in the centre of Aerith's chest – the feel of her heart, her _actual_ heart, starting to beat again. The first thump makes her astral form wobble. The second drops her to her knees. The third catapults her back to reality.

She wakes to chaos and a single certainty.

_**This**__ is real_.

* * *

This room is a room full of nouns and immovable objects; an enclave of thoughts and memories. Nothing could be more incongruous in these surroundings than the spectacle of verbs now unfolding in it.

Yuffie lands awkwardly. Her hip screams in pain. This would be a lot easier if they had more space to manoeuvre. She and Leon have been separated. She hears him cry out and lifts her head to see him using the wicker chair as a weapon, mimicking her trick with a folding chair at José's party years ago. He smashes it down on two Heartless, but they have backed him into a corner. He _still_ isn't fighting properly. He keeps getting distracted, looking over at her and falling prey to simple attacks she _knows_ he can block if he would just friggin' _concentrate_.

"Hey, Leon, quit being a moron and concentrate!" she yells helpfully.

A Heartless comes through the wall and buries its hands in his chest from behind. His back arches and his mouth opens in a silent cry of shock and pain. The little bastards seem to love that trick. Yuffie flashes back to Reno and Lea and the way they died. She lets out a shriek of fury.

"No!"

Her anger manifests in pure kicking power. She makes it across the room without once using Glory of Wutai, until she sinks her foot into the Heartless attacking Leon. He drops the chair and slumps forward, still conscious but breathing hard. She props him up with a grunt of effort.

"Whoa, Squall, you need to lose a few pounds. Seriously, the whole lean-yet-robust thing is great, but muscle is _heavy_."

"It's … Leon," he pants.

"So start acting like the Leon I know. You're losing focus all the time and it's gonna get you killed."

His eyes widen. He shoves her away from him. "Look out!"

A Heartless with bat wings swoops between them, wicked claws outstretched. Both Leon and Yuffie hit the deck and roll, but unlike Leon, Yuffie is confronted by a pair of luminous eyes rising out of the floor like something from a nightmare. She jumps up and kicks, but it grabs her foot and torques her, sending her pirouetting through the air.

"Yuffie!" Leon's voice is distorted as her head and ears spin to and fro.

She lands on top of Aerith. A cacophony of chimes jangle at the contact. Yuffie convulses with hundreds of static-shocks, just before the sonic boom of an explosion so strong it feels like her bones are trying to escape from her body.

She is too close, and her face is screwed up in pain, so she can't clearly see what's going on. She registers a wash of light and colour that rips through the Heartless, dissolving them into dust faster than sunlight driving back the night. It is like Aerith's skin has burst, or at least the protective shell around her has been pushed outward like an overfull balloon that has to pop. Beneath it she is overflowing with light, until the room is lit brighter than day.

When Yuffie finally unscrews her eyes her vision is peopled with wiggly worms and dots. She is aware that the static shocks have stopped, and also that the body beneath her is … breathing.

"What's going on in there?" Fists bang against the door. Aunt Sarah tries to shove it open, but the wicker chair is in the way. "Why can't I open this door? Mr. Leonhart? It's bad enough you arrive so late at night, demanding to be let in like some common ruffian, without vandalising my establishment as well. Open! This! door!"

"Yuffie!" Leon stumbles towards her, bleeding and favouring his right leg. "Are you all right?"

Yuffie doesn't answer. She stares at the green eyes that have flipped open like a doll's, not even blinking to indicate waking from a deep sleep.

"Yuffie, you're squashing me," says Aerith.

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	100. Care to Dance?

.

* * *

**99. Care to Dance?**

* * *

"Merlin?"

"Mickey! Where have you _been_?"

"Sorry, old pal. Chip and Dale said it was urgent, but I was in the middle of some pretty delicate, ah, stuff. In fact, I'm kind of still in the middle of something important right now, and I need to get ready, but -"

"Mickey, whatever it is, it can wait."

"I don't think it can, actually. The darkness is on the move and I'm –"

"Mickey, if I'm using one of Highwind's confounded video-screens to contact you, then you can jolly well speak to me for five minutes. Otherwise I shall be forced to test out the newest version of my teleportation spell against your protective shields, and we both know how well _that_ turned out last time, don't we? _Don't we?_"

"Boy, you sure sound mad."

"If I do then I apologise. I'm not angry, though I shall admit to a smidgen of disappointment."

"Did I do something to offend you?"

"No, I have simply come to understand that if, sometimes, people are not entirely honest with each other, they often they don't mean anything malicious by it. Even if the reasons for their deceit turn out not to be the best in the long run, I understand that fear, the desire to protect loved ones and a sense of duty can prevent a completely open dialogue, even between friends."

"Merlin."

"I understand that people do not _mean_ to lie, or deceive, or even fib. Falsification sometimes genuine seems as if it is for the best – even more so omission."

"Merlin."

"However, that does not alter the ramifications of lies of omission. Keeping things from people can be disastrous, as well as demoralising, disappointing and disheartening. It can cause people to, as they say, fly off the handle. I can cause things to be said that should remain unsaid. It can spiral beyond the damage that would have been done if the lie had not been told in the first place!"

"Merlin."

"Take myself, for example. I freely admit that I am sometimes given to … fits of pique. If I overreact and assume the worst when I discover things are being kept from me, the situation can become … regrettable. For reasons beyond my control, but still –"

"Merlin!"

"_What_?"

"You're babbling. And not to be rude, but I wasn't kidding about needing to be someplace."

"Oh. Of course. I was indeed, ah, babbling."

"You were talking about Zack, weren't you?"

"Partly."

"Why? Sorry to be blunt, old pal, but you hardly ever talk about him."

"I am actually making it known at the outset that I don't want a repeat of what happened when I discovered Zack was keeping secrets from me. You are my very dear friend, Mickey, my confidante and my willing sanctuary whenever I have needed one. Your commitment to fighting the darkness is second to none. Nobody knows of your tremendous dedication better than I do. Therefore I must assume that you have an exceedingly good reason for not telling me that you are, in fact, the wielder of a keyblade. I await your explanation with bated breath."

"… Uh …"

"Your relative silence tells me my hypothesis is correct."

"You mean you didn't know?"

"I suspected, and now I know."

"I'm … not sure what to say."

"_Why _may be a good place to start."

"You weren't wrong when you said duty can sometimes create secrets between friends, Merlin."

"Ah, so you were _obliged_ not to tell me you possess one of these legendary weapons, capable of destroying the Darkness and saving all worlds, which many think vanished forever, or maybe never existed at all? By whom? Or, perhaps, by what?"

"I'm … it's complicated. I'm bound by some rules that might seem … well, a little strange to an outsider."

"I see."

"No, you don't. Nobody can, unless they … I mean … dang it. That's always been the problem – not just with you, but with anyone trying to find the keyblades. It's _real _complicated. They can't be found until they wanna be found, and they're so powerful they don't often wanna be."

"They are sentient, then?"

"Kinda. Saying they're alive, though … it's kinda like the difference between a spirit and a soul."

"Excuse me?"

"It's –"

"Complicated?"

"Yeah. There's a difference between power and strength. Any weapon, no matter how powerful, is only as strong as the one holding it. You gotta be careful who you pick to hold something like a keyblade. Plus, there aren't as many keyblades as everyone seems to think. Not anymore."

"Well, I must say, it is heartening to hear some truth at last."

"I wouldn't blame you for being mad, old pal, but I got a lot of duties as king, and even more as a chosen one."

"Chosen one?"

"It's not enough to have a keyblade, or to know where they are. They're not like dogs – they don't come when they're called. There are a heck of a lot of factors that gotta be in the proper alignment for the keyblades to enter this level of reality, and even more if they're gonna be used properly when they get here."

"I have suspected you knew more than you were letting on ever since my extended stay at Disney Castle. Living with you for so long, it was difficult for you to keep me totally in the dark. It was, as they say, the little things that gave you away. If you now feel you can share with me, Mickey, since I have worked it out on my own, I am willing to listen. You once told me the keyblades may not be the deus ex machina I have always considered them to be. Perhaps you would like to explain that statement now?"

"… A long time ago, when I was very naïve, I thought the keyblades were the answer to everything. They're not. I learned that the hard way. In a lotta ways, they're just as destructive and dangerous as the darkness. I swore I'd never mishandle their power again, or allow the wrong people to exploit it … even if they do it with the best of intentions. It was my solemn oath."

"Hm. So the power I perceived as our greatest salvation may, in fact, just as easily be a tool for destruction, depending upon who wields it? A dark soul darkens the spirit of the keyblade, perhaps?"

"Something like that. I … I'm sorry, Merlin. You were always so set on using the keyblades. You pinned so much on them, you didn't listen when I tried to persuade you off the idea without giving myself away."

"Hm."

"I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know where they were."

"I forgive you, old friend. Yet I sense there is something more to your statement than mere apology – or is your use of the past tense mere coincidence? You _didn't_ know where they _were_?"

"Well … you remember I said the darkness is on the move? It's because –"

"The fabled Keyblade Master has been found?"

"How did you know?"

"Like you, Mickey, I have my own ways and means of accessing information. Ways that don't exactly follow normal channels …"

* * *

Some part of Leon is always trying to patch and mend, but even that bit of him can't paper over the twists and turns his life has taken lately. First Yuffie. Now Aerith. Like lost sheep returning to the flock, people are coming back to Traverse Town, and he is the shepherd trying to open the gate and let them in without releasing the panicky ones already inside.

Leon is not the leader of the resistance for nothing. He has been a captain before, but so has Cid, and Merlin has more life experience than both of them put together. Either of the older men would be qualified to lead, but they have never challenged his authority. Leon isn't the leader because he is smart, strong, fast and determined. They are all good qualities, but they don't make him stand out as a guy to follow, they just make him good at killing Heartless.

Leon is leader because he is willing to _be_ the leader. He is the decision maker. He is the one prepared to accept the consequences of those decisions. He is willing to do all the shitty, unpopular stuff that never gets mentioned in the history books or epic poems. If this war was being fought on a battlefield, you can bet he would be the one getting his epaulets dirty digging latrine trenches and burying bodies.

One quality of good leadership is keeping your head in a crisis. After Aerith's awakening, Leon knows he has compromised this, not just in the fight – he cringes at mistakes _Pacha_ could avoid – but after it as well. A feeling of hot, nervous haste consumes him; of yielding to impulse and letting something hidden peep out to touch the world.

"_Did you ever love me the way I loved you?"_

"_Yes."_

He swings the gunblade up and around, running through _kata_ so familiar he barely has to think where next to put his body. It is therapeutic to slowly circle his arms and legs, contorting his core muscles and stretching his body at the same time. Already he is covered in a thin sheen of sweat that has nothing to do with the stifling warmth of the sewers.

He used to spar with Zack and Cloud down here. Tifa hated the stink, so she rarely joined them. It turned into a guy thing: who could take the smell the longest. After months of daily sparring the three of them barely noticed it anymore. Cloud and Zack went home to an apartment they weren't allowed inside until they had stripped and bagged their dirty clothes, on pain of Aerith's frying pan. Leon went home to an empty apartment where nobody complained about bad smells or ordered him into the shower to wash off.

Will they be coming back next?

No, he has to clear his mind. He can' think about impossibilities. Unlike with Yuffie, Leon was there when they buried Zack. He saw the body. He helped lay his friend to rest. He knows Zack is dead.

Cloud and Tifa, on the other hand …

_Stop thinking about these things. Clear your mind. Just concentrate on your own body. Focus entirely on the movement, like you were trained. There is only you, your weapon, and the air immediately around you._

Instead of clearing his mind, he only fills it more, this time with images of past _kata_ shared with others – Zack and Cloud again, but also Tifa, and even Lea and Reno on occasion. He recalls the other Royal Guards when he ran early morning training. He remembers further back, to his cadet days, when a girl with dark hair would be waiting on the castle battlements when nobody else was stupid enough to be awake because they were already scheduled for training at dawn …

Leon grunts and thrusts the gunblade forward. What should be a clean line is skewed by the emotion he is allowing to cloud his mind. His body feels rickety and sluggish even though he is in peak condition. Aerith healed both his and Yuffie's wounds the moment she awoke, before they had time to ask what the hell was going on. Leon forgot how her magic leaves him so full of energy. It is as though he didn't expend any in battle. Yet his agitated mind leaves him without a proper outlet. Even sparring with his shadow isn't working this time.

"_Did you ever love me the way I loved you?"_

"_Yes."_

Why did he say that? If he had said no, all of it would over at last. He sensed it was the final time she would ask, or even broach the subject with him. Too much time has passed. She isn't the infatuated teenager with elephant skin, so tough she keeps coming back no matter what. Despite her appearance, Yuffie has grown up. She was asking for him to either set her free or …

Or what?

Why is he still thinking about this? There are far more important things to distract him if he is going to be distracted.

Aerith is awake. After eight long years, she has emerged from the Cetra fugue state. And she is … different. Not wildly changed by her experience, but there something has altered in her. Or maybe Leon is just getting old. Maybe his memory of her doesn't match the reality. Still, he can't shake off the feeling that she is changed on a level that has nothing to do with the lack of grief in her eyes. For her, the last eight years never happened. She should still be feeling the loss of her lovers and friends more acutely than everyone else. She is much calmer than he expected. She accepted that she has been asleep for eight years as though it is no big deal. Her reactions to eight years of alterations to her world and friends should have a bigger impact. To be honest, her composure is a little unnerving. Yet at the same time she is still so very _Aerith_. She is still the girl who left food outside his door when he was living like a hermit. She is still the hands that held Kairi tight as they walked to school. She is still the incredibly ugly boots that went up and down the stairs to invite him to dinner. She is still the kindness he doesn't know how to react to, other than to leave it up to Captain Leonhart again.

Because that has worked _so_ well lately.

Cid was delighted to discover two of 'his girls' have returned to him – though later he strenuously denied ever calling them that. He is obviously wistful for Tifa to make it three out of three, but his typically gruff welcome left room for Leon to take a step back and observe the change in Yuffie at Aerith's return. After all, of all of them, she is closest to Aerith. If Aerith has changed in any way, Yuffie is the one who will notice.

Yuffie. Aerith. Zack. Cloud. Tifa. Kairi. Lea. Reno. Memories rise inside Leon like a stalagmite speeded up. These are things he hasn't thought about properly in a long time. It was easier to just let everything fall into patterns, moving through days until they blurred together in a seamless whole: survive, protect, fight, and watch over those around him as they get on with their lives. Leon has his role. He is the leader. That is what he does; he leads. He makes sure everyone else is safe. He has been using those responsibilities to suppress unpleasant memories for years. Now they have come back and hit him all at once, like a Gummi Ship to the head.

No wonder he is unfocused in his _kata_.

He snaps his foot out and parries an invisible opponent with his gunblade. Too slow, too slow, too _slow!_ He picks up speed, slashing and cutting through invisible Heartless. His boots splash and squeak as he moves. He spins around, gunblade arm out – and pulls up short to keep from impaling Aerith.

"You always did have sharp reflexes." She pushes aside the tip that nearly pierced her gut.

He didn't hear her coming down the ladder. Either he is _really _losing his touch, or the fugue state also gave her the ability to move as soundlessly as Yuffie's _shinobi-iri_.

"And you should know better than to sneak up on someone like that." He lets the gunblade drop to hang loosely at his side. His muscles relax. He knows they will start to stiffen up if he waits too long, but he makes no move to go into his cool down routine.

Aerith shrugs. "I trusted you not to hurt me."

Leon narrows his eyes at her. What a stupid thing to say. And what does she have to be so happy about? Her smile lights up the sewer better than his flickery lantern, but he wants her to leave – and not just so he can get back to work. Her pink dress is one of the handful of things he saved when the Heartless took over Third District. He wasn't discerning; he just opened the closet and grabbed blindly. He is not even sure why. Heartless were coming in droves, Merlin and Cid were moving Aerith herself with the temporary help of charms against her electro-shock deterrent magic, and Leon was stuffing personal items into a holdall from the bottom of the closet. All he could say afterwards, even if just to himself, was that his subconscious had been in play again. It insisted Yuffie and Aerith would need things to wear when they returned. Now the dress seems ridiculously cheerful for such a gloomy setting. The sewers are stinky, filthy and the enemy of all things pink and delicate. He wants it – and her – to go away until his mind settles down.

"How are you feeling?" he asks instead, because he is the leader and the leader is supposed to make sure everyone under his care is okay.

"Oh, I'm fine. Merlin's been asking me all sorts of questions about where I've been and what I've seen. He's still a nosy-parker, isn't he?"

_It's because he cares_. Not that Leon can say anything so sentimental. His jaw locks up if he so much as tries. "He's been invaluable in the fight against the Heartless." What is he saying? Aerith is an emotional creature; always has been. She needs reassurance, not an update on battle tactics.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," she says, rocking back on her heels, hands linked behind her back like a little girl waiting in line for an ice-cream. "He seemed very tired, but he's not relying so much on his books anymore. It seems like he has more knowledge in his head now than in an entire magical library. I'm sure that'll be useful in the coming battles."

"Coming battles?" Leon is instantly alert. What does she know?

"Aren't there always coming battles?"

"You make it sound like the ones coming soon are significant."

"Oh, they are. I've already spoken to Merlin about it. He seemed quite excited. He went immediately off to contact King Mickey."

"Do you know something?"

"Everybody knows _something_, Leon. It knows the _right_ something that's the key. Knowing it at the right time is the door to be unlocked by that key. Either one without the other is pretty useless. Put them together and suddenly everything makes sense, because of what you can find with the right key, at the right time, behind the right door. It's all about getting the balance right."

"What?" Leon's mind struggles to understand what she means and runs into a wall made of logic bricks.

Aerith smiles. She looks more maternal than ever, despite not having a small child gripping her hand and peering out from behind her skirt. "Put it this way: it's like knowing how to ask the right questions. Anyone can ask questions to get the answers they want, but you have to know the right questions in order to get the answers you _need_. What I told Merlin means he now knows the right questions to ask, and that'll get him the information he needs rather than what he thought he wanted. Are you following me?"

Leon frowns. He doesn't have time for mind games. "Look, Aerith, I'm in the middle of -"

"I understand. I think you'd better speak to Merlin before you go anywhere when you leave here – I'm fairly certain he'll have some vital information you'll want to hear."

"What? Are you saying Merlin wants to see me? Is that why you've come down here?" That would explain it. He has never met a girl who would willingly go into the sewers, amid the waste of a town with flushing toilets, unless for a very good reason.

"Possibly. Not yet, though. First I want you to talk to me."

"Aerith, if Merlin wants to see me I'd better go to him."

"This won't take a minute. You need to give him time to finish his conversation, anyway."

"Aerith –"

"I woke up the day before yesterday. You've barely spoken to me. I could get a complex from behaviour like that. Haven't you missed me?"

"Of course I've missed you. Everybody has. I'm only saying that now isn't the best time to -"

"So ask me how I am."

"Excuse me?" He has already _done_ that.

She shakes her head. "You asked me how I'm _feeling_, but not how I _am_. See what I mean about needing to ask the right questions?"

He doesn't, and frankly he is getting irritated. He already has enough that he doesn't understand to deal with, without her adding to the pile. "Okay," he grits, willing to give her this, considering what she has been through. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." She tips her head to one side. "Which leads nicely to me asking the same without sacrificing politeness or making you feel like you're weak by asking first: How are _you_?"

_Oh for crying out loud. _A muscle in Leon's jaw jumps.

"I already know how you're feeling, but not how you are. But I know the right question to ask next. Does this mean anything to you?" Aerith cracks another smile and holds up her right index finger. It is a common enough gesture, but something in her posture makes Leon's blood freeze.

For a moment he is pulled back into a previous year, to an elaborate ballroom festooned with decorations and people in eveningwear. Men show off dress uniforms or tuxedoes, while most of the women trail long hemlines and giggle at corsages being attached to their décolletages. He watches them impassively, having positioned himself to see three of the five exits and all the long windows on the outside wall where enemies could rappel in if they're determined to crash the party. His eye is drawn to a pale splash amongst all the colourful dresses. The stands alone and corsage-less, getting in the way of the dancing couples. She smiles at him and holds up her right index finger, a clear signal – _One dance?_ – and the only warning he gets before she drags him onto the dance floor and into her life.

Leon's breath catches in his throat at the vividness of the memory, even though he has replayed it thousands of times since she died. It has also been the subject of nightmares, where she looks away instead of asking for a dance, turns to smoke as he holds her, or shakes her head and runs from the room in a flurry of feathers, while he stands, unable to follow, as Heartless swell out of the floor around him. The nightmares went away for a long time, but in the past few days they have returned with a vengeance and in all of them she is asking the same question: "Did you ever love me?"

"_Did you ever love me the way I loved you?"_

"_Yes."_

Did he ever love her, if he can put that love aside in favour of someone else? The part of him constantly trying to patch and mend flares anxiously into life, but it can't dispel his rising panic. How could she know? How could Aerith _know_ about that?

Leon now has a chance for true happiness. He has a chance to have what he's devoted at least eight years to, and yet instead of staying safely in the present and the future he's relentlessly looking back, though he knows what'll happen when he does. The past is still too recent a neighbourhood, and the locals there still recognise his face. He can't move on, not yet, or they'll come and find him, take him back into their dark corners and crush him under the massive weight of toppled headstones, broken promises and his own unforgivable behaviour towards those he claims to love. The past has rivals in it with whom he can't compete, and a gnawing belief that he shouldn't even be trying because it's yet another betrayal. The past is evidence of how he has failed, and a damning accusation of how he might fail again in the future.

"Rinoa approves, as long as you get your butt in gear and stop putting things off."

He blinks at Aerith, reminded where he is and who he's with. Aerith's eyes are green, not brown, and earnest above her smile. It is ridiculous, but he doesn't even consider the possibility that she is making it up. She really has spoken to Rinoa.

His mouth is suddenly as wet as a desert. "How-?"

"She also says that if you make yourself miserable over her for one second longer, I have her permission to smack you. I don't want to smack you, Leon, but I will if I have to. You've had long enough to do this on your own. Consider this an intervention by the Make Leon Happy Alliance." Aerith steps forward, boots moving the sludge to stir up horrible smells. She traces the tip of that index finger down his scar. "You've worked so hard. You deserve to be happy."

The nerves on the scar tissue are dead, but his skin still feels cool where she has touched. He checks, but no magic rains healing on him – not that she could do anything about such an old injury.

"You always second-guess everything, including yourself," Aerith murmurs. "You insist on heaping guilt on yourself too. You feel guilty for what happened to Rinoa, and because of that you feel guilty for finding out you're still human enough to fall in love again. You feel guilty for panicking and being cruel to Yuffie when she made herself vulnerable to you, and then changing your mind after the damage was already done. That's not the way to be happy, Leon. You know how to be happy."

He swallows. It feels like he's trying to ingest a cannonball. "I don't know what you're talking about." He doesn't know how to be happy without Rinoa.

He stops. That's what he thought right after she died, when he scrubbed his hands raw and they still ran red with her blood. It is an old, stale conviction. He thought he could never be happy again after what he did to her – but he was. He _was_ happy. For a short time he had friends, people who cared about him, even loved him. His life was … not perfect, but getting there. He was _happy_, even though he had convinced himself he couldn't be again – certainly that someone who had done what he had done wasn't supposed to be.

"Self-recrimination. Sternness. Severity. Silence when words are needed. Maybe you should've renamed yourself something beginning with an 's'." Aerith steps away, loosely clasping one wrist with her other hand behind her back. "Stupid, perhaps. Or Slow. Or Say You Love Her and Make Your Move Already."

"How–"

"I've been asleep, Leon. That's all the fugue state is – a really long, _really _deep sleep. I may have dreamed some amazing things, but this isn't any dream. This is real. Nothing has damaged my ability to see that two of my friends are making themselves miserable dancing around each other like they're barefoot of hot coals."

"Yuffie still loves Lea." The statement ducks out between his teeth like a lone wolf leaving the safety of the pack to leap on prey much bigger than itself. It is just one of the many other tangled problems he is faced with: Yuffie is so much younger than him; he damaged their relationship when he betrayed her trust and attacked her vulnerabilities; she is still in love with Lea.

"And you still love Rinoa. Why the heck should that stop you?"

"She went to the Sorceress to try and bring him back. She wants him, not me."

"Oh, Leon." Aerith shakes her head, still smiling, but sadly. "Did she say that? Really?"

Her eyes hold him. He finds it impossible to argue when she stares like that – like she can see right through him and out the other side, into the bits of his past and personality he is least proud of.

"Yuffie forgave you a long time ago, but you still managed to convince her you felt nothing for her because you can't forgive yourself. Can't you see that? She was just a kid at the time, but she has grown up since then. She's stronger – life has _made_ her stronger. She can handle the memory of old rejection compared to how you and she feel _now._ Rinoa forgave you a long time ago. It's time you forgive yourself and get on with your life like everyone else. You can't live in the past." Aerith's tone turns a little wistful.

"But I don't know what to _do_." That lone wolf leaps desperately, unable to get a purchase on its prey and howling to its pack-mates for help: _Help! This is too much for me! I was stupid to try taking it down alone! Help! Help!_

Aerith sighs. "Honestly, how did you command an elite fighting unit when you can't even command _yourself_ to act on your own heart? Do you _want _to be unhappy for the rest of your life?"

His impulse is to turn away and go back to his _kata_. It is how he would have dealt with her eight years ago. However, eight years of battles, lying in bed alone at night and watching a map for a fading black dot that never comes can take its toll on a man. Leon is tired. He is tired in body, mind and heart. For an instant, his defences drop. "No."

"Then what's stopping you from grabbing a spoon and digging into the ice-cream of life?"

His shoulders hunch, not a wolf stalking its prey, but an indignant teenager being told to go wash the dishes. "That's a stupid analogy. And I hate ice-cream."

Aerith laughs out loud. "Go on, before I take a broom to you. You stink and you need a shower."

He stares at her a little longer. She holds her elbows and waits for him to comply, confidence he will. She shakes her head as she watches him climb the ladder, then bends and holds her foot at an angle to study what is dripping off it.

"And I'd strongly suggest you find somewhere else to practise, or at least keep one set of clothes for down here so you don't ruin everything you own. This place is repulsive and you smell worse than Cid's insoles after being down here."

* * *

_To Be Continued …_

* * *

.


	101. Endings and Beginnings

.

* * *

**100. Endings and Beginnings**

* * *

"Ohhhhhh … maaaaan ….." Yuffie sinks beneath the bubbles with something approaching rapture. She never would have thought it possible, but one thing living on the road does is make you really appreciate baths. She leans back, dipping her head until only an oval of face is visible above the water. Her ears fill with the rushing, swooshing of water as heat spreads through her body. Oh yes, she _so_ needed this.

What with one thing and another, Yuffie still has not figured out a place to call 'home' that _isn't_ a wicker chair in someone else's room. What with more than one thing and way more than just one other, stuff like laundry and hygiene have been pushed so far on the back burner they fell between the oven and the wall and went mouldy. Everything has paled compared to one thing: Aerith is awake.

In the day since she came out of her coma, Yuffie has followed her around like a puppy. She can't get past the silly idea that if she looks away, Aerith will vanish again. She stayed in the room (albeit facing the wall) as Aerith changed her clothes and brushed her hair. She hunkered close when Doctor Sweet arrived to check her over. He found her in perfect physical health, tested to its limits by a bear hug that left Aerith breathless. Yuffie even tried to cook something for them to eat, but Aunt Sarah took one look and ordered her out of the guest house's spotless kitchen.

Eventually Aerith wrinkled her nose and all but shoved Yuffie into one of the bathrooms and threw soap at her head. "Your shorts are going to walk into the wash by themselves soon, and I'm sure socks are meant to _bend_ when you take them off!"

"But I have to find someplace to stay –"

"Ridiculous child," Aunt Sarah sniffed. "Of course you're staying here."

"Huh?"

"Leon already arranged it."

"He did."

"Of course he did. He isn't some scatterbrained whippersnapper. He knows his responsibilities. The both of you," she gestured at Yuffie and Aerith, "will take up rooms on the second floor. I've already sent one of the girls to make up beds for you."

"Seriously?" At her expression Yuffie grinned. "Will there be mints on the pillows?" She meant it as a joke, but the words were greeted by a curse from the doorway.

"I _knew_ I forgot something."

At the sight of the retreating figure, Yuffie gaped at Aunt Sarah. "You have the Ashley Q working for you?"

"All my girls are diligent employees," Aunt Sarah sniffed. "_They _know the value of cleanliness." The obvious implication being that Yuffie doesn't.

The conversation bounces around Yuffie's head. She blows bubbles and tries not to think how weird it is to be staying here. Kind of nice, but still: weird. She already knows her way around after sneaking in and out of Lea's room so many times. If not staying in his room, they would skulk through the halls to play pranks on Reno while he worked. Once, they tried to pull the old water-bucket-over-the-door trick, but got Aunt Sarah instead. Another time they pretended Yuffie had got her hand caught in the garbage disposal unit, only for Aunt Sarah to walk in at the wrong moment, see the red food dye and faint clean away. Then there was the prank with the seesaw, honey and feathers, but the less said about that better. Both Reno and Aunt Sarah had looked like half-plucked chickens that time. Really, it was a wonder she had let Yuffie back into the house at all, much less given her a room.

Those memories would have made her sad once. There is still a pull in her chest when she remembers Lea's laugh, the way he smiled, and that glint in his eyes when he had another bright idea for a prank. The pull just isn't as painful anymore. She misses him, but it isn't all-consuming. She feels closer to him, being here. It's nice, like he just stepped out of the room to taunt Reno for that stupid frilly apron Aunt Sarah always insisted he wear. Weirder still is the knowledge that Leon is once again living upstairs from her. It seems she is destined to live one floor below him for the rest of her life.

Frowning, she submerges totally. She holds her breath until burning lungs make her explode from the water like a skinny, bubble-flecked bog-beast. A shriek makes her pause.

"I was just getting you some towels!"

"Huh?" Yuffie pushes hair from her eyes to peer at her bathroom invader. "Sorry, I have water in my ears. What are you doing in here? I'm pretty sure I put one of those nifty 'occupied' tags on the door."

The hazy female form holds out a stack of white blobs. "Towels," she says. "Aunt Sarah told me to bring some up for you. She said you were filthy and would need at least half a dozen, and gallons of bathwater, and to tell you not to flood the bathroom like last time."

Yuffie blinks at her, nonplussed, until another memory hits. As a Halloween prank, she and Lea borrowed one of Aunt Sarah's cats, filched a blunt knife from the kitchen, plugged up the bath faucets with red dye and turned the water on. They intended to stage a grisly scene to make Aunt Sarah scream and for Reno to clean up. Unfortunately they got distracted flicking spots of dye at each other and the cat – the white kitten with the pink bow – fell into the tub. The dye turned its white fur bright red, prompting it to yowl in dismay, dart between Lea's legs and take off down the hall. They gave chase, which wasn't difficult, since it left paw-prints all over the carpet. While they were gone the tub overflowed and leaked red water everywhere. Aunt Sarah had screamed, but not in fear, as they'd intended, but in total, unmitigated rage. She had also turned the same colour as the cat; a fact she didn't appreciate when Yuffie pointed it out. Lea slept on the roof that night, despite the cold.

"What the heck did Leon say to make that old crone let me back in this place?" Yuffie wonders aloud.

"Aunt Sarah and Leon have a special relationship," says the maid.

"They do?" Yuffie thinks horror should have hit her at the thought, but she feels only curiosity and a stab of something like protectiveness. "Like Madame Medusa style special?"

"As if. Nobody could ever be like Madame Medusa."

The breathy adulation strikes a chord. Yuffie peers closer at the maid, eyes widening in recognition. "Ashley A?"

The one-time It Girl sniffs, a sliver of her former snobbishness shining through the frilly apron and ruched pink skirt. Aunt Sarah's fashion sense is as revolting as ever. Ashley A looks like a blancmange. Her long blonde hair is swept into a practical ponytail and there are lines around her eyes that weren't there when Yuffie saw her last. When Yuffie left, the Ashleys were teenage girls. Now they are young women. The passage of time hits Yuffie in a way it didn't when she saw Chicha or Leon, or even Aerith.

"You can just leave those towels anyplace," she says, vaguely embarrassed that Ashley A has been sent to wait on her. Once upon a time she would have revelled in it. It may even have brought out the Victory Boogie, but not anymore. Outgrowing the satisfaction sucks.

"Whatever," Ashley A replies. She turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway. She nibbles her lower lip, as if wondering whether she should stay silent. "FYI," she adds, "those clothes you were wearing were, like, a total health hazard. Just because you're some big hero now doesn't mean you shouldn't take, like, a pride in your appearance, y'know? You _are _representing our town when you're out there saving idiots from rabbit holes and junk." She disappears before Yuffie can reply. She is rusty, but apparently she hasn't totally forgotten how to be a bitch.

Yuffie emerges from the bathroom some time later, towelling her hair. She looks around for Aerith. The room is empty, so she opens the door to the hallway and yells, "Ponytail?"

Panic slices into her when there is no reply. It disperses when Ashley A comes around the corner, a truckload of laundry in her arms. She looks so domestic it's a little unreal.

"Are you looking for Miss Gainsborough?"

_Miss Gainsborough? You used to send her poison pen letters! _Yuffie says nothing, but nods.

"She, like, went out."

"_Out?_"

"She said to tell you she was going out to visit Merlin."

"But Merlin already came here to see her!"

Ashley A shrugs. "I'm just the messenger." She squints at Yuffie's towel turban and toga combo. "Gotta say, even that's an improvement on your old outfit."

Even though practically everybody has already come to see her miraculous recovery, Aerith is determined to go to see all their friends as well. Her attitude comes off as entirely cheerful for someone who lost eight years to a glorified nap, but Yuffie has caught the shards of something else in Aerith's eyes. It is like turning an emerald and seeing different facets reflected in the light. Aerith is the same person she was, but she is also different. Yuffie wonders what exactly went on in that dream world. Aerith has been sparse with details, to say the least.

"Do you remember about the keyblades?" she asked when Yuffie tried to push the issue.

"Sure I do. Merlin used to be all gung-ho about them not being just another fairytale. Is he still babbling about those things?"

Instead of replying, Aerith's expression became distant. "I don't think there's such a thing as _just_ a fairytale."

"I know a big book that says there is."

"But if fairytales weren't real somewhere in the universe, there'd be no such thing as getting a happily ever after, and that'd be the saddest thing ever."

"Say what?"

Aerith stared blankly for a moment before shaking her head. "Nothing."

Yuffie thinks about her friend while she dresses – or tries to dress. She frowns at the pile of clothes left out for her. Every item Leon rescued from the apartment is folded in a pile, probably by Aerith herself. Yuffie marvels again at how he rescued their stuff but saved practically nothing of his own. His threadbare old jacket is showing its age more than he is these days.

Mind wandering, she pulls on the first item. She glances in the mirror and has to look again. The shorts are plain beige.

_Since when did I own anything __**beige**__? Must be Tifa's. That'd explain why they're a little too big. They need proper hips to hang off – rar!_

Her strapless top is a vibrant green that really emphasises how little she has going on in the sweater-meat department. It isn't boned, but it still stays upright on her flat figure. There are slits for straps to fit through, to contain the cleavage of anyone with actual breasts, but Yuffie's boobs aren't exactly straining to flop all over the place. She squashes them together for a glorious B-cup – and fails.

_I'm destined to be a boobless wonder for the rest of my life, _she thinks dourly. Her mind wanders, comparing herself with others and adding names wherever it can. _Teef: Boobzilla. Ponytail: Bounteous Bust. Chicha: Copious Cleavage. Face it, girl, even Penny beats you out. _

She needs to contact Penny and tell her … everything. She owes her friend that much. Yuffie's shoulders rise a little in guilt that she hasn't already sent a pigeon or something. She glances back at the mirror and stops to curse thought she was putting on her usual, multi-pouched belt. Instead, she is wearing an ugly blue elasticised thing with nary a pouch in sight.

"How am I supposed to store kunai on _this_?" she demands of her reflection. Her adolescent face glares creepily back. It's almost enough to make her wish for a mud-hut village with no mirrors, cutlery or deodorant. Then again, on second thoughts … "Man, this sucks. I'm _so _gonna ask Beardy to restart my aging process. I have absolutely no tits, I get zits, and forget apple or pear; my body shape is a freaking _baguette_."

Aerith has gently rolling hips, a contrast to Tifa's sharply drawn hourglass figure. Zack used to say Aerith's boobs are just the right size compared to those of the other girls' they know – couldn't fit in a wine glass, but couldn't clog a toilet either. Cloud would usually try to cover Zack's mouth at that point, or chase him around the room, jumping on and over furniture while Zack called him a prude and Aerith laughed at them both.

The snake of Yuffie's thoughts bites it own tail and goes back to the start: Aerith to Tifa to Zack to Cloud to Leon to Yuffie and back to Aerith again. And most important is the thought that Aerith is back – and acting really weird.

Yuffie's mind starts to wander again. She manages to thread two more ugly blue belts through the slits in her top instead of straps before she realises what she's doing. Cursing, she can't be bothered to unthread them and so defiantly buckles them into place.

"I'll … call it … a freaking … fashion … freaking … statement!" she snaps, yanking so hard her whole top rides up her back. Her shoulder blades emerge like ships' rudders on either side of the corrugated line of her spine. "Hell on a pogo stick. Grrnf."

She readjusts herself, wet hair sticking to her forehead until she ties it out of the way with her headband and reaches instinctively for her leather gloves. On impulse, perhaps because Aerith's return has left her comforted _and_ unsettled, she flips open one of her pouches, extracts her old yellow scarf and winds it around her neck. The scarf is shabby, but the feel of it against her skin is more comforting than one of Aerith's hugs. They feel like hugs of old, but … Yuffie can't put her finger on it. Something is _different_ about Aerith, like … ever since she woke up, she has been waiting for something. She is waiting for something but hasn't shared what it is with Yuffie, like it's a birthday candle wish she's afraid won't come true. Like all accurate realisations, it stings worse than a slap on sunburn.

Of course, Aerith doesn't know about the long hours Yuffie spent by her bedside, slowly driving herself mad with despair and helplessness. Somehow Yuffie has come second in a race she didn't even know she was running.

Aerith listened with every sign of rapt attention when Yuffie talked long into the night, telling her about her travels, right up to the Sorceress and Fenrir and Goliath's clan. She gave Yuffie an unprompted consoling hug over Fenrir, and reassured her Cloud wouldn't be angry when he heard – because of _course_ Aerith is still convinced he'll be back. And really, who is _Yuffie_, prodigal ninja, to disagree with this faith?

"Sometimes faith isn't enough," Aerith said into Yuffie's shoulder. "But sometimes it's _just_ enough."

"Is this a pep talk to make me feel better now you've seen how plentiful the Heartless are?"

"It is if you want it to be."

"You're really good at talking in circles, Ponytail."

Puzzle pieces fall into place. Could Aerith be waiting for _Cloud_? Yuffie's head throbs a little. She looks out the window and, on impulse, throws it open. Evening is drawing in. The Heartless aren't like vampires, prevented from going out in daylight, but night-time is definitely more sinister.

She leans until she is practically _falling_ out, enjoying the cool breeze against her skin. She spent a few months in an area known as the Northern Crater, a giant valley where a regular asteroid, not one made of gummi, ploughed into the ground millions of years ago. Everyone up there believed in things like yoga and chanting and rattling beads to make yourself feel better. Yuffie didn't buy into a lot of it, but she'll admit to changing her sleep patterns so she could enjoy the Greeting of the Dawn Ritual with them. There's nothing like fresh mountain air to clear your head and make you feel alive.

"You're gonna break your damn fool head, brat!" Cid glowers up at her.

"Not if I land on your flabby butt, Old Fart. What do you want? Or are you wooing Aunt Sarah now?"

Cid shudders. "Leon called a meeting."

"He did?" Irritation stirs in Yuffie. Despite her resolve to Get Things Sorted Out, Leon hasn't spoken to her since the fight with the Heartless. She knows she has been out of the loop for a while, but surely she should be invited to a meeting. "What about?"

"Didn't say. Just said it was important. That wizard's got something up his sleeve an' they wanted to tell us about it. We been using this hotel as a headquarters for a while now – not that the old bat who runs it lets us forget it's her turf."

"It's a guest house," Yuffie says automatically. "Uh, did Leon say to invite me to this little shindig?"

"Not to me."

"Humph." Well, screw him. If he and Merlin can't be bothered to include her, then she can't be bothered to care. Except that she does. A lot. Bastards. Apparently eight years away means you've got to work to regain your position as a part of the team. Which is actually pretty understandable, but still annoying.

Cid goes in. Yuffie retracts her head. She considers crashing the party just to spite Leon. She could use _shinobi-iri_ to spy on them, she thinks, yanking on a pair of socks that are actually be some kind of winter stockings. They end mid-thigh and look weird with shorts. Increasingly irritated, Yuffie finds her boots while angry thoughts boil. She has already proven she is still a dab hand at fighting Heartless, and Traverse Town needs every warrior it can get. How dare Leon let his prissiness at her get in the way of doing his job. That's what it is, she's sure. Leon is pissed with her for trying, once again, to force the issue of her feelings. He has proven in the past how he can be petty as a teenager who never grew up. Maybe this is more of the same.

A knock sounds at the door.

"What?" Yuffie barks.

"Yuffie?"

Speak of the devil. She marches to wrench it open. "Leon." Her insult pops like a foul-tasting soap bubble on her tongue. Her eyes bulge when she sees what he is wearing.

"Can I come in?" He takes her gargling-battery-acid noise as a yes.

"I thought you threw that out." The red wings on the back of his jacket stare defiantly at her as he walks past. They seem to whisper _Rinoa-Rinoa-Rinoa_ as much as her mind thrums _He's wearing your gift_ and _Stop reading into it, you idiot, he's a guy. Guys don't care what they wear. It was probably just something he saved from his closet without even looking at it_.

"No," he says inscrutably. "I didn't throw it out."

"Doy. I can see _that_." Yuffie marshals herself and assumes her best I'm So Nonchalant I'm Barely Registering You're Even Here pose. "So are you here to extend an invitation to me about this meeting thingy?"

"Yes and no."

"Well that's clear as freaking crystal."

"We need to talk."

Still reeling at the jacket, she goes into 'smart retort' autopilot. "I thought that's what we were doing."

"I'm being serious." There's a note in Leon's voice she has never heard before, a tremulous suggestion of uncertainty tempered by the obvious fact he's pissed about something. Together they make him sound … well, _unhinged_.

"Are you ever anything else?" She throws herself into the chair, instantly regretting it when the wicker bites into the strip of flesh between shorts and stockings. She tips her chin, working her outfit and trying to throw off convincing vibes that she _meant_ to wear these things in this order and _of course_ her butt doesn't hurt. "Ooh, Look at me, Mr. Serious McMeaniepants, being serious in a serious way. Again. Go on, shoot."

Leon does _not_ look comfortable. In fact he looks like he would rather be anywhere but here. Well, ditto. Even so, Yuffie studies the strong line of his jaw, noticing how his biceps are accentuated by the jacket. She'd hoped it would look good on him, but it looks _great_.

_Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, go away bad thoughts! You're ticked with him and he's an asshole. You're not supposed to imagine him naked when he's an asshole who says he loved you once but clearly doesn't anymore – except that he's wearing your jacket, and he's … got a pendant with the same symbol on it now? What's that supposed to mean? Argh! This is so freaking confusing. _

"Hey, Leonfart, make with the talking already. I'm not gonna get to old age anytime soon, but I'm sure as hell risking all my muscles atrophying and never being able to move from this chair again."

He flinches at the name, as though it bothers him. He props his gunblade against the wall and folds his arms, businesslike. "I need to ask you some questions and I need you to give me some straight answers." It's like he's trying to copy her but give it his own twist. Lame-o.

She waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah whatever."

"You asked me whether I was ever in love with you."

The hairs on the backs of Yuffie's arms start to rise. "Not a question."

"Is that correct?"

"Yeeeeah. What of it?"

"And I told you that I was."

_Keep it cool. You're a cucumber. Ick, I hate cucumbers. Um, okay, you're an ice cube. _"Yup. Past tense. Which is cool. I was a kid and you were, well, you. It was never going to work out. It happens." She shrugs.

"No."

"Right – no. No way was it going to happen. No means no. No worries. No skin off my nose what happened in the dim and distant yesteryear. No -"

Sudden anger floods Leon's face. "I am _sick_ of this."

"Sick of what?"

"_This_. Not communicating properly. Aerith's right – it's like dancing on hot coals, and I'm always falling on my ass and burning _that_ instead."

"Woo, look at you, cussing and using a simile too. I didn't think you had it in you. Wait, you've seen Aerith? When?"

"Right before I found out that no matter how much, how long or how hard I've worked to fight the darkness, I'm going to leave it up to some furry flunkies to go with the Keyblade Master and be responsible for the fate of this world – of _all_ worlds. I've been fighting the darkness most of my life. NowI'm supposed to trust everything to people I've never even met and just hope they're up to it."

This merits more attention than Yuffie thought. Suddenly it isn't just about her being pissed at Leon, Leon being pissed at her, their history and whatever else turns the ground to mulch beneath her feet when she's around him. She remembers Aerith mentioning keyblades and what Cid said about Merlin having something important to tell everyone. "Leon, what's going on? Is that what this meeting's about?"

"And on top of that," Leon goes on, ostensibly not hearing her. It is as though something that has spent years being wound tighter and tighter inside him has finally snapped. Whatever Merlin said about keyblades stoked his anger and talking to her has lit the fuse. "On top of _that_ kick in the teeth, I get a message from my dead girlfriend telling me it's okay for me to fall in love with someone else – that she actually _praises_ me for it – but I can't even _tell_ the girl I'm crazy about without fucking it up. Eight years I've had to prepare for this, and I'm still going around in circles because you're so infuriating that not even eight years is enough. I have absolutely _no _idea how to deal with you, or me, how you make me feel, how you're still so in love with Lea that you're willing to risk your life to try and bring him back, or how I lost my opportunity to tell you how _I_ feel before you fell for _him_ because I was afraid and felt like I was being unfaithful to someone who _wanted me to tell you all along_." He stops, breathing hard, a wild and shocked look in his eyes.

Yuffie blinks. And blinks again. "That's the most you've said to me at once in eight years."

He runs a gloved hand trough his hair. "Fuck it, Yuffie."

Her hands _aren't _trembling. Honest. "You're … let me get this right – you're 'crazy about me'?"

"Yes."

"_Me_?"

"Yes."

"Crazy like I make you so mad you froth at the mouth and want to run around declaring you're a pineapple?"

"What?"

"Or crazy like you'd rather run away and join the circus than hang out with me?"

"No!"

"Just making sure."

"This is what I'm talking about!"

"Okay, curve ball for you – _what the hell_?Since _when_?"

"Since the first time I tried to cut you out of my life and found out hurting you, however well-intentioned, was the most painful thing in the world."

"Oh shit." _Breathe. Remember to breathe. Ah, screw breathing. Breathing's for wusses. _"Oh shit. Oh … shit."

"I thought I'd finally be able to tell you," Leon says, parting with the words slightly less readily than a tiger parts with teeth. "After you came home and you were so much happier, I thought I'd just tell you and see where the chips fell. But then you said you went to the Sorceress because you were trying to bring Lea back with her magic; and you're so full of mixed signals I didn't know what to think. You've had eight years to forget about me, while I've spent eight years … not forgetting about you. One minute you're looking at me like I'm the only thing in the room, the next you look more like you wouldn't spit on me if I was on fire."

"Because I was _mad_ at you. I was hurt because you stopped speaking to me – a-freaking-gain! Not that you were speaking to me all that much to begin with. Newsflash, Leon: your communication skills suck. Yeah, I went to the Sorceress, but not just for Lea. I … I loved him, yeah, but that doesn't change the fact he's gone, or that you're not."

"I can't compete with a dead man."

"Like it was any easier for me with you still being in love with Rinoa?" Yuffie wants to eat the words the moment she says them.

Leon sucks in a breath but doesn't reply.

Yuffie drops her face. Well, that did it. Might as well lay all her cards on the table. Maybe she can live with Cid. "I loved Lea. Part of me will always love him. But Leon … Squall … I always loved you. That doesn't make how I felt about Lea any less important or real, but no matter how I tried to escape it, it was always, always _you. _I thought you were angry. You rejected me – _twice _– and yet here I was eight years later, asking _again_ how you feel about me because I can't let go of how _I _feel and that part of me that loves you keeps hoping for a different answer. It's self-destructive and stupid and all that garbage, but I couldn't help it. I thought you were disappointed I'd ever come back to Traverse Town!"

Leon stares hard at her. The wound-tight thing snaps again. This time it is more of a ping, like a when you move your neck too fast and warm pain cripples you for a second. "Yuffie, the only thing I'm disappointed about is that it's taken this long. I … am constantly worrying about consequences. It's what I do. It's how I was trained and how I've survived this long. I second guess myself a lot. You might have noticed. And I'm not good with … feelings."

"Gee, you think?"

"Not with feelings that aren't guilt, anyway – _that_ I'm an expert in. What I felt for you confused me. I didn't think I could ever feel that way about anyone but Rinoa."

"Right," Yuffie mumbles. "Rinoa."

"But I was wrong. You'd think after living for so long I'd be better at this kind of thing, but I'm not. I'm not wired that way. Fighting, giving orders, being a good leader; those things I understand. Not feelings. And you're … this great big bundle of feelings. You can't go anywhere or do anything without inspiring feelings in other people. There's no way to be indifferent about you."

"Is that a compliment? I have to say, I've had better."

"It's a fact. You're a shape that keeps changing. I'm always a square."

"Metaphor. We are doing well today."

"Yuffie!"

"Sorry, sorry, my brain has taken a nice vacation and its replacement has even less tact. How am I _supposed _to react? This is _huge_, Leon."

"I know." He tufts his hair with both hands, as if trying to hide behind the inadequate shield of his wrists. He hisses between his teeth like an enemy swordsman has carved a chunk out of his side. "I _know_. I'm in love with you and … and I can't …"

Yuffie doesn't know what to say. He is going to pieces in front of her and she has no idea what to _say_.

"Fuck it," he snaps, turning away. "I'm a lot older than you, Yuffie. I was disgusted with myself when I first realised the person I'd fallen in love with, the person I thought was trying to replace Rinoa in my heart, was a teenager I'd taught to read."

"Well, when you put it like that of _course_ it sounds bad."

"Monstrous."

"But I'm not a kid anymore, Leon."

"I know that, but it's difficult to take you seriously when you look …" He gestures.

Yuffie glances down at herself. "Okay, so maybe you have a point there, but you're not exactly playing by the rules yourself in the age stakes."

"It's not quite the same issue."

"Whatever. Merlin can restart my aging process whenever I say so. That's not a problem. We can get past an age difference."

"It doesn't change the fact –"

"Will you stop trying to put problems in the way?" Yuffie forces her lungs to take a deep breath. "Let me ask you a question."

"Is it the right question?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Ask away."

"Everything else aside, do you want to be with me?"

He considers this for all of three seconds. Well, three seconds plus eight years and the months when they wasted too many opportunities to count on both hands and feet. "That really is the right question."

"Leon!"

"Yes. I do."

_Fuuuuuuck. _Yuffie's body suddenly feels like a plate of month-old jelly – sloppy and fuzzy and not under her control anymore. She gets to her feet. It doesn't help.

"I'm just not sure what I want is what's best – for either of us."

Her brain whirrs. _This is what you wanted, remember? This is what you dreamed of – Leon saying he loves you. Leon saying he wants you. You've imagined this moment a squillion times. It should be really familiar by now. So why is it still so freaking scary?_

Because getting what you've always wanted is second only to love as the most terrifying thing that doesn't, actually, scare you to death. Actually, even _death_ isn't this scary – and Yuffie should know, since she has come close to biting the big one several times. Scratch that, she _has _died. This is way scarier. Death ends it all. Love and the realisation of dreams start it.

"You'll forgive me if I don't move for a second. I'm pretty sure that if I do I'm going to fall over. Or have an embarrassing spazz attack. I mean … yeah, I can't top the eloquent way you put it. Fuck it. You … I mean … all this time? All this _time_. You absolute … you total … I can't believe … all this time you – mrrf!"

In another really bizarre, decisive display, Leon closes the distance between them and kisses her. It is like she has been struck by lightning, only better, because you can't wrap your arms around lightning, or taste lightning's tongue as it hesitantly touches yours. There is a lot in that kiss. There is more to say and feel than just kiss can completely convey, but they try anyway. They try so hard that when they finally do break apart Yuffie swears her mouth has stretched a few inches. Can you get bruises on your tongue?

"I've wanted to do that for so long," says Leon, just as breathless. "You have no idea."

"Oh, I think I do." Somehow, during the kiss, his arms have found their way around her. It feels good to be in his arms like this – not like a prison, not like something she wants to get away from. It is different than being held by Lea, who is the only real point of comparison she has. With Lea she felt sheltered from things she didn't even realise she was running from. Leon makes her feel protected, like he'd do anything to make sure she never doubts herself ever again.

Leon's arms. She's in _Leon's_ arms and he just kissed her. Or did she kiss him? It got a little mixed up in the middle. She kissed _Leon. _Just thinking the words makes her brain jump all over the place, like a single unpopped kernel in popcorn machine.

"I love you," she says, testing the words.

"I … love you, too," he replies. It should sound the height of schmaltz. It doesn't. It sounds wonderful. Then again, maybe she's a little biased, but fuck it. Leon loves her, has always loved her, and she loves him right back. Nothing else matters right now. They can figure out the details later – right now the only thing of consequence is the slide of his arms as he holds her tighter to him.

Fuck it. Maybe they should make that their motto. And maybe she should stop thinking so much.

_Not a problem. _

All Leon has to do is lower his lips to hers again and it's like a firework going off inside her, flaming brighter and brighter until all thought goes bye-bye and she can hardly bear the white-hot heat anymore. The only thing that seems as if it might put out the fire is pressing herself even closer to him. A low growl reverberates up his throat and makes her lips tingle. Unlike words (or lack of them), there aren't many ways to misinterpret the very physical way their bodies are responding to each other.

Which is, of course, exactly when the sounds of battle reach them. And since all the resistance team are downstairs, that means someone in the street, who probably can't defend themselves, is being attacked by Heartless.

They pull back.

"Not exactly an appropriate time for, um, this anyway, Squall."

"It's Leon."

"It's both. To me, anyway. I love you; all of you – Squall _and_ Leon." _Schmaltz, schmaltz, shcmaaaaltz!_

He growls again and nuzzles her neck. Ooh, that's nice. "I'm going to rescue whoever's out there. Then I'm going to kill them for interrupting."

Not sure she'd be able to stop a second time, Yuffie disentangles herself and goes to the open window. What she sees makes her gasp. "Um, Leon … a big glowing sword shaped like a key. I'd say that's a keyblade, right?"

"Yeah."

"Because there's a kid out there fighting the Heartless with something that looks a lot like one of those."

He is at her side in an instant. "A _kid_? No way. That can't be right."

"Well there he is." She points. The kid's form is terrible – he can barely handle his weapon. Clearly he has never fought with it before. "You recognise him? I'm not exactly up on who's who in this town anymore."

"He's not one of ours." Leon shakes his head, aghast. "He must have stolen it. Nobody said it'd be a _kid_. I can't give responsibility for protecting everything to somebody practically still in diapers!"

The boy doesn't look like he has been in diapers for a long time. Yuffie puts his age at about twelve, though even from here she can tell he has a baby face, so he might be older. "We've got to help him. Keyblade or not, those Heartless are going to slaughter him." She turns to the door, but Leon swings his leg out the window. "Leon!"

"Like you've never left through a window before?" His smile is sharp but distracted – weird enough he's actually _smiling_, though. It looks good on him and – hey! "Wait here."

"Like hell! Don't think that just because you've told me you love me that means you can treat me like a pushover. That's the easiest way to a kunai in the nads – which I'd really prefer not to do, thanks very much." _Because I have plans for – argh, brain shut up! Shut up right now. Battle time now. Other stuff later._

"Wait here. I'm going to go find out why the hell some stupid kid has the keyblade instead of the proper wielder." Leon drops out of sight, shimmying down the drainpipe with his gunblade in one hand. In less than a minute he has changed from an uncertain man confessing his heart to an experienced warrior ready to do battle.

Yuffie thumps the windowsill in frustration and dashes into the hall, thundering downstairs to let everyone else know what's going on. "Fuck it."

Definitely a motto.

Now if only she can convince Penelo to sew it onto an insignia for them.

* * *

Aerith is sorry it took her so long to visit her church. She apologised to the flowers when she got there. Memories of Grandmother Willow spurred her to talk to them as she walked around, complimenting the repairs and improvements that have been made during her absence. Maybe if she hadn't spoken to Zack she would have been more eager to visit his grave, but seeing him on the astral plane left her with the unerring conviction that people are more important than places. His grave is his marker, but those he loved are the legacy that he lived. It would be an insult for her to forget that.

After leaving Leon she decided that, since her boots were already mucky, she might as well go and see her old sanctuary. Chicha has been keeping the flowers beautifully; little Audrey too. The scent when she walked in was heavenly.

The first time Aerith first went to see Chicha, Dr. Sweet was so happy to see her up and about, he gave her another bear hug that took both Audrey and Pacha to prise him off. Pacha has grown so _big_ Aerith can barely believe it. He hero-worships Leon and has sworn to protect his mother and little sister from the darkness – aided, of course, by his treasure-hunting doctor of a stepdad, and his 'big brother', who happens to also be a llama ex-emperor. The Sweets aren't a regular family unit, but there are none stronger.

"Stay for something to eat," Chicha insisted.

"Mom makes a mean sandwich," Pacha agreed. "And she baked yesterday."

"'Cept I ate all the cupcakes," Audrey said quietly, toeing the floor. "I wasn't s'posed to."

"She got in trouble," Pacha said gleefully.

"Stop it, you two." Chicha headed them off at the pass and smiled at Aerith. "Won't you have something to eat?"

"You gotta have a powerful hunger after all that sleepin', girl," Dr. Sweet observed. He grinned broadly. "I can make waffles with my brand new waffle iron. I do love me that waffle iron."

"That's why you're getting a gut," Chicha murmured, but there was no scorn in her voice. She looked at Dr. Sweet the way Aerith used to look at Zack and Cloud

Traverse Town has become such a dark place that it is comforting to find that kind of love and stability. Leon has done an admirable job of protecting the town and its people, but there is still the sense of a slow, steady slide into despair. Everyone has lost someone, or knows someone the Heartless have taken. Darkness circles their flagging spirits like a predator, waiting for their resolve to weaken, for them to give in so it can strike and make them its own. Heartless aren't only produced by other Heartless, after all. If this is what it is like everywhere, the Keyblade Master can't come soon enough.

"Thank you for the offer, but I'd better be going."

"Aw."

"But you'll come back, right?" Pacha asked.

She kissed the top of his head, making him blush furiously. "Sure I will. I just have somewhere I need to be right now."

Aerith leaves the church, intending to return to the guest house, only when the sun has set. She knows she should have started out much earlier, but she couldn't bring herself to leave. Part of it is a desire to remain in the church's tranquillity – another thing deficient in Traverse Town now – but part of it is the strange, inexplicable sense that she _shouldn't_ leave yet.

This same sense makes her walk the long way back. It takes her dangerously close to Third District. Leon warned her not to cross into that area. Dr. Sweet made her promise not to even go near it. She told them both that she wouldn't, but her feet seem to travel that way of their own accord.

_Why do have this urge to risk my life so soon after I got it back?_ She wonders, turning a corner.

This is the street on which Cait Sith's tent stood. From here she can see the bakery where Lea worked, which Zack destroyed during that first Heartless attack. There is the place where Cloud accidentally broke a shop window with the top of their Yule tree their first year here. Right there is where Kairi, Pacha and their school friends would press their faces against the chocolate shop, making little breathy clouds on the glass. This is literal walk down Memory Lane, but Aerith doesn't stop to savour any of it. She is drawn on, down alleys and side-streets, green lights flickering at the edges of her vision.

When she spots two figures walking ahead of her, she understands why. They aren't human, nor have they noticed her. The duck gestures fiercely at the tall dog, jabbing a finger at him and then at the round. They look lost. They are also wearing an insignia she remembers from long ago, on a castle with walls so white they almost blinded you.

Aerith walks up to the two strangers. "Excuse me, did the king send you?"

* * *

_To Be Concluded …_

* * *

**Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs**

* * *

_She spent a few months in an area known as the Northern Crater, a giant valley where a regular asteroid, not one made of gummi, ploughed into the ground millions of years ago. _

- Reference to FFVII. The Northern Crater is where JENOVA originally fell thousands of years ago, before she went about killing off all the Cetra and trying to conquer the Planet.

_His grave is his marker, but those he loved are the legacy that he lived. It would be an insult for her to forget that._

- Side-fling to FFVII: Crisis Core, in which a dying Zack declared Cloud is his 'living legacy' – www (dot) youtube (dot) com (slash) watch?v (equals) sTdP5faj81A.

….


	102. Epilogue: Ever After

.

* * *

**Epilogue: Ever After**

* * *

_Storybook endings, fairytales coming true;  
Deep down inside we want to believe they still do.  
In our secretest heart, it's our favourite part of the story,  
Let's just admit we all want to make it to  
Ever ever after._

- from **_Ever Ever_**_ **After** _by Carrie Underwood.

* * *

"The thing I don't understand is _why_. Why here? Is there an emergency we're supposed to deal with? It'd be a pretty weird emergency with three days' notice for us to get here."

"Don't ask me." Sora holds up his hands. "I know as much as you do."

Kairi walks beside him, eyes darting everywhere. Traverse Town is such a strange place, like a patchwork quilt made from the bits at the bottom of a sewing bag. Of all the worlds she has visited since getting her keyblade, this is one of the weirdest. Not on the same level as Halloween Town maybe, but definitely a seven on the weirdness scale.

"Is the rest of this world like this too?"

"Like what?"

"Sort of … pieced together."

"I don't follow you."

Kairi sighs. Sora has the biggest heart of anyone she has ever met. It's great when you need extra courage, or the ability to forgive people who have royally screwed you over. However, it also means he is so accommodating he genuinely doesn't register abnormalities anymore. His travels have altered his frame of reference so a world made of leftover parts and people is as valid and normal as … well, as normal as their lives ever get anymore, actually. The improbability bar has definitely been raised in the past few years, and their disbelief has been suspended so high they can't even see it anymore.

"Never mind."

On her other side Riku walks like a solider protecting his princess. She thrusts out a foot. He trips, even though his reflexes are too good for him to fall over.

"What did you do that for?" he demands.

"You're being too serious."

He scowls, but his expression abates when he realises she is giggling. One corner of his mouth twitches. "Did you have to kick so hard? You nearly broke my shin."

"Oh, don't be such a baby."

Riku has been most affected by all they have been through. He carries his guilt inside him like a lead weight, and it is up to Kairi and Sora to drag him out of himself. She has been finding ways to make him lighten up ever since they got home to Destiny Islands. Sometimes just being there is enough; she and Sora by his side are enough to subdue any self-loathing. Sometimes a gentle word does the trick. Sometimes what is needed is a bit of roughhousing.

This serves the double purpose of showing him she is not made of glass, even if she is a princess. He respects Sora's strength. Kairi, on the other hand, needs him to know he doesn't have to act like whatever he touches will shatter from the force of the darkness within him. He seems to think that because she needed rescuing more than anybody, she is not as strong as himself or Sora. Sora thinks so too, though not as consciously as Riku, and not as obviously either. Neither of them gets the difference between power and strength.

Riku sees both his friends as things to protect, but Kairi has had enough of being protected. She is ready and willing to protect her boys for once – even if it is from themselves.

Riku looks up. His face tightens. "Is that a Heartless?" He points at a dark shape flying across the moon.

Instead of drawing his keyblade, Sora grins. "That's not a Heartless, that's a gargoyle! Wow, cool. I didn't meet any last time I was here. They were too busy fighting the Heartless, and I was kind of preoccupied. I've never seen one fight, but I hear they're awesome in battle. They're one of the main reasons there aren't any more in Traverse Town. Heartless, I mean. Did you know an entire district here used to be off-limits because it was so full of Heartless? The resistance fought off Heartless attacks for _years_ before I got my keyblade."

No wonder this place feels so ragtag; it is still recovering from what the darkness reduced it to. Kairi instantly regrets thinking mean things about it. The Destiny Islands were consumed by darkness, but then brought back, whole and unchanged. Traverse Town, on the other hand, kept its head above water by adapting and repairing when it was damaged. Now it bears the scars of its survival.

Sora goes on, "The gargoyles are the reason Leon and the others felt they could go and fight to save Radiant Garden once Maleficent was driven out. If they hadn't been here, imagine how the castle could've turned out."

"Maleficent could have tried to retake her stronghold," Riku says grimly. "It definitely would have made her an even greater threat, and a bigger thorn in our sides while we were dealing with Organisation Thirteen."

"Exactly."

Sora always speaks so highly of Leon and the Hollow Bastion Restoration Committee. Until he told her, Kairi didn't realise they used to live here. She was surprised that they'd abandoned one world for another, until Sora explained that Traverse Town wasn't left defenceless.

"Leon's not like that. He wouldn't leave people undefended so he could go home. He's a real responsible guy."

Which begs the question of why he and Sora gelled so well. From Sora's stories, Leon strikes Kairi as a humourless, strait-laced man, wedded to rules and intolerant of anyone who breaks them. He is ex-military or something, and sounds like he never really gave up the attitude. Sora is exactly the kind of person the military would reject without a second glance. He feels things too deeply, and couldn't keep a lid on his emotions if it was weighted down like the top on a pan of broiling crabs.

Then again, Sora may not be responsible enough to get his homework done on time, or to pick out his own clothes without looking like a circus reject, but he _is _responsible enough to have saved the multiverse. That would be enough to earn even the most hardened warrior's respect. Plus Sora is … well, _Sora_. It is more unusual when he _doesn't_ befriend people.

"Leon's pretty unfriendly until you get to know him," Sora said back on their beach, perched on their favourite leaning palm tree and describing the places he's been and the people he's met. All Kairi or Riku have to do is ask and he's eager to tell them anything, offering to take them to see these wonderful things now they are united by their keyblades as well as their friendship. "But he's better than when I first met him. Yuffie and the others are softening him up. He can actually take a joke now. You'd like Yuffie, she's a scream. She wrote that book I told you about."

"The one with the evil space alien and the giant meteor called Meteor that almost hits a planet called Planet?" Riku deadpans.

"Yeah. It's a bestseller. I've got a signed copy in my bedroom. I'll lend it to you, since I already read it."

"_You_ read a book? A whole one? Does it have big pictures and cardboard pages?"

"Ha freaking ha. She also taught me that trick with the flour bomb above the door."

"Remind me to thank her for that." He looks so much like his old self, when they were just three ordinary kids who didn't know anything about keyblades, or darkness, or the hearts of worlds. Kairi resolves to _really_ thank this Yuffie person if they ever meet.

"So there aren't any Heartless here?" Riku asks "At all?"

Sora shakes his head. "Nope."

"Good." Riku moves incrementally closer to Kairi.

She frowns – not because she doesn't want him near her, but because it means he is thinking about how no Heartless means fewer threats to her safety. Like she's any more important than anybody else?

She sighs. Convincing this pair of idiots she isn't a damsel in distress is going to be a long journey. Damselling is something she will probably never get away from, but she will be damned if she ever falls into the 'in distress' part again. She may be a Princess of the Heart, but she is also a keyblader. The keyblades don't choose weaklings to wield them.

She quickens her step, forcing Sora and Riku to catch up. It puts ahead just enough that they can't try to use their bodies to shield her from dangers that aren't really there. Unfortunately, since she has no clue where to go, she has to stop and they flank her on either side again like a pair of knights.

"Um, Sora, which way do we go?"

Instead of answering, Sora pulls out the king's letter. "Uh … that way?"

"You don't sound too sure." Riku has never been here before either, so he can't offer any suggestions, but he can still sound sceptical.

"Hey, give me a break. I was _preoccupied_ the last time I was here. It's not like I had time to learn where the nearest deli is."

"It's there," says Kairi.

"Huh?"

"The nearest deli." She points at a swinging shop sign.

"Oh, ha-ha, very funny."

"Why don't you ask for directions?"

"Because I don't need them."

Kairi rolls her eyes. "What _is_ it with men and asking for directions?"

"Men?" Riku raises an eyebrow. "On the way over you called us 'stupid _boys_'."

"'Who couldn't fly a Gummi Ship into a mountain if it jumped out in front of them'," Sora adds.

"That's because you wouldn't let me fly. Now are you going to ask for directions?" At Sora's expression she turns and steps out in front of the next person to cross their path. It is so cold out, the person is wrapped up in scarf and woollens, but still recognisable as female. "Excuse me, I'm sorry to be a bother, but could you help us? We're lost. We'd really appreciate it if you could tell us where to find the church."

The woman sniffs and peers through horn-rimmed glasses. "Is there a particular reason you want to find it?" she asks suspiciously. "There's a very important event going on there today. It wouldn't be proper to allow any thoughtless Tom, Dick or Harriet to crash proceedings and trample all over them."

"Um, actually we were invited. Kind of." King Mickey's letter told them to come here today and go to the church. That counts as an invitation, right?

"You were _invited_?" the woman says incredulously, looking her up and down. She moves her gaze to Sora and Riku. Disapproval rolls off her in waves – not that she, in her giant floral print yellow dress, can make any comment on their outfits. Ick. "I've never seen you before. This is a private gathering – _very_ select. I doubt _you_ young reprobates would be –"

"I've been here before." Sora raises his hand like a kid in class. This woman demands the deference of a pupil to a teacher.

Even Riku looks uncertain when she flashes him a critical look. She eyeballs the curtain of silver hair he has taken to hiding behind. Kairi resolves to cut his fringe when they get home. The less Riku hides, the better.

The woman seems about to say something else cutting, but stops. She gazes myopically at Sora. "You're that boy with the keyblade, aren't you? The one who saved Sarah's dogs?"

"Dogs?" Riku glances at him.

"Those Dalmatians I told you about," says Sora. "I think."

"He's the Keyblade Master," Kairi says, a little boastfully.

The woman studies Sora. "_Him_?"

"Yes, him."

She takes a second look at Kairi, as if assessing how truthful she is. Her eyes abruptly widen. "Oh my…"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." Without further ado, she gives them directions and hurries away, leaning heavily on a cane and throwing disbelieving looks over her shoulder.

"Well that was weird." Sora tugs at his scarf. Being from a tropical climate, none of them are used to the cold, and even less used to wrapping up warm. Wearing so many layers makes him itch. "She looked like she saw a ghost."

"She sure changed her tune when she heard you're the Keyblade Master," says Kairi. "What a witch."

Riku looks between them. "She changed when she looked at _you_, Kairi."

"Me?"

"It was like she recognised you."

"But I've never been to Traverse Town." Kairi groans. "Please don't say it's that Princess of the Heart thing again. It was bad enough when Belle's wardrobe tried to make me wear a corset under my dress at dinner."

"I thought you liked being a princess," says Sora.

"It's not all it's cracked up to be. For one thing, people keep kidnapping you and trying to steal your heart, and despite what the fairytales say, you don't get a castle, or a crown, or royal dances held by your parents for all eligible bachelors in the land."

Sora and Riku exchange a look – the one they always do when it comes to parents.

"Oh come _on_, guys. You always do this! How long have you known me?"

"Sorry, Kairi." Sora has the grace to look embarrassed.

Riku does not. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything.

"It doesn't bother me," Kairi insists. "Really."

She really doesn't regret not knowing her real parents. The mayor and his wife have been good to her. Even her time at the orphanage, before they took her in, wasn't so bad.

That isn't to say she isn't curious. Ever since she washed up on the Destiny Islands as a child, with nothing but her name, a head wound and lungs half full of seawater, she has wondered about her family. Everybody who heard her story assumed she fell off a tourist boat, but nobody ever came forward to claim her. The general feeling towards her family has always been one of condemnation. Who loses a child and doesn't even bother to look for her? A few nurses at the orphanage conjectured about her being thrown off that hypothetical boat, which would account for the lack of a search. One woman even whispered that Kairi may have been the victim of attempted murder, until Matron bullied her into shutting up.

Since Kairi can't remember anything before the age of six – the age doctors put her at when she was checked over – she doesn't feel strongly about whoever she used to be. She used to yearn for an idea of who she was and where she came from, especially when she saw Sora and his mom, or Riku and his parents. A dull ache would start in her chest, until she realised that she is Kairi of the Destiny Islands, and that is all she needs to know because that is who she is _now_. It doesn't matter whether she was wanted or not, fell or was pushed, because she is wanted for who she is on the inside and that's what is important.

"C'mon," she says, setting off. "Let's see what was so urgent the king sent a royal summons."

"He said it's some sort of commemorative ceremony," Riku offers.

"You've spoken to him?"

"I speak to him a lot." He sounds almost embarrassed. He is close to King Mickey the way Sora is close to Donald and Goofy, and Kairi with Pluto – that mysterious, invisible bond that connects disparate souls during adversity. "He … sometimes I just need to talk. He's a good listener. He gave me something called a scrying crystal and taught me how to use it. He has one too."

"So it's like video-phones," Sora puts in.

"Something like that. I asked him about his letter, but he wouldn't tell me much, just that it's to commemorate some people who died, and that we had to be here today."

"Well we_ would_ have been here in daylight if I'd been allowed to pilot the Gummi Ship," Kairi says testily.

"Are you still mad about that?"

"Yes, Sora, I'm still mad about that. And just to warn you both, I expect to be in the pilot's seat on the way home. And one crack about women drivers will get you both a bash on the head with a keyblade."

"You're not supposed to use keyblades for evil acts," Sora protests.

"It's not an evil act; it's an act of justice and emancipation."

"Emanciwhat?"

"Emancipation," says Riku.

Sora continues to look confused. "What's that? Ow! That hurt, Kairi!"

There aren't any churches at home, just two small chapels. Kairi recognises the building all the same. Even at night it's an imposing place. The single gargoyle on the roof makes it even more daunting. She lets out an embarrassing squeak when the sentry opens its massive wings and glides down to land in front of them. The current of air stings like walking into a blizzard and makes her eyes water.

"You are the Keyblade Master?" the gargoyle asks in a deep voice.

"Um, yeah." Sora gives a weak a finger wave. He barely comes up to the gargoyle's armpit. "Hi there."

"I am Goliath. I was asked to watch for you. There was some concern when you didn't arrive before sunset."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'm Sora, by the way." He sticks out his hand. Goliath stares at it for a moment, as though remembering what he is supposed to do with it. When he gingerly shakes it, his claws dwarf Sora's fingers.

"I know your name. And you are Riku. And you are Kairi."

"How'd you know that?" she asks.

"You are expected."

"Oh, right. Duh moment. So is the king inside?"

"King Mickey is not in attendance, though I understand this is the first year he has not been able to come. He, regrettably, had other duties at Disney Castle that demanded his attention following the concerted attack on it by the darkness."

Sora frowns. "Then why did he tell us –?"

"I believe all will become clear forthwith. For now, perhaps it is best not to keep those gathered inside waiting any longer."

Goliath leads them to a door that was obviously added well after the church was built. It is a lot newer than the frame it sits in, though it is just as ornate as the rest of the building. Patches of repair work stick out all over the place. Like the rest of Traverse Town, the church has scars.

Goliath pushes open the massive door with one hand. "I shall return to my patrol now. It was good to meet you, Keyblade Master."

"Likewise, I'm sure," Sora murmurs.

Goliath sinks his claws into the brickwork, climbs halfway up the wall and launches himself into the air. It is a magnificent sight, even for seasoned inter-world travellers like them. They spend a moment watching him. The sky above them is heavy with clouds and the promise of snow.

Kairi shivers. Having visited Mulan in her world, she knows snow isn't as great as Christmas cards make out – especially when with people who think snowball fights and buckets of slush are the most hilarious things ever. "Let's get inside where it's warm. Once we can feel our toes again, we can figure out why the king thought we should be at the commemorative ceremony of a guy we never met."

"But aren't churches usually draughty and even colder inside than outside?" Sora asks.

Riku shoves him through the door. He waits for Kairi to go next, but she mimics his move by shoving him inside and bringing up the rear herself.

Despite what Sora thinks, the church is pleasantly warm. Kairi unwraps her scarf from around her neck as they scrape their shoes on an ancient mud grill in the foyer. The main church hall has arching ceilings and murals on the walls. She expects the smell of incense and candles, like in the island chapels. Instead, she is hit by the powerful smell of flowers. She takes breath so deep it squinches her eyes shut – and nearly crashes into Riku.

"Hey!"

"Leon?" Sora says in surprise. "What are you guys doing here?"

Kairi peers over his shoulder. Her heart suddenly flutters inside her chest. Blood rushes to her head, making her giddy.

The first thing to notice is the impossible yellow lilies growing in the centre of the floor, as though nobody ever explained to them that floorboards and cement foundations preclude growing there. The scent strikes a sensory memory, like the distinctive taste of sea-salt ice-cream, the sound of a shell pressed to her ear, or the feel of Sora and Riku's hands holding hers.

The people around the flowers turn at their entrance. They are a motley bunch – like Traverse Town itself, they don't match, yet somehow fit anyway. A tall black guy towers over a woman and two kids with mahogany skin. Next to them is their polar opposite, a Caucasian man with a diagonal scar between his eyes. He stands close to a dark-haired girl who doesn't look much older than Riku, but smiles a heck of a lot more. Her elbow is hooked through the scarred man's, ruining the stern effect of his folded arms and straight back. In front of them is a man who can only be a wizard, who was obviously just arguing with a grizzled blond guy chewing a toothpick. A brown-haired woman in high-tops holds them apart by their collars like a mother with two small children, despite being shorter and slighter than both men.

Yet none of these cause Kairi's sharp intake of breath. Sora and Riku instinctively draw closer. This time she doesn't evade their protectiveness. She is entirely taken up with the woman and man in the centre of the crowd.

"Oh," she murmurs, not sure why her heart is suddenly slamming against her ribs like a trapped bird trying to escape a cage; or why the world feels like it's pressing down on her from all sides. "O-Oh…"

"Are you all right?" Sora asks with concern.

She doesn't answer. Something about the couple resonates in a way she doesn't understand. It is like she recognises them, but only as one might recognise part of a dream. She has never felt like this before. Even déjà-vu doesn't quite describe it. The feeling is more than a little overwhelming, and increases as they comes towards she, Riku and Sora.

The woman has a gentle face framed by mousy brown hair. She is pretty, but not remarkably so, especially when you hang out with Princesses of the Heart, whose beauty can make you feel like a frump in your best dress. She pulls the man along, but he keeps his face turned away, as though looking for an exit so he can make a break for it. In contrast to the woman's cheerful pastel outfit, he is dressed in black from head to toe, including thick black gloves. The only pieces of skin on show are his face, neck and right arm. His left arm is covered in a wrap of loose black cloth, as though to hide some deformity. He walks with stiff legs, obviously reluctant. When they stop in front of the trio he flinches at the woman's reassuring pat on the back, like she has touched still-raw sunburn.

Kairi stares. The feeling of familiarly is unbearable. It is made worse by the fact she doesn't have a specific memory to go with it. There is just this _feeling_ rocketing around inside her, making her open and shut her mouth like an idiot. Undeniable knowledge settles in the centre of her brain, heavy as a neuron star, causing an indentation that everything else slides down towards: she _knows_ these people.

But how? She has never met them before. She has never been to Traverse Town before. She has never –

"Cloud," the woman chides softly.

Cloud? That's the guy Sora fought at the Coliseum, isn't it? Kairi remembers him telling her about the ill-fated deal the man struck with Hades, God of the Dead, to resurrect someone in exchange for his eternal service. As is the way of all deals with devils, it didn't turn out as planned. Sora rescued Cloud from the fallout in a typical act of heroism. Sora has 'hero' inscribed right down to his bone marrow.

"What's going on?" Sora asks now. "How come you guys aren't in Radiant Garden?"

"This was more important," the woman says. "We come here every year to remember people who were very important to us."

"But the king's letter said it was just for one guy."

"One very special man, yes, but he's not the only one we remember when we come here."

Kairi hears them as if from far away, because at that moment Cloud raises his eyes. The jolt of recognition is so strong it actually takes her breath away. His eyes are wary, but she _knows _them. She knows that exact shade of blue, so close to Sora's that many years ago, when wandered along a beach and met a little boy with a wooden sword, she was instantly drawn to him. Sora's personality, however, was more like … like someone else's ... someone who always smiled and tried to look on the bright side even in the darkest situation …

Images flash into her mind: a sword in a dark-haired man's hands; a dark hole peering into nothingness and shadow; the reflection of snow in polished metal; a paler face, mouth forming her name, hands reaching for her as she … as she falls … into the darkness ...

Cloud murmurs, "Hello Kairi." His voice is gruff, and sort of hopeful, scared and ashamed all at the same time.

Kairi's special heart _squeezes_ because the way his lips form her name is exactly like that pale, anguished face in her memory. She has never recovered a memory from her missing past before. _Never_.

She can suddenly feel every one of her ribs, like hard iron hoops tightening around her chest as she breathes. Her heart remembers long-ago lessons, which only reawakened when she forgot Sora, listened for his heart and heard his Nobody's instead. Her heart is _listening_ – and it hears a voice.

_Home_.

It is just a memory of a memory, the sound of someone gone but here but gone but here, fading in and out, everywhere and nowhere all at once.

_You're home._

But this isn't her home. Destiny Islands is her home.

The voice seems to laugh. _Home isn't a place_. _Home is people. _

The girl in shorts slaps a palm to her face and spreads her fingers so she can peer through them. "I don't believe this. After everything I said, she still turned into a pretty pink princess!"

"Yuffie!"

"Oh, keep your pants on, Leon. She's kick-ass anyway, so I can forgive her."

More images flash into Kairi's mind, but only as an unassembled jigsaw puzzle. She sees a mass of isolated instances and impressions with nothing to link them together: a crayoned picture of a Shadow Heartless; a blond man reading to her from a huge book; a ponytail tied with pink ribbon; the order for Small Fry to be a kick-ass princess, not a pathetic fairytale one; the story of a crystal in the mountains; the smell of gunblade oil; the silent voice's laugh when it wasn't silent … and _Axel_? No, someone very like him but not the Nobody who was so familiar with her and said it felt like … like they were friends already when she'd never met him before … and apologised for 'everything'…

Her head hurts from trying to understand. One by one, each element is here, but the whole is lacking, the parts don't cohere, and she can do no more than search for the remnants of days that, to her, don't fully exist.

Kairi has come to recognise the sensation of Naminé's consciousness stirring. It is like when a muscle falls asleep and tingles back to life, but in her head. In this form, however, as a part of Kairi, she is more nebulous than when she was a Nobody in her own body. In a trice Naminé takes on the aspect of a net and throws it over the unconnected images, winding herself through them like links in chain. She drags them closer together and holds them there, so a pattern is more visible. She was, after all, a memory witch.

"C-Cloud?" Kairi murmurs. "Aerith?" She stares at them. "Oh. _Oh._"

Aerith squeezes Cloud's hand and he wraps his fingers briefly around hers in return. He still looks like he wants to run away, but he can't take his eyes off Kairi. It is as though someone once told him a wonderful secret, but he never actually believed it until this moment. Aerith holds out her free hand. When she shakes him, Cloud holds out his free hand too.

Kairi steps past Riku and Sora, ignoring their questioning looks as things trickle back into her head. It seems the most natural thing in the world to takes the outstretched hands of these people she has never met.

"Oh…" It isn't the most eloquent thing she has ever said, but it is the only word she can come up with right now. It says enough.

_Better late than never_, whispers the silent voice. _They never gave up hope on you, kid. _

"I always knew you'd grow up to be beautiful," Aerith smiles. "Welcome home, Kairi."

* * *

_No wonder your heart feels it's flying,  
Your head feels it's spinning,  
Each happy ending's a brand new beginning.  
Let yourself be enchanted, you just might break through  
To ever ever after._

- from **_Ever Ever_**_ **After** _by Carrie Underwood.

* * *

_**Fin.**_

* * *

**A/N****: **And that's all she wrote. Many thanks to everyone who has made this journey with me. That sounds incredibly pretentious, but this fic has been very special to me. I started writing it in 2008 and now, in 2011, it is finally finished. That's not to say it isn't flawed. My writing style has changed an awful lot since I started and there are whole sections I would rework if I could do it over again, but I'm still proud of it, flaws and all. I have had a blast and I am grateful to everyone who has read this and given me feedback. A hundred and one instalments. Bloody hell, I never thought I'd manage to write that my on my own. No author is an island, though, so thank you to everyone who has read this and I hope the ending was worth waiting for.


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